The Italian catapoets don't even wave a banner anymore. Poetry becomes a manifesto, sword and wedge, involving, in the impure act of poiesis (the fallen-in-love Word, returned to the Citadel after exile in a postmodernity, yes, derisive in substance and in its finality of consumerist essence and profit), almost all the media tools that the unprecedented scientific and technological leap has mediated. What has changed, from the age of the Novissimos onwards, seems to me to be an even more acute awareness not so much of the exhibition of the Truth as such, but of assigning it a recipient address, as precise as possible, either in generic terms or in terms of street protest. A leap, therefore, from ascertainment to contestation, from description to assault, in the wake of denouncing the consequences of that anthropological mutation identified and processed by Pasolini.
