“We have people behaving like robots. Tomorrow we’re going to have robots behaving like people” recently declared John Cryan when he was still Deutsche Bank CEO. To the ferocity of such a statement we can oppose the book by Lucianna Argentino, Le stanze inquiete (Restless Rooms), defined by the author as an aesth-ethics of work, which draws together the vividness of her poetic language and the purpose of giving back to work its full dignity and, most of all, its humanity. When I grow up I want to be a register, a little girl says to her mother, confusing the thing with the person. Treating them as one, clarifies the poet, whose writing draws upon her eleven-year experience as a supermarket cashier, childhood in her is mistaken, whereas in others it is commonplace arrogance. The same arrogance of the CEO I have mentioned at the beginning to introduce these poems as the instrument for a political struggle. Unlike the majority of contemporary poetry dealing with work and written by workers, Lucianna’s book is not immediately perceivable as “militant”: it doesn’t represent an open statement against her working conditions nor expresses the yearning for a revenge. But, given the context where we live these days, her writing is a strong political action: within a society in which workers are generally seen as mere tools enslaved to the profit of companies and the comforts of ‘consumers’, Lucianna firmly asserts the human relevance of work. Those who enter a supermarket do it to buy food or other items they need, those who work at the register do it to earn a living but first of all they are persons, and their added value compared to a self-checkout is inestimable. Lucianna effectively let it come to light by showing us a human comedy that often makes us smile, touches us, especially when it deals with the relationship between children and adults, and sometimes tugs at our heartstrings. Even when it deals with diseases, humiliations or terrible griefs such as the loss of a child, her writing never gives in to sentimentalism but is capable of arousing emotions consistently remaining neat, minimal, well-balanced. The poet draws her stories from her daily encounters with customers at the register and she just needs to mention a few details, a few words addressed to her or conversations caught on the fly to make us peep in the “restless rooms”, namely the lives of these persons. During her working day, Lucianna is always intent on listening, on creating empathy: as she informs us by quoting Spinoza at the beginning of the book, she is striving to “understand human things”. The brief and often repeated contacts with each customer allow her to establish relationships, exchange warmth, find food for thought and questions to ask herself. Conversely, sometimes she has to confront the indifference of those who keep their eyes down, don’t stop talking on the phone as they put the shopping on the counter, leave without saying goodbye and complain about the slightest thing. But, for better or worse, every single one of these encounters is something precious that Lucianna chooses to share with us encouraging us to take a peek at other people’s rooms to discover something about ourselves and in the end opening her own room to us. She does not hide the fatigue, the frustration she often feels during her repetitive days, her doubts and uncertainties, the effort to make room for poetry. What we get by reading this book is a very strong sense of humanity, tenderness, sharing, the loud declaration of the value of each person we happen to meet in our life. Even if it’s just for a few minutes, even if there is a plexiglas screen between us and the others, even if we are chased by the urging hours of our pitiless time.

Lucianna Argentino
Le stanze inquiete
La Vita Felice, 2016