Recanati; City Of Poetry.

Recanati is a small town and ‘commune’ in the Province of Macerata, in the Marche region, founded around 1150 AD on top of a hill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This town is a hidden jewel, with its pretty maze of narrow streets surrounded by beautiful, historic buildings and churches and a fabulous, panoramic view of the countryside, the sea and the mountains.

 

 

 

 

Recanati is also a cultural town and hometown of tenor Beniamino Gigli [1890-1957] and one of the most popular Italian poets, Giacomo Leopardi [1798-1837], which is why the town is also known to some as “the city of poetry”. Indeed it is still possible to visit ‘Casa Leopardi’, the poet’s house, where he used to live and composed his most popular pieces of poetry. His progeny still live there and make sure that the authentic settings and spirit of the house remain.

Just in front of the house is a small, beautiful square which is the setting of one of Leopardi’s famous poems, ‘Il Sabato del Villaggio’ (Saturday Night At The Village). Down a few metres from here, you will get to the ‘Colle dell’Infinito’ (Hill of Infinity), the edge of the hill where the poet composed his popular poem ‘L’Infinito’ (The Infinity). In this great piece of work, Leopardi is inspired by the incredible view, only partially limited by a bush, which makes it possible to imagine anything behind it; It is an emotional journey through space and time infinity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Translating such a piece of poetry would be an unforgivable sin. Please enjoy it in Italian below. And if you wish, listen to Dustin Hoffman acting the poem in this short video made by the Marche Bureau of Tourism, which also highlights the beautiful landscape of the region.

 

Sempre caro mi fu quest’ermo colle,

e questa siepe, che da tanta parte

dell’ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.

Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati

spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani

silenzi, e profondissima quïete

io nel pensier mi fingo, ove per poco

il cor non si spaura. E come il vento

odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello

infinito silenzio a questa voce

vo comparando: e mi sovvien l’eterno,

e le morte stagioni, e la presente

e viva, e il suon di lei. Così tra questa

immensità s’annega il pensier mio:

e il naufragar m’è dolce in questo mare.