Nino Martoglio

“Even the academicians who specialize in Italian literature have not shown, until recently, much critical interest in Martoglio. Very little has been written about him since his death. In the dialogue between himself and the personification of his book, Centona, which serves as a preface to the work, the poet himself complains that his poetry has not been given any attention by the “varvasapi allittricuti” (literary big-wigs) primarily because he has not known how to promote it correctly.”

“Martoglio embodies all his Sicily, the Sicily that loves and hates, that laughs and weeps and frets, using accents and a manner that here in Centona are incomparably expressed.”

“I saw grandfather take out of his desk I don’t recall how many yellow sheets. He read them one by one but then he hid a few of them inside an old bookcase. But he displayed such tenderness and care, such real affection and such jealousy, that I, as soon as he’d walked out the door, just had to sate my curiosity. For the most part they were just old love letters, and I was reading them when I looked up... Granddad was there... I mumbled some excuse... He threatened me with his old walking stick and added with a smile: “Just youthful scribblings!” But saying this, two tears streamed down his cheeks.”