« I could call it my first ballad.
It’s a love song dedicated to ink and writing
It’s right there, black on white, like Malevich’s square. »
It’s not faith that changed my life but ink
that leads my fingers, my hand, my wrist.
I’m still writing all over myself1, reciprocated love
exploded suddenly like when you’re running the Boston (marathon) !
It’s not drugs that give me goosebumps rather
thinking about Mozart, holding the quill pen, there
over his desk, while drawing that note he makes2
history without records, nor videoclips or social media.
Valium and Prozac do not calm me down
give me a dip pen or any pen on which they stamped
the name of a medication.
Ink alone can fathom my state of mind
call it hypothalamus
I envision it as a magician, kind of Dynamo
forget about Freud, I have a blank sheet
I mark it like the wing of an Albatros, so that I can fly up high
Towards the city of Ink I’m starting off (diligently)
a pilgrimage but not to Santiago, I’m going to Ink Town
I’m going from the Apennines to the Andes3
in my backpack my fountain pens and papers
I sleep in a tent like a boy scout
I make notes in a journal with no web layout
(Ink Town)
that place is not very far away
ink flows instead of blood
all I need is a pen and I laugh like a clown
sometimes happiness costs less than a pound
Ink Town, my Ganges,
my Holy Land,
my Mecca,
the miracle giving voice to those who don’t speak
those who stutter.
A faraway land,
like a pen pal,
where we become children again like in a book by Pennac 4
There is where the patience of amanuensis grows
ink knows how many sentences
can silence hide.
All of a sudden it explodes,
like crackling firecrackers
like the keys of Montanelli’s Olivetti5
The pointed rods charged with black smoke 6
the vice
of those who lay out papyrus paper
like an Egyptian scribe.
I’m writing this song but it says clearly
that I get lost in ink
like when you’re hunting a squid.
I’m Columbus
struggling
rowing
longing
for a harbor by the sand
I skip dinner
The night is falling
ballpoint pen
on parchment
but I’m not wandering through America
I’m headed to Ink Town
I’m going from the Apennines to the Andes
in my backpack my fountain pens and papers
I sleep in a tent like a boy scout
I make notes in a journal with no web layout
(Ink Town)
that place is not very far away
ink flows instead of blood
all I need is a pen and I laugh like a clown
sometimes happiness costs less than a pound
It is with ink
that I wrote
each one of my songs.
I gave a new face
to this Billy Preston’s hair.
My next concert,
I hope it will be soon
I get in the van all sweaty
I watch the unlit stage
I leave it there, where it is
from the car window it looks like a surrealist movie
kind of Luis Bunuel
I get to my hotel and
the room lights up, it’s almost morning
there’s always a pen on the nightstand
(Ink Town)
that place is not very far away
ink flows instead of blood
all I need is a pen and I laugh like a clown
sometimes happiness costs less than a pound
1. « scriversi addosso » is not a standard idiom but it calls to mind the standard idiom used for « wetting oneself ». a a physiological need that can’t be restrained so another way to translate this would be « I’m still prey to a compulsion to write »2. this also reads : « drawing that F note » 3. Title of a classic of 19 century Italian literature 4. Daniel Pennac is a French writer, fairly popular in Italy, known for his imaginative language and compelling characters. His name sounds like the Italian word for « pen » (penna) 5. Indro Montanelli, the archetype of Italian journalism, often portrayed with his portable Olivetti typewriter 6. a pun with 2 meanings intertwined: it can mean "joints loaded with hashish" fumo is slang for hashish and Nero is a common variety of it, but it can also mean " the pen is loaded with dark ink" as 'nero fumo' written in that order refers to a common color name. Many thanks to Damonkain for the insight