Giovanni Cocco & Caterina Serra: Displacement – New Town No Town

About This Project

 

I don’t want more mirrors

for my lovers.
If I’ve closed the doors,

it’s not for fear

of opening up.
Who decided to leave

the present outside.
And make a graveyard

of the past.
And to have nothing left

to desire?

 

They built new houses

to curtail space.
Not time.
With no roots,

life is a survival
of tables with no memories,

of hands and voices
that hate each other
and want each other

anonymously.

 

Give thanks.
They said,
a house is just a house.

The power of simplicity.

And that’s why they are all

grateful for a gift
that is extortion.

 

They spruce you up
for the passage of the wealthy,

heavy set in their movement,

but fast to rule
the world.
In offices and hotels,
banks and lounges,
amidst mercenaries and whores.

 

Give thanks.
No houses
where to rest in peace.

 

Their souls are lying low.
Struggling, no longer sure on where they are.

Names are long forgotten,
and there is not a place
to sit, and wait for someone.

 

It is my fault,
or is that everyone is nowadays better off

in the world.
Like those birds, in a cage,
that still sing,
and you can’t figure out why.
Have you heard me sing?

 

I feel at peace when I am with you.

Sudden laughter.
The night, too,
in darkness, your darkness,

I can better see the sky.

And I’m not afraid of you.

 

Enough of this

silence.
That brings death.

 

Where has desire gone?

 

That ridge you call memory
is for the living,
those who know how
to be alive without forestalling death.

Can you smell the almond trees?

 

I will be emptied by things

with no history.

It is the veins and the streets

that decide for us.
Our body is all
that we own.

 

So tell me where it is,
where is my body?
If my head has lost awareness.
If I am cold,
and there is noone that have me,
and wakes up with me, and embraces

the night, the streets
on beds-rafts that cross
the darkness,
the public space
of our remembrance.

 

They will circle you.

A sense of wellbeing

is the happiness they seek.

Coming and going
taking without giving
fearful of odours that mark
the boundary, and make it different.

Better keep the same old.
It does not surprise.
And there is no rising
and there is no fall.

 

Today I saw swallows racing.
And I thought of those children
who misspeak the same language
and fly in vain around the New Towns.

 

I saw them dancing
in a pliant fight
suspended, unaware.

Perhaps they will take roots

oblivious,

with eyes forward
because there is nothing back.

Having crossed that ridge

they will know what to do

without any memory left.

Curated by

Giovanni Cocco, Caterina Serra

Text by

Caterina Serra

In collaboration with

h films

Category
MACRO, XIV edition