ALESSANDRO PIZZI

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Who am I?
Am I a poet perhaps?
No, of course not.
No word but one, a very strange one,
does the pen of this soul of mine write for me:
folly.
Am I a painter then?
Not even that.
No colour but one
does the palette of this soul of mine hold for me:
melancholy.
A musician then?
Not a chance.
No note but one
does the keyboard of this soul of mine have for me:
sentimentality.
Am I….what then?
I place a lens
in front of my heart
for all the world to see.
Who am I?
The jester of this heart of mine.

(Aldo Palazzeschi, “Poemi” 1909)

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