Betocchi and de Libero’s ‘Novecento laterale’

In the 1960s and 1970s, the tone of their correspondence changed. Betocchi and de Libero felt increasingly estranged from the literary scene around them. The Neo-Avant-Garde, the Novissimi, and the new hierarchies of Italian poetry became the subject of often acrimonious debate. Around them appeared Pasolini, Dario Bellezza, literary journals, literary prizes, critics and cliques. The two friends comment from a detached, at times resentful, yet not purely nostalgic, perspective: they are still seeking a measure of authenticity, even when the public discourse of literature seems to have shifted elsewhere. It is precisely in the final years, when both feel themselves to be on the margins, that their dialogue becomes more intimate. They critique Montale’s *Quaderno di quattro anni*, discuss new poetry, and encourage one another to carry on. De Libero’s phrase — ‘we shall continue to write the silences of our solitude’ — sounds like an extreme pact, but also like a poetic manifesto.

The quality of this volume lies in the way it brings together documents and interpretation. The letters are not used as anecdotes, but as points from which an idea of poetry and, at the same time, a cultural geography emerge. The twentieth century that emerges does not coincide with that found in textbooks alone: alongside the major figures, an oblique network takes shape, made up of friendships, journals, private judgements and enduring loyalties. Betocchi and de Libero are not ‘rediscovered’ out of a sense of posthumous justice. They become necessary once more because they allow us to view the century from a less predictable vantage point: not from the centre of the movements, but from a peripheral zone where poetry, life, art and friendship continue to question one another. (274 pp.) by Francesco Venturi, dedicated to the friendship between Carlo Betocchi and Libero de Libero: a relationship that began in the mid-1930s and remained steadfast until de Libero’s death in 1981. This is not merely the story of two reclusive poets, but a journey through the century as seen by two observers on the sidelines, both of whom are difficult to categorise within the most familiar frameworks of twentieth-century literature.

At first, Betocchi and de Libero seem to belong to worlds apart. Betocchi moves in the circles of Florence’s Frontespizio, within the atmosphere of Hermeticism in which Carlo Bo is a key figure. De Libero, originally from Ciociaria but a Roman by adoption, moves instead in a milieu where literature and the visual arts constantly draw on one another: the Roman School, Scipione, the Galleria della Cometa, and the world of literary journals where poets and artists coexist without rigid hierarchies. The book clearly demonstrates how this initial distance does not prevent dialogue, but rather makes it all the more meaningful.

Betocchi carefully reviews de Libero’s early collections, Solstizio and Proverbi, at a time when the poet from Ciociaria was still little understood. Then came misunderstandings, hesitations and some friction. The turning point came when Betocchi got to know the Ciociaria region first-hand: only then was he able to delve more deeply into his friend’s poetic world, that rugged and mythical land which, for de Libero, was not merely local colour, but his very origin and obsession. From this springs a deeper understanding, which is also conveyed through texts such as Vino di Ciociaria and through a rich exchange on landscapes, memories and folk figures.

One of the most interesting threads in the book concerns Carlo Bo. Both authors have an important, yet very different, relationship with him. Betocchi engages in debate with Bo from within the Frontespizio, disagreeing on crucial issues without severing their friendship; de Libero, on the other hand, feeling misunderstood, severed ties in the early 1950s and only re-established them much later. Through these intersecting relationships, Venturi reconstructs not only two individual journeys, but an entire literary society: Florence and Rome, Catholicism and hermeticism, poetry and painting, major journals and ephemeral publications, central and peripheral publishers.

Betocchi emerges as a figure of extraordinary industriousness: not only a poet, but also a reader, a mediator and a cultural organiser. Following his time at Frontespizio, his role became pivotal at the radio programme Approdo and subsequently at Approdo Letterario, where he worked for years with almost artisanal dedication, selecting material, compiling issues, and keeping abreast of contemporary poetry even when it was far removed from his own tastes. This willingness to listen does not imply a lack of judgement. Betocchi knows how to be generous, but also firm; he follows younger authors, reads his friends’ work, and assesses new poetry without easy indulgence.

In the 1960s and 1970s, the tone of their correspondence changed. Betocchi and de Libero felt increasingly estranged from the literary scene around them. The Neo-Avant-Garde, the Novissimi, and the new hierarchies of Italian poetry became the subject of often acrimonious debate. Around them appeared Pasolini, Dario Bellezza, literary journals, literary prizes, critics and cliques. The two friends comment from a detached, at times resentful, yet not purely nostalgic, perspective: they are still seeking a measure of authenticity, even when the public discourse of literature seems to have shifted elsewhere. It is precisely in the final years, when both feel themselves to be on the margins, that their dialogue becomes more intimate. They criticise Montale’s Quaderno di quattro anni, discuss new poetry, and encourage one another to carry on. De Libero’s phrase — “we shall continue to write the silences of our solitude” — sounds like an extreme pact, but also like a poetic manifesto.

The quality of this volume lies in the way it brings together documents and interpretation. The letters are not used as anecdotes, but as points from which an idea of poetry and, at the same time, a cultural geography emerge. The twentieth century that emerges does not coincide with that found in textbooks alone: alongside the major figures, an oblique network takes shape, made up of friendships, journals, private judgements and enduring loyalties. Betocchi and de Libero are not ‘rediscovered’ out of a sense of posthumous justice. They become necessary once more because they allow us to view the century from a less predictable vantage point: not from the centre of the movements, but from a peripheral zone where poetry, life, art and friendship continue to question one another.