Before the time die

Photo by JB, 2017

 

Before the time die
rolling so fast each instant to the next
till it wastes itself and my green
become like straw far-back dried out
 

Before the time go over
like each thing in a breath of nothing,
as the light in the evening, when the night
leads everyone to moan about the Absence
 

Before the time die
hiding me and each thing in a distant past,
like an instant born already old
and so something grab me when I’m upset
 

Until my time begin as new flower
true yet elsewhere, eternal, as promised
I want to be for you love but so honest,
love that seek in you God, way and meaning

 

July, 18th 2017

 

Italian version

A calm joy

St.Julius Isle, Orta Lake, J.B., 2013

 

Ancient myths tell us stories about
poisonous snakes and dragons and evil
nestled into this gloomy black island
filled with pagan and perverse rites

Now a calm joy invades every bay
and the same happiness welcomes us.
Black nuns bent under the weight of years
and novices both smile happy: they’re light

The millennial basilica is painted
with the colours of that old time life,
with the current certainty and with
the so serene song of women peace

I would like to find my peace path too
and at present time my way to joy.
Every wave here is whispering sweetly,
firmly however the hope really now

 

June, 26th 2016

 

Italian version

Eugenio Corti died

Eugenio Corti died. I did not meet  him, but once I red his “The red horse” and after that I looked for all his books. I liked a lot his words, his way of write. Yesterday there was his funeral, and some friends of mines went there: I had to work.
It is not useful now talking about him, his literary and social importance; he is one of the most important Italian novelist and perhaps even more.
He is catholic, as me.
To remember him, a lover of words, of his people, of the Alps, of the music and especially of Christ, I post the translation of a beautiful song, sang during his funeral.

God of the sky (by Bepi de Marzi)

God of the sky, Lord of the mountain tops
from the mountain you claimed our friend

But we pray you, but we pray you:
high in the Heaven, high in the Heaven,
let he can go
onto your mountains.

Holy Mary, Lady of the snow,
cover with your white and soft mantle
our friend, our brother:
high in the Heaven, high in the Heaven,
let he can go
onto your mountains.

Epifania – Epiphany

from Nativity, by Catherine Hardwicke

Nessun post per Natale: è grave. E’ grave perché segno di qualcosa che manca.
In questo contesto, l’Epifania è l’ultima possibiltà e mi ci aggrappo.
E’ stato il 2012 a distrarmi: un anno da cancellare e passato tra malattie, morti, un lavoro sempre più pesante e precario eccetera.
2012: l’anno in cui è nata Judy Barton, un eteronimo, solo un eteronimo, una donna di cui ancora non so se dire bene o male.
2012: un anno iniziato proprio in gennaio, subito dopo l’Epifania, e trascorso con questo insopportabile groppo allo stomaco.
No, non è la fede in te che mi manca, Signore. Mi manca l’evidenza della tua signoria su di me, anzi, nemmeno: mi manca l’accettazione di tale signoria.
Il mio cuore resta così separato dalla mia ragione e navigo a vuoto.
Mi hai fatta libera ed io uso regolarmente questa libertà contro di te, ossia contro di me: perché il mio bene sei tu, quel “tu” entrato nella nostra carne attraverso una Donna e manifestato subito a tutto il mondo. Ai Re Magi. Attraverso i Re Magi.
Dopo un anno così, nella consapevolezza che il mutare del calendario non è che una convenzione e che il 2013 non potrà essere diverso dal 2012, che ti posso chiedere?
Se lo merito, prendimi e portami in Paradiso. Ti prego.

Madreperla iridata sovrasta
desolati silenzi contratti.
La pianura gelata mi specchia;
senza gioia è la neve sull’erba

Sbricciolati bilanci e contesti
privi d’ogni importanza, disfatti
si ripiegano, inutili e ghiaccio.
Di un’immensa stanchezza lo sguardo

So che vieni comunque e che resti
delicata e discreta presenza.
Se vuoi, prendimi adesso, ti rendo
la mia libertà: fanne sostanza

Epiphany

No posts for Christmas: it is quite a serious thing. It’s a serious thing because it’s sign of something missing.
In this context, the Epiphany is the last chance, so I cling to it.
It was the past year to distract me: an year to delete and passed between diseases, deaths, work increasingly heavy and precarious and so on.
2012: the year in which Judy Barton was born. Judy Barton, a heteronym of mine. Is Judy Barton good or bad? I don’t know.
2012: a year just started in January, just after the Epiphany, and spent with this unbearable lump in my stomach.
No, it is not the faith in you that I miss, Lord. I miss the highlight of your lordship over me, nay, not even: I am still in the acceptance of this sovereignty.
So, my heart is separated from my reason and I sail without goal.
You made me free and I regularly use this freedom against you, that is against me: for I know that you are my good; you, that “you” who came in our flesh through a Woman and immediately was showed and gived to the whole world. To the Magi. To the world through the Magi.
After such a year and in the knowledge that the changing of the calendar is only a convention, thus the 2013 will not be different from the past year, what can I ask to you?
This: if I deserve it, take me and bring me to the Heaven. Please.