@kork75 7 November 2020

Songs that are poetry

**Piero Ciampi** (Livorno, 28 September 1934 – Rome, 19 January 1980) was an Italian singer-songwriter https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piero_Ciampi Young people may not even know its name, but its strength, its sincerity of expression, bring its song back to the most dramatic line of 1950s poetry, and its memory has remained in the hearts of the most mature generation of Italian songwriters. A bitter, ironic and sweet poet, he lived his story of words and drinks and when Piero Ciampi left, he was 45 years old, hectolitres of wine and tons of tobacco had slowly but surely consumed him, making him reach the end of his life, thus completing his obstinate work of self-destruction, the result of an inescapable, lacerating existential discomfort. In seventeen years as a singer-songwriter, he had barely recorded four records and had managed to make himself hated by most of his colleagues, collaborators, impresarios, public and critics. In short: the ingredients were all there to make him an absolute cult figure. After all, he was the first and only cursed poet that the Italian song has ever had, painful and bizarre figure of bohemian on the road never reappeared on our music scene. https://youtu.be/9cfgyLH4T_4?list=PLIoTnIuVV86xgDlLMQxUbW4Dsalw1I0Js Very few people followed him when he was alive, almost forgotten when he died, he is almost never talked about, his songs today considered unsalable must be rediscovered and paid homage because of their rare poetic intensity supported by music that is certainly not banal but certainly melodic. The author had adopted a hybrid form of narration that mixes documentary and fiction and the first to appreciate it and recognise its greatness as author and performer were some friends and fellow songwriters. They spoke of him as a person who was often indisposed, unbearably aggressive and vulgar, this is Ciampi, fed by the legend that wants him always contemptuous and free and that merges the singer-songwriter and the man were as if they were exactly the same thing: poignant and quarrelsome, ironic and dramatic, licentious, wild, violent. Then there is the other Piero Ciampi, the helpless, fragile and kind, who every now and then, despite everything, manages to get out, like that time when, as usual without a lira in his pocket, in order to get his daily dose of alcohol, he proposed a barter to his landlord friend: he gave him his passport in exchange... And so that the whole thing was not just a colossal drink, with the bottle of wine he also asked for a red rose. **Ha tutte le carte in regola (**Album "Andare Camminare Lavorare" 1975) Ha tutte le carte in regola Per essere un artista Ha un carattere melanconico Beve come un irlandese Se incontra un disperato Non chiede spiegazioni Divide la sua cena Con pittori ciechi, musicisti sordi Giocatori sfortunati, scrittori monchi Ha tutte le carte in regola Per essere un artista Non gli fa paura niente Tantomeno un prepotente Preferisce stare solo Anche se gli costa caro Non fa alcuna differenza Tra un anno ed una notte Tra un bacio ed un addio Questo è un miserere Senza lacrime Questo è il miserere Di chi non ha più illusioni Ha tutte le carte in regola Per essere un artista Detesta lavorare Intorno a un parassita Vive male la sua vita Ma lo fa con grande amore Ha amato tanto due donne Erano belle, bionde, alte, snelle Ma per lui non esistono più È perché è solo un artista Che l'hanno preso per un egoista La vita è una cosa Che prende, porta e spedisce **It has all the cards in order** It has all the cards in order To be an artist Has a melancholic character Drinks like an Irishman If he meets a desperate Does not ask for explanations Divides his dinner With blind painters, deaf musicians Unlucky players, stunted writers It has all the cards in order To be an artist He is not afraid of anything Let alone a bully He prefers to be alone Even if it costs him dearly It makes no difference Between one year and one night Between a kiss and a farewell This is a miserable Without tears This is the miserere Of those who have no more illusions It has all the cards in order To be an artist Hates to work Around a parasite He lives his life badly But he does it with great love He loved two women so much They were beautiful, blonde, tall, slender But for him, they no longer exist It is because he is only an artist That they took him for a selfish Life is one thing Taking, bringing and shipping