Word

Word

S.Quasimodo

Pic from here

You laugh at me, flaying myself for words,
bending around me in the straining elms,
the blue edge of skies and hills
and quivering waters’ voices,
wiling my youth
with clouds and hues
the light submerges.

I know you. Waylost in you
beauty lifts your breasts,
scoops to your hips and in gentle sweep
spreads over you shy sex,
flows down in harmony of forms
to the ten shells of your lovely feet.

But wait; if i take you,
you too become word to me, and sadness.

Salvatore Quasimodo – Traslation by Jack Bevan

This is one of the best poems I ever read. Better: one of my favourite poems.

So sensual and so sad both. Almost densperated. That “I know you” (Ti so in the original Italian version) bring us into a deep intimacy and meantime into an immense sadness.

Those two last lines are almost unberable and filled with a so great pain… Well, rereading it in these so strange days makes me understand better the poet and feel a sharp melancholy.

Original version (Italian)

Parola

Tu ridi che per sillabe mi scarno
e curvo cieli e colli, azzurra siepe
a me d’intorno, e stomir d’olmi
e voci d’acque trepide;
che giovinezza inganno
con nuvole e colori
che la luce sprofonda.

Ti so. In te tutta smarrita
alza bellezza i seni,
s’incava ai lombi e in soave moto
s’allarga per il pube timoroso,
e ridiscende in armonia di forme
ai piedi belli con dieci conchiglie.

Ma se ti prendo, ecco:
parola tu pure mi sei e tristezza.

Bad strong coffee

Pic from here

Strong black coffee I drank.
Now my mouth tastes bitter and thus
other lips would find testing my ones

To stand up, to be really upright
in this so weird, ill and naughty world
I need hugs and too cuddles: so blight
drops and I can be better than odd

No one can stand up, upright alone
each of us is just only a poor thing
our lives are all like a weak moan
we are as bird without any wing

Human beings … are such some poor thing
women, men, always thus: error prone
enough fragile to fall down, to cling
each day to someone else as a stone

Strong black coffee I am.
Like my mouth, tastes bitter me too.
Other lips wouldn’t test my ones more

SL, Elven Forest. June, 10th 2022

Pentecost strong wind

Pic from here

This strong wind now is ruffling
each leaf of any tree and sweeps up
my hair too. There’s a wave
made by freshness that strikes all my world

You are strong wind perturbing
every day my life and you sweep up
my sad being. You’re a wave
made by sweetness, comforting my world

Like a strong wind you’re ruffling
every leaf, every day and replace
my thoughts too. Your sweet wave
moves to love: you’re my world

But your strong wind is thinning
days and things to themselves and trips up
my conscience. Be a wave
again, go toward God and his world

You, my strong wind, don’t take
each aspect of my life, so please break
this my evil and be you the wave
that directs my old keel the world

June, 4th 2022

Italian version

Eros

Paint by Stefania Nicolini

I feel softness and urge takes my chest,
need to see your skin and to touch you
without fabric in between; dismay
into your gloomy eyes could calm down

I still crave love from you and your flesh
even modest I want lead to tense
up to a powerful shiver; your hands
come onto me, to frisk me everywhere

I am yours. Without veils I await
you, your lips cover through all the body
I give you. You drive me to that spasm
I yearn for, so maybe anguish breaks

My breast gives itself to you as well
my mouth and my round navel and my
narrow hole that makes female your wife.
You fill sweetness with love

We came to our evening, yet I
want you as when I gave myself to
you first time and we were really one:
body, soul, eyes and I was twenty

My first embrace was clumsy because
inexpert, we discovered flesh.
Our life then mutated its course.
Bring me to God again: I love you

Give me peace, restore me again, more;
I’m more wrinkled respect at that time
but expert. Love gasp takes me indeed;
You give me only each thing and we

will be concert

May, 29th 2022

Italian version

Xilocopa

Photo by me: that wistaria

Like solitary bee or a moth
that confuses her nights with each day,
anyway always greedy for scent,
my thought flies over wisteria flowers

My thought points itself as in racemes
on my wisteria hanging to ground,
drags me and it’s a so heavy thought
that would like to soar toward Your sky

Give peace and a more lively warmth
to my evanescent heavy flower
that’s a pale mirror to the deep sky
and, please, a clearer life
                                        and substance

May, 17th 2022

Italian version

A knot (to Eucie)

She, Judy, that place, that day

Light and air made you as a cute sylph,
golden matter and diaphanous too
warmth to hug to not sense to be alone.
Trying to love sometimes seems to hug ghosts

There’s a knot between right and left side
There’s a knot bounding your light thin silk
There’s a knot hiding shy female things
where your body becomes left or right

Into a knot there are sweet secret things
that knot makes walk and dream my poor mind
so I feel weak and silly my heart.
There’s a knot before intimacy

I need places to rest, putting face
in safe soft friendly warm alive place
as a child, as a pet looking for
a nice and pleasant shelter to sleep

I perceive a knot into my flesh
rooted there, where I need love and breaths,
a knot rooted so much into me
to force my soul to think sinful thoughts

I’ve a knot deeply into my deep
I see a knot hiding shivers of love
I’m a knot between heaven and hells
Solve that knot, let me walk on safe ways

Light and air made you as a cute sylph,
gentle matter and diaphanous too
warmth to hug to not sense to be alone.
Dreaming love sometimes is as hug ghosts

SL, Elven Forest, May, 13th 2022

Breath me, by Sia

Breath me

Sia Kate Isobelle Furler

Pic from here

Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And, the worst part is there’s no-one else to blame

Be my friend, hold me
Wrap me up, enfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up and breathe me

Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found
Yeah I think that I might break
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe

Be my friend,…

 

 

May, 8th 2022

 

Ser poeta, by Florbela Espanca

Ser poeta
F. Espanca

Pic from here

To be a poet is to be loftier, to be greater
To be greater than men! To bite like those who kiss!
To be a beggar and to give like he who is
King of the Kingdom of the Nearby and Faraway Pains!

To be a poet is to have the splendor a thousand desires
And to not even know what one wants!
To have here deep within a star that burns bright,
To have the talons and the wings of a condor!

To be a poet is to hunger, to thirst for the Infinite!
For helm, the mornings of gold and satin…
To be a poet is to condense the world into one sole shout!

And to love you, thus, madly…
To be a poet is to be the soul and the blood and the life in me
And to proclaim it to all the world, singing!

Florbela Espanca

Original version (Portuguese)

Ser poeta

Ser poeta é ser mais alto, é ser maior
Do que os homens! Morder como quem beija!
É ser mendigo e dar como quem seja
rei do reino de aquém e de além dor!

É ter de mil desejos o esplendos
e não saber sequer que se deseja!
É ter cá dentro um astro que flameja,
è ter garras e asas de condor!

É ter fome, é ter sede de Infinito!
Por elmo, as manhãs de oiro e cetim…
É condensar o mundo num só grito!

E é amar-te assim perdidamente…
É seres alma e sangue e vida em mim
E dizê-lo cantando a toda a gente!

https://youtu.be/DzeD-fO3DcM

Rain. A tribute to Terrygold by Kristine Blackadder

I already told you here something about this Terry’s beautiful and moving work.

There, I already tried to say something about a so nice Kristine’s machinima about “Rain”, the last art installation built shared by Terrygold into Second Life.
Well, this beautiful friend, Kristine, was not satisfied by her machinima, and felt her need to make more and better: thus, another video was born: “Rain by Terrygold”.
These so dear and clever two friends, Kristine and Terry, go on to grow better and better as artists.

This time Kristine gives space and dignity to the words used by Terry in her work. Kristine makes a beautiful machinima where Terry’s words are in great evidence, while into the original art installation our eyes and our minds are so captured by pics and landscapes that words are subordinate and for instance I self really did not give them their real importance and beauty.
The translation into English from the original Italian text was made by another dear friend, Annalisa Mulialina, while a fourth friend, Shyla, enhanced those words with her so pleasant voice.

Four clever and gentle and dear friend, four women from both the sides of Atlantic Ocean made this wonderful work.

I enjoy their work so much; I enjoy more and more their friendship with Judy.

This machinima was accepted into that so great SL event that is FantasyFaire 2022: it will be presented during the event scheduled on Saturday, April 30th, as showed below here.

And this is the event SLURL

Immortality & Easter eggs 2022

For though in the sight of others they were punished,

their hope is full of immortality.

Wisdom 3:4

I will be back to this hope next week, but now I say that yes, despite everything, my hope is full of immortality because the prophecy has come true and comes true and even in this strange 2022 Christ resurrects and confirms that the same fate will befall us. And I will see my mum and my dad again, indeed: I will see them for the first time as they really are and they will see me.

For the moment, here are our Easter eggs, like every year. I wish everyone a holy Easter, that is: may the meaning of life shows itself.

Italian version