Francesco Pastonchi nacque a Riva Ligure, il 31 dicembre 1874. Per lui la poesia era tutto. L'aveva onorata dedicandole la vita. Come sua ultima volontà volle che sulla sua tomba fosse scritto solo: "Francesco Pastonchi, poeta".Fu anche un grande dicitore di versi propri e altrui. I propri li declamava in privato, ai piedi delle donne che corteggiava; i versi degli altri, in pubblico, con vocesoave e trasognata. Specialmente con le dizioni dantesche ottenne successi clamorosi in Italia e all'estero. Era un bell'uomo biondo, con gli occhi grigio-celeste, raffinato e scettico, parlatore affascinante, frequentatore del bel mondo. Si vestita con grande eleganza; si faceva fare gli abiti a Londra, le scarpe a Parigi, le camicie a Genova e prendeva le cravatte Milano. Aveva gesti lenti e l'aria distaccata di un principe, incuteva rispetto e metteva soggezione.Aveva abitato a Ivrea, a Grugliasco, ad Armadi Taggia e negli ultimi anni a Torino, dove morì il 29 dicembre 1953, a settantotto anni. Ma la sua vera casa erano stati i grandialberghi, i cui proprietari gli volevano bene e lo ospitavano per amore di poesia: a Milano al Continentale, a Roma all'Excelsior, a Venezia al Danieli. Vestiva un po' all'antica. Portava ghette color panna della stessa tinta del gilet, e faceva sfoggio di un bastone in malacca con una testa di bulldog in avorio come impugnatura. Aveva una vera collezione di gilet che gli servivano per mascherare le bretelle delle quali non poteva fare a meno per mantenere impeccabili le pieghe dei pantaloni, cosa a cui aveva sempre tenuto moltissimo dai tempi in cui era studente.Egli stesso amava ricordare che a quei tempi , ogni sera prima di coricarsi, ripiegava con cura i calzoni sistemandoli sotto il materasso. Quando fu chiamato all'Università di Milano Pastonchi entrava in aula con grande solennità e buttava il mantello all'indietro per farsi notare da tutti, però non aveva il servo pronto a raccoglierlo, ma solo il bidello che si riservava quest'onore.

Francesco Pastonchi was born in Riva Ligure on 31st December 1874. He considered poetry the most important thing to which  devote his life, and as his last will, he asked that a short simple sentence had to be written on his grave: “Francesco Pastonchi, poet”. He was also a great speaker of his own verse and other poets’. He used to declaim his verse in private, to the ladies he was courting; other poets’ verse, in public, with a sweet and dreamy voice. He obtained resounding success in Italy and abroad, particularly with Dante dictions.He was a handsome man, with grey-blue eyes; he was refined and sceptical, a charming speaker, frequent caller of high society. He was very elegant, he had his clothes made in London, his shoes in Paris, his shirts in Genoa, and he used to buy his ties in Milan. He had slow gestures and a prince indifferent expression, he awed and inspired respect. He had lived in Ivrea, Grugliasco, Arma di Taggia, and during his last years he had been living in Turin, where he died on 29th December 1953, when he was 78. But big hotels had always been his true real home, where the hotel keepers loved him and used to give him hospitality because they loved poetry: Continental Hotel in Milan, Excelsior in Rome, Danieli’s in Venice.He used to dress in an old-fashioned way. He wore cream–coloured spats in the same colour of his waistcoat, and he showed off a Malacca stick  with an ivory bulldog head-shaped handle. He had  a collection of waistcoats to hide the braces he couldn’t do without, to keep the trousers creases perfect. When he was student he used to fold his trousers carefully, putting them under the mattress.When he was called at Milan University, Pastonchi used to enter the lecture hall with great solemnity, he tossed his coat back in order to get everybody’s attention; anyway, he didn’t have a servant to pick it up, but only the caretaker had that honour.

PAESE NATALE

Lungo l'unica strada strette case

saldate insieme, frustate dal vento

marino che sa d'alghe e di catrame.

E il mare è lì, frange alle soglie, arremba

in secco i gozzi all'orlo della piazza,

getta barbagli nei fondachi bui.

Di là campagna tra muretti d'orto

e il gelsomino sul pozzo e la pace

mistica dell'ulivo che inargenta.

Liguria aspra e soave, tu mi stai

nel cuore. Qui visse le sue vigilie

di fanciulla mia madre, e qui posare

 dell'errabonda vita sarà dolce.

Along the only road narrow houses

joined together, lashed by the sea wind

smelling seaweed and tar.

And the sea is there, it breaks on the doors,

it boards the boats aground

at the edge of the square,

it throws glares into the dark stores.

Over there the country

among greengarden walls

and the jasmin on the well

and the mistic peace

of the silvering olive tree.

Rough and gentle Liguria,you are in my heart.

here my mother lived

her maiden’s watches, and it will be sweet

to rest after a wandering life.

Quando il poeta scrisse la poesia Riva Ligure era diversa da oggi. C'era una sola strada lungo la quale erano state costruite alcune strette case, unite insieme, che si sorreggevano a vicenda, colpite con molta violenza dal vento marino che odorava di alghe e di catrame.E il mare vicinissimo irrompe sulle soglie delle porte, trascina le barche dei pescatori sino al limitare delle piazze, allaga i magazzini creando luccichii abbaglianti.

When the poet wrote this poem, Riva Ligure was different from today. There was only a road, along which some narrow houses had been built, joined together, supporting one another, struck violently by the sea wind smelling seaweeds and tar. And the very close sea pours onto the doorsteps, it drags the fishermen’s boats until the edge of the squares, it floods the warehouses, creating dazzling glimmerings. Behind the little village there were cultivated fields bounded by stonewalls, there was a jasmin climbing on the well and the silvery olive tree giving a feeling of peace and quietness.Even if it was difficult to live there, Liguria was a pleasant and lovely land; and it was particularly dear to the poet, because his mother had lived there. He wished to be buried in this land to rest after his vagabond life.