By Chiara Niccoli. Cover image byy Margie Mitchem.
Ilaria Maria d’Urbano, writer, poet, and actress, worked with Sergio Castellitto in Pupi Avati’s film Dante and in Inferno by Ron Howard. Graduating from the Centro Scuole Counseling e Psicoterapia in Florence, she holds seminars, experiential workshops, and conferences on “emotional dyslexia” and “pain as a resource”: «Every time I feel deprived of my anchors, when the ground shakes—as the protagonist of my novel *Alma il dolore agile* and the short film *Alma* says—I throw the anchor into the sky, and the invisible becomes the greatest resource. In exile we experience pain-poetry is pain that becomes aesthetic (experience through the senses, enter into pain as into joy with my whole self); exiled, paradoxically, we understand our place in the world, our vocation as human beings dependent on heaven, whose everything but breath can be taken away. It is the mystery of pain.» A former sprinter for the Italian national track and field team, she is an expert in deep meditation techniques and yoga. Her latest poetry collection *Mirra*, led to a collaboration between poetry and music, resulting in the performance *Parola: tra musica e poesia* with singer-songwriter Giovanni Caccamo, who wrote the preface to the work. Her novel *Alma il dolore agile*, with a foreword by Pupi Avati, became a film project for which Ilaria wrote the story and screenplay. This autumn, she will bring the power of *Antigone. Mourning and Love* to the stage. Her path is neat and safe: that’s how poetry becomes an art therapy for meditation and healing.
Poetry as an art therapy is a new trend we all should know and practice
How does your story begin?
It began with sports, which, speaking of pain, is a wound that will never heal. I used to run as a sprinter for the Italian national track and field team, but my Achilles tendon became worn out due to intense training. After years of trying to recover, I decided to let it all go and embarked on a twelve-year ascetic journey in a monastic community. That wound from my sports injury is the driving force behind many of my choices, and the movement I had to give up is now expressed in words, verses, and insights.
How has poetry been a form of healing for you?
Reading and writing have been a form of healing for me since I was very young. My father was a doctor and wrote poetry. He would call me into his studio in the evening when no one else was around, and he would read to me what he had written. It was a moment of deep sharing, listening, mutual care, and intimacy. Because poetic words are naked, they are born from the act of undressing, and when you speak them, you feel vulnerable.
Can poetry relieve pain and become a sort of art therapy?
Certainly, yes. More than by exorcising it, I would say, by “giving it a voice, making it sing.” When we sing, even if we are out of tune, we feel better, and the same goes for pain. It may not be the most beautiful verse in the world, but it will be the verse that gives me the right perspective. Writing makes me feel part of a whole because it makes me feel like I’m in the right place, connected to the world.
What words would be most useful to young people in these times, and why?
Attention, curiosity, presence, listening, wonder, love. Not just for young people but for all of us, probably even more so for those who have chosen to become fathers and mothers, parents. I would add one more word: discipline. As a former athlete, I can say that through discipline, in following the rule of the sun and moon that rise and set with tireless dedication, we discover that wonderful balance of rights and duties that allow us to grow in harmony and become better People.
How does poetry connect and inspire other arts?
I love the combination of different art forms. It’s beautiful when poetry merges with visual arts or when poetry intertwines with performing arts. I believe there is a mutual inspiration between them. The shared factor is being open to the other and to differences while acknowledging that we are all drawing from the same source: beauty.
Poet by profession: experiencing contemplation and meditation in a fast-paced world
Those are beautiful words! Just hearing them makes me feel more at peace. My profession is probably this: being a silent contemplative. I spend a lot of time in solitude, and I have been practising meditation regularly for 28 years. At times, I intentionally choose to be alone in order to create a space to dialogue with my shadows, to make my barren lands fertile. It’s from these moments of solitude that my poetry and writing come to life.
Is poetry an antidote to our times or a celebration, even, of shadows?
Shadows exist, and I look them in the eye, give them a name, and try to understand their language and what they want to tell me. This approach gives me a greater awareness of who I am and of my smallness. It gives me roots. The deeper the roots sink into the darkness, the higher the branches sing to the sky. Poetry is a silent revolution.
How is a poem created?
“Walking while writing poetry,” like Campana, in nature. Words, images, and sensations come to me suddenly, and I feel compelled to jot them down. Later, I arrange them, giving them a rhythm and musicality that makes my heart feel better and puts my thoughts in order. I hope the same happens for those who read my poems. Writing is a responsibility, not because others may find in us a model to follow. Using saintly words and then engaging in inappropriate behaviour should never happen. Writing is a responsibility as it should reflect who I am, and if there is no consistency between my words and my actions, I have failed.
A poet from the past and one from the present who have inspired you
Leopardi and Vivian Lamarque. Without a doubt. So different, evidently, yet so close.
