WHELLCHOME

Last september I participated to a comics' workshop organized by Claudio Calia (nuvoleonline.splinder.com) from "Absolute [YOUNG] Poetry Festival" (www.absolutepoetry.org).
I spent 3 wonderful and instructive days in the workshop, time flied. Concretely, exept a lesson about history of comics and some execises, what has been done was to transpose into graphic novel a poem.

In order to better understand the pages I also decided to add the poem. More over on the site of "Absolute [YOUNG] Poetry" (www.absolutepoetry.org/Dopo-Absolute-Poetry-2010-Ferrer-a) you can find works by the other participants to the workshop.

The white bycicle

Lyrics by Horacio Ferrer
Music by Astor Piazzolla

Did you see him. Certainly you too, sometimes saw him.
I'm talking about that eternal cyclist, alone, so alone,
that climbs the streets at night.
He wears the cuffs of his trousers inside his socks
and a beret pulled down to his ears, did you noticed?
Nobody knows, where in the heck he comes from;
it is never known where in the devil he goes.
Anyway, if you saw him pass by, look at him with plenty of love.
Perhaps it could be, again…

The skinny guy that had the white bicycle
whistling a polka was cruising the city,
the wheels looked pitiful, so small and square,
that the poor man entangled his beard in the pedal.

The bike handles were the horns of a goat,
behind on a cart he was pulling a fish and a loaf of bread,
panting like a puppy, he climbed the ravines
cheering himself up, shouting while pedaling:

"Go, God! … Go, God!,
with the heart, skinny guy.
You know that to win
is not getting there but continuing."

Everyone, meanwhile, on the sidewalks
rolling on the ground with laughter
we applauded him like crazy!
And he with romance novel eyes,
saluted and gave thanks,
and he used to repeat.

"Go, God!… Go, God!
Give it everything, go God!"

But, a certain night, his horrible bicycle with a trailer
began to cast an enormous fluorescent tail.
Unbelievable! The pickpockets were returning wallets on the bus;
the powerful were ending hunger;
the UFOs were revealing the mystery of piece;
the mayor himself was filling the potholes in the streets.
And even I, kid, I who am the heartaches,
I cried of joy dancing under that light the polka of the cyclist.

Later, I do not know, I swear to you, by what sinister rage,
I do not know why we did it, we did it without wanting!,
to the skinny guy, poor skinny guy, we assaulted him, and from behind,
his white bicycle we started to destroy.

We hit it like a punching bag, without remorse, hard, really big,
we turned it into a thousand pieces and, finally, I saw that he,
biting on his beard, shouted. "May I save you!",
he took a look at his bicycle, he smiled, he walked away.

Our old Skinny guy who art on Earth, how come you forgot
that we are not angels, but men and women?

Skinny guy,
don't be sad,
all was not useless,
don't loose Faith.
In a comet with pedals
pedaling and pedaling!
I know that you will return.