The Silent River

The Silent River

The first of the two Palio dates in Siena is approaching: July 2nd and August 16th.
The title of this composition is the same as one of my 2021 publications.
It’s a collection of poems dedicated to Siena, to the Sienese people, and to the Queen of the City.
I hope these texts will be appreciated, because it’s not easy—being someone who is not from Siena—to express impressions, feelings, and concepts about the capital of Chianti.
The city was raised in honor of the Virgin and Mother, with traditions that go back to the dawn of time. The most famous and well-known of these is the Palio.
As I said, this collection, composed in free verse, is the one I chose as the title for my personal tribute to Siena and its people.

Having experienced them in person, there are sensations
that stay within us and, despite everything,
are difficult to explain.
Especially if one is not from Siena.
And I am not.
Here it is—what I describe in the following verses is one of those…

The Silent River

The river full of water
ends its course in the sea
or flows into a lake to enter,
and outflows to exit,
and finally continues
towards the salty expanse
of the sea water.
Even if it wanted to make no sound,
that movement always produces
a certain noise.
I watch that stream of people
descending “downstream” into the Campo,
into the Piazza.
I don’t even hear a murmur,
their gazes speak
of a silence that I cannot
and do not know how to explain.
It is deafening not to hear
even the buzzing
of flies in flight,
while into the Conca
still more people arrive, all
more than religiously silent.
Each wrapped in their own banner,
but one thing they have in common:
the same words in their eyes
dictated by the beating of their hearts,
also throbbing
for the individual colours
of every Contrada.
The wait makes the air
sharp as a finely honed sword,
but still I don’t know,
I cannot and never will be able to know
what goes through the heart and mind
of every Sienese and Contradaiolo.
I can only limit myself to watching,
observing and respectfully
in silence
their muffled stillness,
until the horses come out
of the Entrone
of the Town Hall,
with the jockeys retrieving the whip
and the explosion of the firecracker is heard.
The Palio belongs to the Sienese,
and with the roar of the Piazza
now I understand the reason
for all that restraint,
with the certainty
that the thrill
that passed through my body
was a moment for me,
but for those born in Siena
it is a solemn foundation.

Florence, 1/7/2021 – 7:22 p.m.

Image: Gabriele Forti
https://www.gabrieleforti.it/