Le traduzioni che seguono, in lingua inglese, sono state realizzate con il prezioso contributo della poetessa Elena Cattaneo.
I wish it was snow this gap
a stainless white
and flowers skimming the evening.
I carry light suitcases, you said
I close the door slowly, I save
an unexpected glimmer out of it,
those soles of wind.
I speak the rifting blue, I watch over
the ring where the hands pray
the bleeding voice.
I stay here, hanging in this chrism
of silence. Steps that get lost
in a breath, the footprint that blakens the nails.
You remember them by disjointed
associations, heart drifts.
Like a flower bandana while
you set the table, or a snake
ring while you water
the garden or while dozing.
Or again, you remember a pedalo ride
you do not know when, and the sharp light. False.
Someone waving from the shore.
Deprived symbols, atoms
of dull stuff. Nothing noble
– perhaps we live on our losses –
nothing useful or just understandable.
However writing of it.
The art of forgetting.
With my eyes closed
Swirled in a vivid breath the air
like a strong amethyst wind.
Bore that tremor a blow of wings
crackled in green at the rough rinds
a vortex of steam and shadow.
Then it dripped a clear liqueur, watery
sweet of pollen, it rolled on the edge
and left a wake of resin.
Whiteness that surrendered, crashed the dawn.
I stood in that silence
in its very fragile word.
My awakening profaned it forever.
Gli stessi testi sono presenti anche sulla pagina personale del poeta in Italian Poetry
Alchemical instructions for composting
Collect and stack mown grass
walnut shells, coffee dregs
tea bags, bones, other good garbage.
Stir twice or three times a year, slowly
for triggering the cycle of silence.
From time to time water it, add
some other scum, surfaced from a forgotten
mirror. Press properly
like to restrain a dark hiccup,
a smuggled memory.
Then ripen fully, let time run
Its course, its gentle blade.
Sometime – after an earthquake of years –
a poem emerges.
(translation by Gabriele Codifava)