The singer-songwriter who is studied in schoolsas an example of a contemporary poet.

Modena lies in-between Bologna and Parma. Its main source of economy is car manufacturing, including Ferrari and Maserati.Not only, it’s a city that is rich in culture, full of fantastic buildings and museums. Built in a Romanesque style, its Cathedral is a beautiful building, certainly also fo you the highlight of this city. In this town it’s kind of hard not to become obsessed with food: you ned to go at Modena’s Mercato Albinelli daily market, where obsession will reach your wishes. The Enzo Ferrari Museum https://musei.ferrari.com/en/modena will be an immersive experience for you too, a place that contains the history of the founder of the car company that has made some of the most beautiful cars of all time. Some memories of Modena? The scale model of the legendary Ferrari F500 F2 1953 https://store.ferrari.com/it-sm/modellini-auto-1-18_cod7789028784781546.html#dept=Models-Scales_ICON_COLLECTIBLES along with the CD of a poet-songwriter who was born under this sky.

Growing up artistically, he never allowed himself to impose the rhythms of the record industry, preferring his musical pieces only when he felt he really had something to say. His artistic career began when he joined rock bands, discovering Bob Dylan. In the 60s he became known as the author of “Auschwitz” and “God is dead”, a song of profound spirituality. Born in Modena on one day in June 1940, FRANCESCO GUCCINI had spent the first years of his life in Pavana, on the Pistoia Apennines. After the second world war he returned to Modena, working as a journalist. In 1961 he enrolled at the University of Bologna, where he completed the exams but did not graduate.

Politician is his way of telling things, a way connected to a form of doubt expressed through a veiled irony. FRANCESCO GUCCINI loves to consider himself as an old storyteller, from whom he inherited a unique technique of its kind. Even today, he is studied in schools as an example of a contemporary poet. A fundamental moment of his musical creativity is an anarchic ballad inspired by a true story of 1893, a song that is considered as his anthem: “The locomotive”.

THE LOCOMOTIVE – I don’t know what face he had, nor his name with what voice he spoke, with what voice then he sang how many years he had seen then, what color his hair, but in my imagination I have his image heroes are all young and beautiful. I know instead the era of the facts, what was his occupation the first years of the century, machinist, railroad man. The days when the war started, the holy war of the poor the train seemed likewise a legend of progress, speeding over the continent and the locomotive seemed to be a strange monster that Man dominated with his thoughts and his hand, roaring it left behind it distances that seemed infinite it seemed to have inside a tremendous power, the same power as dynamite. But another great force then spread it’s wings, words that said “all men are equal”, and against the kings and tyrants it burst in the street, the proletarian bomb and it lit up the air the torch of anarchy. A train every day passed by his station, a luxury train, far destination he saw respected people, he thought of that velvet and gold he thought of the lean days of the people around him, he thought of the train full of lords. I don’t know what happened, why he made the decision, maybe an ancient rage, generations without name that cry out for revenge, they blinded his heart he forgot piety, he forgot his goodness, his bomb, the steam engine. And on the track was the locomotive, the pulsating machine seemed to be alive it seemed a young buck that, the brake just freed bit the rail with muscles of steel with the blind force of lightning. The other train ran unaware and almost without hurry, no one imagined it was headed towards revenge, but at the station in Bologna arrived the news in a flash notice of emergency, act with urgency: a madman has launched himself against the train. And meanwhile it runs, runs, runs still harder and it runs, runs, runs, runs toward death, and nothing by now can hold back the immense destructive power it waits only for the crash and then arrives at the mantle of the great consoler. The story tells us how the race ended the machine rerouted along a dead line with the last of his animal yells the machine erupted red hot metal and lava it exploded against the sky, then the smoke spread its veil they picked him up, he was still breathing. But we like to think of him still behind the engine, while he runs the steam engine away and that the news still reaches us one day of a locomotive, like a living thing.

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