luca paci

Johnny takes up smoking. Luca Paci

lucapaci 1, poetry, politics , ,

Simply fed up of waiting

Finding an easy way to shorten his

Certain death

And he knows it’s bad for you

That’s why he does it

That’s why he rips out his

Bloody thoughts of grandeur

And crushes them under the

Pressure of his cowboy heels

He knows time’s running out

He knows that plastic lasts for

Centuries and will probably outlive

Any animal.

THE FINE LINE

lucapaci 1, Myths, poetry, thoughts , , , ,

The Fine Line Chanticleer Publication 070105

At face value
the skin over London is too tight
the face lift of success too successful
(probably rep-car replaces Bowler)
too deep yet the lines in the faces of the poor

Fragmentary, impressionistic portraits of life in London, tinged with critical social commentary, and with the sadness and loneliness of those who live on the edge. Many of the poems are untitled, and Lucapacijürgenhebrezgiabiher makes use of visual effects, including line drawings and different fonts, in the manner of early twentieth century French poets, such as Apollonaire (unfortunately not reproducible in this review). I was also reminded of Kenneth Patchen, and I would guess that Lucapacijürgenhebrezgiabiher is a reader of Blake, Eliot and Pound. He quotes Dante: “Tra la perduta gente” (Among the lost people).

The city of London in these poems is both timeless and very much of today. He answers the question WHAT’S BEAUTY?:

Eating space and tar
Following the road — scar
Wounding the city

The burning rail tracks
Sparkling into another
Dimension where things
Matter

That bleached poster
Stuck at the petrol pump
VISIT JAMAICA

Dwindling morning dream
Visit……visit Jamaica

The success of some has always come at a price for others. Lucapacijürgenhebrezgiabiher makes his point in a manner which is playful and aphoristic:

London skull
heading a Europe
skeleton
oh what a swish reaper
(probably with a Bowler hat)
a sort of royal dawdler in
Hide&Park

— from the untitled poem quoted at the start of this reivew —

There is a kind of controlled rage and sadness. From the same poem:

assets assets assets assets assets assets assets assets assets assets assets assets
worth some wars and
flesh to be rubbished away
beauty to be sold out
needs streamlined into one-way system

Some of the poems take the form of small prayers. There is a yearning for a different Albion, where not

only the fool can
make it.

At their best, the poems have a hypnotic, haunting quality. And they are all much more readable and pronounceable than the author’s name.

Not all the writing in this collection will appeal, but if the lines quoted above say something to you, it’s worthwhile getting hold of a copy of this book.
Reviewer: Ian Seed.

but nothing? Luca Paci

lucapaci 1, poetry ,

No hand will contain your disdain

no game will try the blame,

sharp & quick

liquid gaze or blade or fear.

No enemy no route no siege

of your heart

no part but farse.

Don’t you know that fear can take

a shape of a sleeping pill

or an enticing window sill

above the abyss?

And she moves accross

anesthesia with the certainty of time-

always there, always right –

no need to fight tonight

no need for sorrow either

just drapes of boredom

thick curtains veiling the sun

dinners dismissed

tvs on standbys

ready to snatch at the first sign

of life.

The legend of the dwarf king. Luca Paci

lucapaci 1, poetry, politics , , ,

Listen!

The land was shrinking
And the sky was dry
The great dwarf-king
Was passing by

Listen!

There was a man in my country who owned everything
And everything he had was stolen from the people

Listen!

This man in this country became a king and his kingdom included
All the crops of the fields and radios and lawyers
And Tvs and books and papers and ships

Listen!

This man in reality was not a king
But a bald dwarf with a fake toupet
And a rubber mask

Listen!

The dwarf talked of freedom
In his nation of slaves
And democracy and honesty
In his nation of thieves
And environment and pollution
In his nation of smoke

Listen!

The dwarf king was changing the rules of the game and bringing
Zombies to life to get more voters
He talked to the judges who thought it was illegal
But he won the diatribe and they went to jail

Listen!

The land was shrinking
And the sky was dry
The great dwarf-king
Was passing by

Map Of Terror. Luca Paci

lucapaci 1, poetry, politics , , ,

Please keep your music down,
our prices in London are falling by an
average of £175
What’s your game?
Don’t take an illegal cab home..
Map of terror
map the terror
be dazzled
-TRUE SKIN RADIANCE-

Next station is Victoria

Courage … it’s an everyday thing,
don’t say we didn’t warn you
the most dynamic company
you ‘ll ever work with
want inspiration that’s truly divine?
Imagine applying the finishing touch to your look
this changes everything

improvement works
to tracks & stations
may affect your journey

Reunion. Luca Paci

lucapaci short story ,

Every day Mara appears in a different dress with a different hairstyle, using a different phone. Initially she doesn’t recognize her. One day she is blonde and elegantly dressed, the next she is a brunette with a rather bedraggled look. She never stops and talks. She always seems to be in a hurry, doing some errand or other, rushing away.
This time she expressly waits for her outside her flat. She knows she has to pass from there at this time in the morning. And so she does. This time Mara is wearing a black thick coat and leather boots, but the most evident items are perhaps a pair of earrings. They are gold, round-shaped and quite big. She has applied quite a lot of foundation on her face.
Mara pretends she has not seen her until her friend’s face is few inches away from her. ‘Are you all right?’ She looks at her as if she’s seen her for the first time. Her face is blank. ‘ No really… No’. It’s then when she decides to tell her everything, no matter what. Continue reading →

A chat with Pagliarani. Luca Paci

lucapaci contributions, poetry, translations , , , ,

Elio Pagliarani lives in Rome, in an apartment block not far from the Vatican City, both a modern and a popular area.

He welcomes me in his sitting room, on our right a bookshelf which climbs up to the ceiling. After a long introduction on what I do, where I come from and so forth, Mr. Pagliarani begins speaking about himself, or rather about poetry. It is a strange interview, with few questions coming from me; the hoarse, lion-like voice of the poet and the smell of his pipe merge to create a unreal atmosphere, full of suspense. Outside the Roman traffic. Continue reading →