Poggioreale
A photographic reportage between "Poggioreale Nuova" and "Poggioreale Antica"
[...]
My way moving instead back to the past, through the ruins of the village, whose memory is stronger than its architectural forms interrupted so far.
The winding is even stronger here, it moves the rusty window frames and swing the doors of the ground floor of those buildings, actually, without any cover.
I'm walking through the mounds of earth and plants, moving the branches of the largest wild figs and brambles with my hands.
A few years ago the brambles should have been more, and the secondary roads of the village virtually inaccessible. Presently, the entrance is clearly warning access "in any capacity", but it is like that the ghost town is fighting against the time. However, there is an association - "Ancient Poggioreale" - which is dealing now to slowing the time, considering the severe alert almost a joke. Let's entering all the visitors.
I was hoping to be alone, instead, there are other people that is lost in the streets of the town, trying to replace the sights, sensations and regain some signs of daily life. There is the classic perception of peace and mystery that is mixed with a willing for exploration. It seems to hear noises, probably sounds arising from the whistle of the wind. There are lost rural life between toil and deprivation, but still told by the smell of animals that occupied the stables, now invaded the natural vegetation. There are remnants of books and notebooks in the school building. There is Elimo Square, the real one, the scene of town meetings in the past and now sets for films: Tornatore took us for a walk in the film "Malena" and, a few years before, Joe Morelli with " L'uomo delle stelle". To be at the center of the space on the pedestal, to rebuild up the imprint of the Aragon dynasty in the composition of the village.
Is lunch time and you do not see anybody on the balconies, without railings, crumbling but fascinating. It again raises the wind, a music resonates through the walls. There is nothing and no reason why, if not the memory, but it happens to me to follow that music. I'm climbing the big stairs. I see the front of a church in the middle, an arch and a black goat to the side. It stops his browsing and watching me. I am also watching him, then I walk away, first to the exit of the village, then to the car, and, finally, driving on the curves, I come down.
