The loss of the Chimera

I left Istanbul to retire in a quiet place to meditate and write. I am in the old land of Lycia. I was placed in a bungalow on the Mediterranean Sea. Everything here seems wonderful. There is a long and semi-deserted beach, at night the turtles "caretta caretta" are born leaving the shells on the beach. Nearby are the ruins of the valley of Olympos, and the mountain of Chimera with its will-o'-the-wisp. This was a well known and attended place by all the Mediterranean civilizations, Phoenicians, Greeks, Venetians.
2 days ago died Fernanda Pivano. I do not know why, but 2 days ago, before learning the news, filling the bag, I pulled a book of poems of the Beat Generation that I bought way back in 2001 in the famous bookshop "City Lights" in San Francisco. When I heard the news of her death, I was amazed. Not opened this book for many years and I don't know why during the last visit to Italy I decided to bring it here in Turkey.
So yesterday, the first day of sea, have led me on the beach and I have read. I thought of Fernanda Pivano. I thought that in this moment of mystification of art and literature in Italy, she is still all we need. If large shares of publishing market are in the hands of the Berlusconi family, if the mass communication is converted into regime information system, I wonder (and if I do it it's because I paid it on my skin) as you face to discern the approval of the court jesters who entertain and distract the mass as well as the sovereign, by the culture of those who don't trust the system and in particular those who with this system will not ever come to compromise.
Yesterday I saw a video in which Fernanda Pivano interviews in the 60's Jack Kerouac. Jack is drunk, even arrogant and out of tone. Fernanda treats him for what he is, an artist and a man who can not even answer the question: "are you happy?". She respects him as a man, with all his weakness and frailty, and admires him as an artist. That's it.
Some years ago I happened to chat briefly with Fernanda Pivano. In fact, the reason was obvious, I was there to ask her to dedicate her book to me after waiting for 30 minutes in a queue after a meeting with the author in a library in Milan. I remember this episode because it actually lasted a few minutes beyond the time of the dedication and we spent almost all just quarrelling. When it was my turn, without much attention to give me, she asked me my name. I said:
<<Michelangelo>>. And she:
<<Yes, but the surname?>> without even look at me in the face. I:
<<No, the surname is not important. Michelangelo is enough>>. She:
<<The surname?>>. I:
<<Really, Michelangelo is enough>>.
Then she lost patience (and finally looked at me in the eyes):
<<Look, are 30 minutes now that I sign books, look at that line how many more are there waiting. I don't want to lose patience. Want to say your surname or not? >>.
<<It is not necessary, for me only the name is enough>>. Then she began to scream and all the people in the library has turned:
<<But how I can always find someone who makes me lose my self-control? Then, tell me your last name>>. I:
<<No, doesn't matter, then I can also do without dedication>>.
<<Listen, but then you have something with me, you want to make me angry...>>.
<<Listen, my last name if you want I can say, but I'd rather not have it in dedication>>.
<<First, tell me>>.
<<Here, then. And then you should be proud of your family name! By chance are you relative of Beppe Severgnini?>>.
<<You see, now you understand why I did not want to tell my surname, because I did not want you to make this question>>.
<<But you are relative or not?>>.
<<What a pity..>>.
<<Why? My relatives are more than enough for me..>>.
From there, we chatted for a while, I told her I was playing the contrabass in a play which put on the scene "The Spoon River Anthology" with her translation. I had the dedication and I left. Ah, I forgot. At the end, my last name was not written. She was really fierce and unreachable like the Chimera.

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