Giulio Magrini started writing poetry in the early 1970’s, and takes most of his inspiration from the darker sides of human nature. He has performed at Three Rivers Arts Festival, and other venues in Pittsburgh. Giulio has conducted poetry workshops in alternative high schools, prisons, drug and alcohol rehabilitation centers, and hosted a radio show for local poets. He was asked to perform one of his poems, The Pittsburgher, as an elegy honoring the late mayor Richard Caliguiri before the Pittsburgh Symphony at Point State Park before a 4th of July crowd of over 100,000 people. That poem is now archived in the Heinz History Museum. He has recently been published in many important and intimate presses like Dumpster Fire, Alien Buddha, and others. Magrini has always preferred the performance of his work over publishing. This work is a preview of a book of poetry and prose to be released later in the year.
Historical obscurities Fall from the poet’s tender lips In drops of solemn black rain Open-mouthed listeners Stare bug-eyed Comatose Scrunch their eyebrows Do the heroin nod Blissful smiles portend An indecipherable clarity of understanding The disciples Are under sedation The poems of icons Are venerated quietly In shadows and rows As the artiste masturbates Fifteen-watt bursts Of antiquated mystery and symbolism Golf applause Golf applause Who can appreciate The mysteries of the gifted? Watch them slowly now As they scratch bleeding fingers Into the stony dirt To praise truth and beauty Defined today As a cloudy day In the tomb These trembling mystics Posture and quiver their art It is spun to us This is the language of prophets And the prisms of the Lord Within the radiating jurisdiction Of publicity men That may be known As the beat and swirl Melody and word man Initiates a brilliant twilight separation Between those who are artists And those who are not We are told of their muses Voices And foggy peculiarities They’re complex and neurotic Zealots of the first order Undisciplined in the use of Controlled substances And it is whispered They empathize With minority causes Artists feel pain we can only Hope to feel We are apprised This is the artist’s mystique Oh ladies and gentlemen Thank you Thank you very much I have two special friends Who close their letters With the phrase, “In poetry” How right they are Everything Is “In poetry” Not poets But people People who write poetry Do it because they must Poetry is their natural continual reflection Everyone must write because We are the people and Our voice is true
DISCOVERING WE ARE EXTINCT
INTRO In the remarkable aspect of time Grotesque merges to familiar Infiltrates the caress of phantoms Pirouettes of lunacy Straddle the boulevard Overlords march in Shrouds of patrician pink To goose-step directives and Pound a tempo of bureaucratic chic I can hear them Chanting in contentment While they prey over me I chirp my schedule To the numbed associated entirety And appreciate that Zombies cannot explain my load Or advise how to discretely carry it As I continue to converse With flattened stone At the very brink of deluge I am promised anesthesia Temporary abatement From the beatings and slander A kindred spirit promises That I am alright And whispers I will never be alone
DISCOVERING WE ARE EXTINCT
I see my rippled image In the diluted lakes of your eyes Where is the cleansing of salt That intermingled between us? It has occluded inside me Where it preserves my vitals Crystalline and dormant I become the focusing Through the fog I remember whimpering promises Before the bruises and bleeding But my congealed cadaver Is displayed in disarray In a land absent of rainbows There is no dispensation In a state populated by the dead Where the only legacy Is that the obsolete Cannot be damaged beyond extinction We are the undiscovered fossils Beneath the steps of the living Dry bleached and lifeless The memories of our bones Loiter under the abiding mess Obliged that no one examines The failure of our remains