St.Sara

 

Salicornia rounds up herself reddish
in the flat sweep expanse filled with
salt that denies greener bright hopes.
Far I see St.Marie and its church
 

Life is eaten by salt, wind and time
every year and for years, for a lot.
It sits tired in a flat backdrop
longing for something that could protrude
 

Then beyond Little Rhone, then forward
where more water this water receives,
earth is fading into a liquid nothing
wall or pass to so different worlds
 

At the seashore strong violence gives
reason to sky and sea to be roar
against rocks and the stones of the port
that protect boats and reflux and me
 

Wind and water run over impulses
to be still, to be calm and to stay
as if everything were just like no thing
and each place were the same everywhere
 

There was time when Saracens came here
from that water, now only a background.
The church was both for people and bones
of the saints a safe fortress with crenels
 

In the crypt Sara waits among hundreds
of lights and she is hope for the ones
that now own no more place or that keep
too much lands in their heart. Here I pray

 

St.Marie de la Mer, April, 3rd 2018

 

 

Italian version

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Cold and peace

Picture by JB, 2018


Cold and peace. A stone church is deserted,
swindled out its old decorations,
all ruined, returned, again risen
surely pale yet now surely alive

There’s a silver cross, it’s as a flame
brightly shining. It hardens immanence
of tangible solace and hope too.
Inside it a Wood crosses our flesh
 

In the cloister, where it now survives
– it was sold – spring and warmth
exalt us like the beautiful apses.
Truly I regret old times of saints
 

Hammer blows on the face of my Christ,
all the heads ripped off from white angels,
columns sold, above all the stone graves
desecrated. Every space marred, spoiled …
 

Stupid beasts pushed out history
which built them and destroyed their own faces
so erasing each sense, beauty, hope.
Cold and peace and memory are left
 

St.Guilhem le Desert, April, 4th 2018

Relic of the Holy Cross, Angel without face, body of St.Guilhem. Picture by JB, 2018

Italian version

 

It is difficult to know who best deserves the title of Most Cretinous Philistine – the people who sold them [the columns of the cloister], those who bought them, or those who now decline to return them. The cumulative damage of these various acts of vandalism [begun with the French revolution] was so severe that it is now impossible to determine the number and sequence of its columns – or even the dimensions of the cloister

Black fires

Picture from here

 

I remember your eyes as two fires
even if black as black was the cape
that hid everywhere your face and the body
years ago, there, in the underground train

You seemed proud and contemptuous about
myself and all my so perverse world
too much free or perhaps I hurt you
staring at your so lovely eyes

You were Arab, maybe, anyway
from another world; you seemed me
really beautiful, so upright and sure
to be better than us, flabby and weak

I don’t know when I saw you, the year
when we met on that train, far in time.
In those days we had no fear or suspicion
about evil intention by Islam

Then the towers, the wars and the crazy
attacks made by your people … by you?
Our planet was wide at that time
now each thing changes and the Earth is so small

 

January, 16th 2018

Italian version

I need silence

JB, 2013

 

Now
I need silence
and cold.

I need time
to sink watches
I need time
to stop time
I seek thoughts
to kill thoughts.
 

I find
only empty bad thoughts
I find evil
the evil I am.
 

I was selfish and cruel
I need silence and cold
to freeze fantasies
So the emotions
can turn themselves to ice.
 

I need glasses
to see better me
I need ice glasses to
freeze my heart
to survive
Bye for now
bye dear friend

 

January, 30th 2018

Avatar’s dew

I found this photo here

 

Ok: that so dear friend told me something about another meaning of the word “dew” in Japanese language.
I wrote this stuff for that friend …

 

You were smile of the dew
upon green winter grass
You were light happy rain
in my spring among nights

You were dream in my life
that runs fast toward death.
That’s my sin: to be there
empty mask withouth flesh

 

February, 1st 2018

On the radio – A photo by Karma Weymann


On the radio, work by Karma Weymann

 

She is lost in a sad radio sound
lovely girl, young pale skin without shame
maybe thinking at something as blame
maybe waiting for someone as bound
 

She is lost in a past radio sound
looking at somewhere, when she had claim
to be happy, alive, when her aim
was to be owned, taken, so wound
 

She is lost in a love as a bound
stockings are as red passion, as flame
her chest needs to be handled: the frame
of a lost true big love never found

I am lost in a sweet dream, a song
from the past, lovely friend with no shame,
I am thinking to you as a flame.
We could think to be love, to be bound
 

We were lost in a sad radio sound.
I could not more be lie in a frame
where now each thing is changing to pain.
I want that you be happy and not wrong

 

SL, Blacklabel Exhibition, January, 27-28th 2018

To my poor friend

 

I’m not able to work today. I always control my mail and your blog.
My soul is emplty, full of fog.
My eyes are wet.
My heart is somewhere, lost, painful.

I was so selfish and so cruel to you: I was your evil. I knew it.
I did it anyhow.
In my language, it’s a mortal sin.
I built your evil. I hurt you.
Let me dedicate to you this song by Vasco Rossi, sang by Fiorella Mannoia.

 

That’s my bad translation of the lyric.

Sally walks on the street even without
looking at the ground
Sally is a woman who no longer wants
to make war
Sally has suffered too much
Sally has already seen what
can collapse upon her
Sally was already punished
for each distraction and weakness
for each honest caress
given just to not feel bitterness

Feel that it’s raining outdoor
feel its so nice noise

Sally walks on the road and she’s firm
thinking about nothing
by now she looks at the people
with indifferent manner
those moments when a glance moved upsets
and when life was easier
and strawberries could also be eaten are far away
because life is a shiver that flies away
it’s all a balance around the madness
around the madness

Feel that it’s raining outdoor
feel its so nice noise

Yet, Sally, maybe is just this the sense, the sense
of your wandering
maybe really we must feel ourselves
a little bad at the end
maybe at the end of this sad story
someone will find his courage
to face the sense of guilt
and delete them off from this trip
to really live each instant
and every its upset
as it were the last one

Sally walks on the road with light steps
now it is evening
the streetlights lights up
all the people run to home in front of their televisions
and a seed comes into her mind
maybe her life was not completely lost
maybe something was saved
maybe really not everything was wrong
maybe it was right so
maybe, maybe yes
What do you want I tell you?

feel that so nice noise