“The quest for the infinite dimension ”

Biography:

Fabio Strinati (poet, writer, aphorist, pianist and composer) was born in San Severino Marche on 19/01/1983 and lives in Esanatoglia, a small village in the province of Macerata in the Marche region. Very important for her training, the meeting with the pianist Fabrizio Ottaviucci. Ottaviucci is best known for his contemporary music interpreter, for his prestigious and long-lasting collaborations with masters likes Markus Stockhausen and Stefano Scodanibbio and for his interpretations of Scelsi, Stockhausen, Cage, Riley and many more. Ottaviucci takes part in several editions of "Itinerari D'Ascolto", a festival of contemporary music organized by Fabrizio Ottaviucci, as an interpreter and composer, and takes part in numerous festivals and musical events.
Fabio Strinati begins in 2014 to devote himself to writing, and in a continuous manner. In October 2014, he published his first book of poems titled "Thoughts in the Casket. In Wheat Ears is the Rhythm". Collection of poems published with the Publishing House and Cultural Association “Il Foglio Letterario” (The Literary Sheet), which has, as director, the Italian writer Gordiano Lupi.
In November 2015, he released his second poetry book entitled "A skylark at the edge of the well".
In November 2016 he released his third book, "Dal proprio nido alla viata” (From his nest to Life). A poem inspired by a novel by Gordian Lupi, "Miracle at Piombino".
In 2017 publishes two books: "Above a Man", "Transition Period"

Contact FabioStrinati

Critical comment: We dream of travels throughout the universe: is not the universe within us? We do not know the depths of our spirit. The mysterious path leads within. In us, or nowhere, lies eternity with its worlds, the past and the future. The outside world is a mere shadow world which throws its shadows intothe realm of light. With these beautiful lyrics by Novalis I went through the reading of Strinati's collection. Poems always hovering between moments of dismay and enlightening fluency, between nature and being in a game that sinks its roots in the observation of contemporary reality. Of its crookedness, peripheral abnormalities where stray cats hover between "debris of enzymes and bacteria". The world of the shadows of Novalis, the dry images of the degraded neighborhoods of Ken Loach, such as being catapulted in a mirror that deforms the aesthetic feeling of living. The outer world that throws its shadows in the realm of light. They are lyricals of immediate sensory perception, drain deep into the intimacy, tearing the consciousness of modern man with himself "in the vastness of a liturgical and morose sky." In this desolate (desolating?) scenic setting, almost surreal lightning is born into lexical algorithms that twist the filigree of poetic thought and inevitably refer to the infinite dimension that Lucio Fontana discovered with his Space Concepts. But here is not the relief of experimentation, I would say rather, an impetuous sociological analysis expressed in lyrical form, where words are also "reproaches out of control as cuts in the wind." Strongly Fabio Strinati works the verse with tangle of images in a nearly film-like sequence of fragments of free-range hypometers that affect the reading, creating emotional and visual views of uncommon lyrical concreteness. (Comment by Pier Luigi Coda) To the juggling bee the poet says more than he doesn’t have the consciousness of expressing, "pollinating" a vital tissue whose symbols spread in the Nature of which man is suffering part. The verses assume song recordings in search of a rhythm divided between the "chronicle" (Crumbs of bread one by one drop/ In the metallic bin near the light pole) and lyrical thickened in the adjectivisation that tends to create a particular melting of pictorial and musical elements: ... broken boxes and fish bones/ Smashed at the margins of the sidewalks well represent the sketch that captures in a moment the devastating "beauty" and the expressiveness of the word understood in its sounding value. The same Montalian shingle of the bottlenecks in the Half Sun by Strinati loses in a style that rolls on itself, enriching itself with colors and tones, symbols and figures like vivid calculations. We note how the human presence is almost loose, vaguely caressed in Vessile and The Pen (And cirruses wrapped in the pumpkins of men) and how much the Strinati's will passes through a poetry poem as a way of light for the blind men ... when the man is nominated, it is done in the evocative atmosphere of images that fall directly on the sensitivity of the single reader by suggesting a world of freely interpreted and interpretable visions. The constantly open lyrical play culminates in Appearances in the convergence of various living species in which the emotional moment is preserved without fail between the round fish and the oval ones and the evocative final "panic" in the game that balances the substance and the rhythm between the electric fish and marine pines. In this space, Strinati's motives move on, always admitted that we may find in the lines of his poetry a cause that is not itself poetic. (Comment by Cristina Raddavero)
The poems: "WRIGGLE" Above that tender flower the tender bee is smashed Which pollinate the moment and flees and escapes on the mark of wind, Looking down and juggles, And builds a nest ... Above that clump of grass a still echo Is basic sound of itself Beyond the skies that above and above die, The most awful bees, the wriggle on the frosty leaf! “THE SPIDER” At the corner a small spider is the shape of the canvas Which swells and goes down as such To the shadows, Who dies and never gets out! Here's that spider up Who mimics, doesn’t run and doesn’t expire, And never deform To the hole that little dot, The sparse stains. “APPEARANCES” Round and oval fishes, soaking fishes In the vastness of a liturgical and morose sky, They swim around the dotted lines The fishes the drunk echoes, the castigated fishes From a non-shape to the eyes of the humanoid, Turn stacked each ..., in the circle and in the wheel, The electric fish, the sea pine. “VESSILE” How rages this coolness that is not good or doesn’t consent ... The remained lives on the unattended lawn, The lives that tremble hang on the threads, How it hurts and how many scorns, precise loneliness Which offers you its unequivocal choice! "HALF SUN" Drops and drops, the tinkling and dangling water, The water that dies on the ground and digs and digs its pit To water the old root, in senility That reminds her ... Is the running water flowing that organizes, His quick life and noble deception Wet and wet itself and impressed, the damp story Of an evacuated prose with the sludge Of water and showers, Like those tubes and those full drains That play the brass trumpet, And a slight glimmer, of that stump Among the blocked clouds. "THE PEN" Fans of clouds and digressions of thoughts already used In my dead and used being, And poems, living forms for blinds That shuffle and crumple and preclude paths Of the stiffed pen, of wandering errors Of sketches of rough bullets ... And cirruses wrapped in the pumpkins of men Such as native cloudy and tents upside down. "BLADES" Accurate words like scolding out of control In the wind they are resewed, The cuts. "PLANET 2" Crumbs of bread one by one drop In the metallic bin near the light pole, And a cat creaks with the wind In the neighborhood infected by enzymes and bacteria Such as broken boxes and fish bones Smashed at the margins of the sidewalks Raised from the jinx roots, In the context of a non-liberty of degradation And damp family allowances in the wash In the bags of suburban and crumbling suburbs.

Critical comment:

We dream of travels throughout the universe:
is not the universe within us?
We do not know the depths of our spirit.
The mysterious path leads within.
In us, or nowhere, lies eternity with its worlds, the past and the future.
The outside world is a mere shadow world
which throws its shadows intothe realm of light.

With these beautiful lyrics by Novalis I went through the reading of Strinati's collection. Poems always hovering between moments of dismay and enlightening fluency, between nature and being in a game that sinks its roots in the observation of contemporary reality. Of its crookedness, peripheral abnormalities where stray cats hover between "debris of enzymes and bacteria". The world of the shadows of Novalis, the dry images of the degraded neighborhoods of Ken Loach, such as being catapulted in a mirror that deforms the aesthetic feeling of living. The outer world that throws its shadows in the realm of light. They are lyricals of immediate sensory perception, drain deep into the intimacy, tearing the consciousness of modern man with himself "in the vastness of a liturgical and morose sky." In this desolate (desolating?) scenic setting, almost surreal lightning is born into lexical algorithms that twist the filigree of poetic thought and inevitably refer to the infinite dimension that Lucio Fontana discovered with his Space Concepts. But here is not the relief of experimentation, I would say rather, an impetuous sociological analysis expressed in lyrical form, where words are also "reproaches out of control as cuts in the wind." Strongly Fabio Strinati works the verse with tangle of images in a nearly film-like sequence of fragments of free-range hypometers that affect the reading, creating emotional and visual views of uncommon lyrical concreteness.
(Comment by Pier Luigi Coda)

To the juggling bee the poet says more than he doesn’t have the consciousness of expressing, "pollinating" a vital tissue whose symbols spread in the Nature of which man is suffering part.
The verses assume song recordings in search of a rhythm divided between the "chronicle" (Crumbs of bread one by one drop/ In the metallic bin near the light pole) and lyrical thickened in the adjectivisation that tends to create a particular melting of pictorial and musical elements: ... broken boxes and fish bones/ Smashed at the margins of the sidewalks well represent the sketch that captures in a moment the devastating "beauty" and the expressiveness of the word understood in its sounding value. The same Montalian shingle of the bottlenecks in the Half Sun by Strinati loses in a style that rolls on itself, enriching itself with colors and tones, symbols and figures like vivid calculations.
We note how the human presence is almost loose, vaguely caressed in Vessile and The Pen (And cirruses wrapped in the pumpkins of men) and how much the Strinati's will passes through a poetry poem as a way of light for the blind men ... when the man is nominated, it is done in the evocative atmosphere of images that fall directly on the sensitivity of the single reader by suggesting a world of freely interpreted and interpretable visions.
The constantly open lyrical play culminates in Appearances in the convergence of various living species in which the emotional moment is preserved without fail between the round fish and the oval ones and the evocative final "panic" in the game that balances the substance and the rhythm between the electric fish and marine pines.
In this space, Strinati's motives move on, always admitted that we may find in the lines of his poetry a cause that is not itself poetic.
(Comment by Cristina Raddavero)

The poems:

"WRIGGLE"

Above that tender flower the tender bee is smashed
Which pollinate the moment and flees and escapes on the mark of wind,
Looking down and juggles,
And builds a nest ...
Above that clump of grass a still echo
Is basic sound of itself
Beyond the skies that above and above die,
The most awful bees, the wriggle on the frosty leaf!

“THE SPIDER”

At the corner a small spider is the shape of the canvas
Which swells and goes down as such
To the shadows,

Who dies and never gets out!
Here's that spider up
Who mimics, doesn’t run and doesn’t expire,
And never deform

To the hole that little dot,
The sparse stains.

“APPEARANCES”

Round and oval fishes, soaking fishes
In the vastness of a liturgical and morose sky,
They swim around the dotted lines
The fishes the drunk echoes, the castigated fishes
From a non-shape to the eyes of the humanoid,
Turn stacked each ..., in the circle and in the wheel,

The electric fish, the sea pine.

“VESSILE”

How rages this coolness that is not good or doesn’t consent ...
The remained lives on the unattended lawn,
The lives that tremble hang on the threads,
How it hurts and how many scorns, precise loneliness
Which offers you its unequivocal choice!

"HALF SUN"

Drops and drops, the tinkling and dangling water,
The water that dies on the ground and digs and digs its pit
To water the old root, in senility
That reminds her ...

Is the running water flowing that organizes,
His quick life and noble deception
Wet and wet itself and impressed, the damp story
Of an evacuated prose with the sludge
Of water and showers,

Like those tubes and those full drains
That play the brass trumpet,

And a slight glimmer, of that stump
Among the blocked clouds.

"THE PEN"

Fans of clouds and digressions of thoughts already used
In my dead and used being,

And poems, living forms for blinds
That shuffle and crumple and preclude paths
Of the stiffed pen, of wandering errors
Of sketches of rough bullets ...

And cirruses wrapped in the pumpkins of men
Such as native cloudy and tents upside down.

"BLADES"

Accurate words like scolding out of control
In the wind they are resewed,
The cuts.

"PLANET 2"

Crumbs of bread one by one drop
In the metallic bin near the light pole,

And a cat creaks with the wind
In the neighborhood infected by enzymes and bacteria

Such as broken boxes and fish bones
Smashed at the margins of the sidewalks

Raised from the jinx roots,
In the context of a non-liberty of degradation
And damp family allowances in the wash
In the bags of suburban and crumbling suburbs.