El agua pura de mi pobreza

When we approach the poetry of Ada Negri, a face that, as often happens with Lombard women, presents strong features although inhabited by a secret tenderness, we find a surprise: there is something intact that comes to us from her verses, a untamed energy, a challenge that remains open. If you visit 'their' places, the Lombard fields of Lodi and Motta Visconti, and you arrive there towards the end of the year, in the middle of winter, when things appear on the horizon tearing the veil of fog that unites heaven and earth in a white cast , you will see how each motionless tree on the plain, or flight of blackbirds and doves in the sky, or figure that runs along the edge of the ditches on foot or by bicycle, or low row of houses or sign of a bar, everything is 'an event'. In this feeling of life as an 'event', as an 'event' that appears, resides the primordial energy of Ada Negri's poetry. This energy continues to beat intact, alive, discreet in the reading of her texts.