Signum et somnium

I took this pic in a Cica Ghost‘s installation

I was not able to translate into English these words better than so: here most of the original sound and rhytm is lost. I apologize. The expression “Lexical assonances” is without sense in the English version, so I used a Latin title, “Signum et somnium”, sign and dream. The word pun is better in Italian: “segno e sogno”.

Sign and dream: there’s a hiatus
where incongruous substance
loses facts, loses hopes
in the return of Fatus

Sign and dream as distances
where my mind easily misses
reality of this days.
Lexical assonances

Sign and dream: evident
degradation of urgencies
losing any my patience.
Now it’s dark and You are absent

So sign alters in dreams:
time full of each bad sloth
nourishment of sins, vices
and degrades my deep needs

April, 13th 2024

Italian (better) version

Into the mud

Pic found here

 

I threw colours in black, slimy mud,
a delirium made by senses’ lie

So I squashed
my flowers
into mud

 

April, 5th 2024

 

Italian version

2024 Easter eggs

 

Again, like we do each time, me and my family painted our Easter eggs. My ones are only three of them.

I wish you peace and happiness in this Holy Easter.

 

Italian version

 

Time of flowers

JB

Time of colours, of flowers, of life
time when exploding buds show their power
all around to everybody, to me
to my soul often sad, without memory

Time of deep blue, the deeper of ever
time of sweet breeze that tickles my skin
while reminding that all is made new
and that also I can be new, free

Time to arise once again, without sins
time when God shows His power of Love
time when we betray and kill our Lord.
Once again Resurrection. For ever

Quoniam tu illuminas lucernam meam, Domine
Deus meus, illumina tenebras meas (from the Ambrosian liturgy)

March, 30th 2024

Italian version

I’ve some flowers

JB

In the still sleepy green countryside
delicate whiteness spreads itself, where
blossoms of the plum trees now awake
are a wonderful hymn to a new spring

Even poplars are reddening buds
yet they spread a light bitterness scent
maybe foretelling the brevity
of each thing so fast passing in time

I’ve some flowers but they are now scarce
and my buds have turgours of old age.
Don’t let I yearn for you in this bed:
this night I hug you tightly and so close

March, 19th 2024

 

Italian version

San Gimignano towers

San Gimignano, JB. Sorry for this so bad photo, yet it was almost raining

Stone and pride were to make them so high,
not as a cry toward that secret blue
but instead dare to strength in the world:
banner of wealth and glory. No more

Towers built so from both stones and pride
they are still soaring on cotto tiles,
marvel of houses and palaces too,
sundial measuring the ancient bloodline

Now my tower is steeped in the
time of past things so that often falters.
Pride remains, like pathetic remnant
of old sins and past strength and that’s all

February, 12rd 2024

 

Italian version

Giotto crucifix

Photo by me, that day, February, 17th 2024

Gorgeous wood, medieval golden gem
beautified and enriched through the years
and by thousands and thousands of looks
and both prayers and sighs and hopes too

Multitudes, men and women and children
came to you like I too now am here
to meet you and you appear unexpected
suddenly while one turns the transept

As a pilgrim or tourist I add
me to ones who came or come to you
you, religious memento or art thing
to consume among beauties in Florence.

March, 3rd 2024

 

Italian version

 

Pinocchio or being a creature. 4 Judy (part two)

2. Judy – part two

But real life always is
consistency
of its call toward origin, truth,
to all is right, which is beauty

So life does not forgive those selections
that deny truth and right,
that reduce everything
to the prideful instinct of their worthless ambition.
Because I did want be from myself
yet each knows to be made.
I didn’t ask for my life, nor I did
not ask for really anything.
While disowning the creator, in fact,
I denied only myself, me. That.

Thus I lost myself, several times,
many times I returned like some wood
incapable of being and to love.
Many times I got back daughter too
many times I was blasphemy again
many times I was back only a puppet,
on my feet and hands ropes: only puppet
of another’s bad will.
Only a weak twig in an alien flow.

Hedonism took me roughly
only to have fun was then my hope.
I had sex even with no true love
and my spirit was the animal one,
when my soul died I was just a beast
sad and angry and violent too
I was led from my bestial instinct

Creator’s charity and mercy,
constant love and forgiveness
were so great towards me;
also now, when I know everything,
when I know that I’m free only if
I accept my true nature, now too
I return to be blasphemy, again,
even now He takes me and remakes
me Who wanted me and wants me perfect.

Only if I do not deny my
awareness I go free, across the world,
like a daughter who yearns for embrace
that gives sense to each thing and reveals
values that imbue any existence.
I am free with my Father by side,
made new and appropriate and perfect
as a woman as she really is:
towards Who made me and made each thing
a breath that includes everything
that saves each thing and understands all.
And that saves even this so poor me.

The end

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Italian version

Pinocchio or being a creature. 3 Judy (part one)

2. Judy – part one

Before I was, I was loved.
So I was, then I was.
And that is why I was.
Because I was wanted, so I was.
I was done.
Because another wanted me, because another loved me.
I was called to life.
Before being me, He wanted me.
Because He loved me first, because He wanted me first.
So I was.

It doesn’t matter if I came from clay,
from a rib or a log of pine wood.
It doesn’t matter if were many years
and millennia and millions of eras
that made me woman coming from nothing,
working on genes and weird concoctions
of each organic complexity.
I took shape from a log of flesh, from
useless masses of flesh.

In a womb: there my body took shape.
Then they added my arms and my legs.
Into me
life was breathed: I had
without merit both words and a conscience.
I went out in the world in tears cry
And I moved to that breast and then
I had word and my skills as a girl.
Often I was just as a pastime,
like a puppet incapable of love.
Non capable of both good and beauty.
Anyway all this was not enough.
I was given a human conscience.
I was given my freedom.
Without merit, free gift,
after being I had everything.
I was made and I was similar
to the daughter He wanted. I was
so a daughter.
I was free: as an angel on Earth.
I was almost an angel on Earth.

But I chose pride as my interest
therefore malice and almost bad conscience
did want me free from all needful ties.
And he was so freed from each my bond,
no longer I was daughter yet
only enough for mymself.
I rejected my daughterhood, so
choosing my freedom flawed
like Eve did.
Because always sin is the same thing:
make myself as god and then trust it;
then I lost daughterhood.
I denied my true nature.
I only wanted to be myself.
I, a creature, wanted to be as if
I were made by myself,
an illusion that always can grip
in mankind
each afflatus to freedom in men.
And in women.
I, a creature, made me as my god.
I became my own father, my god.
So did Eve and do after her
every daughter of Eve.
So did Adam and all his poor race.

It doesn’t matter if I came from clay,
from a rib or a log of pine wood.
It doesn’t matter if were many years
and millennia and millions of eras
that made me woman coming from nothing,
working on genes and weird concoctions
of each organic complexity.
I took shape from a log of flesh, from
useless masses of flesh.

I, creature, made me as my god.
I made me as my father, my god.
I made me as my mother, my god.
I made myself my own only god.

to be continued …

 

Next episode

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Pinocchio or being a creature. 2 Pinocchio (part two)

Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn, 1669. The Return of the Prodigal Son (particular).

1. Pinocchio – part two

But real life always is
consistency
of its call toward origin, truth,
to all is right, which is beauty.
So life do not forgive those choices
that deny truth and right,
that reduce everything
to the prideful instinct of their worthless ambition.
Because he did want to be from himself
yet each knows to be made.
For the self made man is just only a joke.
While disowning the creator, in fact,
he denied only himself, him. That.

Thus sometimes he lost his creator,
and sometimes he returned marionette
and sometimes he returned a son
and sometimes he was blasphemy again
and sometimes he was back only a puppet,
on his feet and hands ropes: only puppet
of another’s bad will.

Hedonism took him roughly
only to have fun was then his hope
and his body became animal
when his soul died he was just a beast
sad and led by strangers everywhere

Creator’s charity and mercy,
constant love and forgiveness
were so great towards him
till he knew everything
and he knew that accepting his nature
was his feasible freedom.

And again and perfect he was made.
And again he was son and his father by side.
And then he was free across the world
And he was a man as
each man truly is made:
towards Who made us and made each thing,
a breath that encompasses everything
each thing saves and knows too.
And this poor thing was saved.

to be continued …

Next episode

Previous episode

First episode

Italian version