Pier Paulo Passolini by Craig Podmore
Pier Paulo Passolini
By Craig Podmore © 31.10.09
Resides on the barren wasteland of Ostia.
Wretched, political carcass crushed
By the evils of a capitalist fist.
Death, like in his art, brutal and relentless,
Life; the troubling sexualities of a non-conformist-
He saw society flawed, flagellated by consumerism.
His proletariat heart misunderstood like most.
The poet and a camera is well and truly mightier
Than any atom bomb.
He saw the apocalypse in people but you embraced it.
A messiah of Gramsci, a communist distilled in one’s flesh.
The violent young boys, masochist loves.
The animals in them had aspects of truth
He had so wantonly desired. Jury of socialisation
Slammed the gavel on you like Hiroshima.
The crucifixion of fascists and their coprophilia,
The brutalism, the homosexuality and the man;
The sign of your own cross, a non-conformed religion.
In the slums of Rome where elements of freedom roamed
But, with criminal hegemony. His films, allegorical statements
Against everything, celluloid fists of anger.
Salò; a cinematic, public execution for the ignorant,
His daunting Mona Lisa of cries.
The truth may have killed you my friend,
The truth all poets would kill for.
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