ORLO

The poet wrote it.
Mendittorosa transformed Edge to our second Versi Studio.
In respect for all who fight demons and go to the Edge. For those whose garden grows numb.Who needs more land to expand and to let the light inside.
Sylvia Plath was a poet of immensity.
Her Opus was superhuman.
Her special work, erected as if it stood between her unsecure emotional condition and the edge of the abyss. The art was not to fall.

EDGE (THE POEM)
The woman is perfected.
Her dead

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare

Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.

Sylvia Plath, “Edge” from Collected Poems. Copyright © 1960, 1965, 1971, 1981 by the Estate of Sylvia Plath. Editorial matter copyright © 1981 by Ted Hughes. Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Source: Collected Poems (HarperCollins Publishers Inc, 1992)

VERSI THE PACKAGING
Each flacon in the Versi trilogy will have a hand-crafted wooden cap and a hand-incised tablet with a symbol unique for each fragrance.
For Orlo it is the snakes from the poem.

The flacon is housed as usual in the classical Odori d’Anima wooden box, inspired by emblematic transportation cases used for the protective shipping of art works.