An hour of any day

«It is a tribute to a great contemporary poet who has just passed away, Pier Luigi Bacchini.

It would have been an hour of meeting, conversation and silence, between the poet and a director with whom he shared, on an annual basis for each edition of the Natura Dèi Teatri festival, thirteen years of mise en parole, scenic translations of his poetry.

The film would not have retraced those stages nor the different seasons of Bacchini's poetic production but would have concentrated –or rather decentralized – in a non-monumental area of the author's biography: in an hour of any day in the year 2009.

There would have been no exceptionality and no recurrence, rather an apparently insignificant time parenthesis but which could have hidden the grandiose moment in which poetry comes to light or not, only life that flows.

The two characters would have conversed about the time that has passed, about the life lived and the present one as a baggage of words to open on the future life, on what awaits us and what will be for future generations.

Bacchini's poetry often turned to science and nature and always to the human, knowing from him how he would imagine the world to come would be like plowing the land of imagination – and the imago – and sowing the field for aesthetic/moral growth and poetic writing. Two human beings and a technological being, the camera, five eyes that would look at each other with the common intent of glimpsing the future also through memories, historical memory.

The film was not made and Pier Luigi is no longer there, the theater and new images remain for the last mise en words of a great poet, his answers to my questions about the most loved authors in literature, poetry, cinema, in the theatre, such as flowers, plants, cities, painters, perfumes, composers, philosophers, ordinary people, what is the future with the rapid development of science and technology, what world, in short, beyond our death.

I decided to do it anyway, subjectively, in the places of his invention, in the corners of his writing, looking at things and the landscape at eye level, being accompanied by him in the passages through the bushes, in the openings to the hills, in the views of an hour of the day, of any hour.»

Francesco Pititto