Paolo Conte
Miscellaneous
Amilcare's Stuff
From the seafront of some French town
piercing the blues with his eyes
he looked down there
I saw it, he was looking to the left at a veiled fog
I saw him, he was looking at Sanremo, distant and Italian
With the silence of the high mountains beneath his shoes
and behind his shoulders darting Spanish guitars
silence, child, be quiet, don't laugh or cry
Be well done, child, I'm talking about Amilcare here.
With him was Bigi, his long white hair
smoothed by the wind like Atlantic waves , elastic,
with the air of two who have found something,
I wanted to hug them but I couldn't come up with an excuse
then in that confused coming and going as on an autopista
I They slipped away and suddenly I lost sight of them
Be quiet, child, silence, don't cry or laugh. ,
artists anyway, artists everywhere and in any case,
a little better than these ordinary poets of today
aedi of the void invoked and never explored.
They were looking for someone to be counted a story
that was invented or inflamed by ancient memory
child, you must not touch, play or even pretend
that this one, you see, child is Amilcare's stuff.

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