Gli scordàti (2001)

an idea by Giorgio Rossi
choreography and actors/dancer Vasco Mirandola‚ Rebecca Murgi‚ Aline Nari‚ Ivana Petito‚
Giorgio Rossi‚ Domenico Santonicola

texts by Vasco Mirandola
music by Giovanni Venosta
scenes and lights by Michelangelo Campanale
costumes Beatrice Giannini
audio by Luca Ravaioli
photo Paolo Pisanelli

production Associazione Sosta Palmizi
co–production Teatro Comunale di Castiglion Fiorentino (AR)
in collaboration with Festival Oriente Occidente (Rovereto)‚ Teatro Comunale di Ferrara

There is someone who says that gli scordàti are a race apart
out of place
perhaps also out of time
they live in the intervals among words
on the edge of a thought
they nourish themselves of spaces and impossible geometries
if you give them a music they comb it
they are like promises
like shines of promises
they promise worlds
they are just like people.
You know that they are there and that sometimes they meet‚ but
what may happen nobody certainly knows‚ if for instance it will occur
to cry or to laugh‚ there are only suppositions‚ something
very light‚ you say it and it has already disappeared.


You knows only that   skirts love more
there are words that   don’t know well what to do
thoughts a bit as thieves   a wolf that doesn’t bite anymore
an old man goes away   he trembles and you feel he knows it

there are stories that   you call and you don’t know why
a smell that   has a name but you don’t know what
as a town   that always escapes you
how does a branch that   grows and grows‚ you know how is it?

it is a gust of wind   of light and of nothing
it leans on your sides   it comes from far away
you don’t need hands   it is a turn of enchantment
and it goes as it goes   and it goes as it will

… come in‚ come in ladies and gentlemen…
… among few instants you will enter a place without time and without form‚
a place where the light leans without a reason.
By chance you will assist to the miracle of the appearance‚ you will enter the mystery of the pulsation of a wing and with a jump you will reach the solid nature of things…

Maybe there is nothing more to do than to receive the world‚ the whole world‚ to receive‚ without questions‚ only to receive the world in the eyes‚ to let it slip inside‚ above‚ under and around‚ until it becomes suit‚ shade‚ wonder of light and palms‚ music of touch and breath‚ smell of heights‚ dust and sparks…

someone said that it is a state very similar to a dream.

In a corner‚ everything else all around

She has a pretty proper suit

It is everything to say (this is the most special one)

He has a life in front and one behind him

I want someone to asphalt me

Sometimes a poem detaches from his body