Thank you Pope Benedict

Benedetto

A very gentle person, an extremely cultured scholar. Passionate about beautiful music, he said “to sing is almost flying”. Above all, he loved Jesus Christ and his church, as he reminded us with his last, moving, words in our world.

He also liked cats.

He was a clear and sure reference point, despite the never seen and delicate situation that he himself contributed to determine, for reasons that are unknown.

I am sorry that he left us and yet I am certain that he is now with the saints and that from there he can still help us navigate this fog.

Thank you Pope Benedict.

January, 5th 2023

But time flows. So also 2023 passes

neve 2019-min

JB, 2019

 

Nothing else but convention, but time
always flows and I can feel it passing
in my withering flesh, in the faces
of those who are ahead and so distant

The year gone took again many people,
few were born and my hope is so thin
like wrong violet grown in some winter
shrunken soon in the grey of its cold

This my evil chokes me and this heart
weeps embracing the fog that pervades
every motion and gesture, each thing.
Even here you don’t take me so far….

A lewd thought rises, hugs, envelops
me as if I were sweetness and girl.
A crow flies in the air made as pond,
indistinct dullness, and now I groan

Wars and death, pain, dismay and so on
doze this jaded, weak self within me
who yet neither rests nor stays awake.
Wash away blasphemy: she advances!

 

December, 31st 2022

Italian version

These grey days. 2022th Christmas.

DSCN0810-min

My Christmas scene 2022, today. He will be there only in a few hours. Detail. JB.

A very strange Xmas, this one.

I pray above all for my daughter. Please, Jesus, come again!

Oh, I know you’ll be here again, as i know you’re still here.

Yet show us you. Show us the Beauty. Our beauty too. Please do it!

 

These grey days, this my grey,
this grey that enters us
paint, change it
into a blue hope, please, do!
That’s no peace but sad silence

Her eyes show gloomy sadness,
those eyes,
that were merry and beautiful and
that are beautiful now.
I see dismay and grey in her eyes.
You can change them by showing a path

These black days, this my black
This black that permeates days
paint it, change.
This black that smells as death,
death of those missed, those
that are too many now,
You can lighten with bright green of leaves

You are the light of a world that lost its
meaning during so cold winter night,
groping in useless gestures, grey ones:
so it learnt violence, wars

Get in touch again, now
I await for You, You
come for me, for her and
for everyone too: we are ghosts
of what You would like we can be. We
miss You. Come and light up all, please.
We are waiting for dawn

These grey days, this my grey,
this grey that enters us
paint it, change
otherwise useless passes,
winter of thrills and beauty.
Give us joy and bright colours

 

A very weird December, 24th 2022

 

Italian version

 

Perhaps

 

angelo

Pic by Dony Mugnai, found here

 

When you say “perhaps” you
talk about something vague
that might be or might not
something maybe you’d like
it to be. It’s a hope, maybe vain

“Perhaps” sounds as a breath
come from nowhere, as breeze,
fresh air moved by my mind,
breath from odd thoughts, from hide
spots of brains, hearths, of urges
born as mere odds, as chance

So “perhaps” refers to
dreams, not aware tools, acts;
something that could be true
yet now it is not so

My “perhaps” is like hope
about love, about life.
I would “perhaps” could be
I wish me can be true
I would like see my wings
to spread out of my shell
to make fly this my wreck

 

SL, Rainbow Rhapsody, July, 23rd 2022

 

Torn and thorns

 

b202dce95cdf504c9f0564ba11d19fcc

Pic found here, by Awentree

 

Torn
as an old worn white shirt
meeting thorns on its way
I am torn.
I’m bound, broken
and I’m naked and torn

Cold dry air hurts my skin
like ice breath from wastelands
Winter wins now my life.
I feel used up, worn.
I am torn

Thorns as bugs
bad black bugs
creep and crawl on my skin, tearing even
inside
where I’m torn.

Thoughts are thorns
scampering everywhere
as a frisk in my soul
to find what?
Pain and thorns

Come on, please,
come here soon
don’t let this advent be
sadness, cold, ripped skin
and soul torn.
Came on, please
be my whole

 

My home, December, 4th 2021

 

Serious pink

serious pink (3)-min

JB, 2021

When I saw those flowers I had to think to my usual wishes, yet there is a new fact to consider: a very close person is risking to lose an eye …

Serious pink as live flesh on dark bark
maybe last flowers before that gold:
wintersweet will give us winter’s joy
yet it will be into another year

Crimson pink, bloody flesh on dark bark
Juda tree that’ gets wrong so thinks bad
and October is seen like new spring:
this late autumn becomes as were March

Crimson serious pink, flesh as desire,
it’s skin wishing your skin, it’s my need,
it’s my wait and my hope.
It’s my reality and my dream too

Now a pink flower springs up and comes
as unhoped-for life, as a gift
whilst new winter draws near these weird days
silent days when light loses its way

October, 23rd 2021

It’s so silent

Giotto: The Nativity in the Scrovegni Chapel, Padua

pic from here

 

It’s so silent and strange without snow
without laughs and surprised children eyes
in this bad alien world that I know

For the first time I’ll be at my home
at my so usual home, nearly alone
like a day among days. Normal days

Maybe next Christmas will be the same
like all my past ones: a special day
exquisite food and wines in that house
where I lived so much before now

Maybe this virus forces to watch
at this birthday for what really it’s
not all that opulence we can have
but the day when the Saint saves all us

Gloria in excelsis Deo: Christ soon comes

 

 

December, 20th 2020

 

Inexpressible hope, by R.M.Rilke

pic from here

Duino Elegies

from The Second Elegy

 

(…)
Lovers, if they knew how, might utter
strange things in night air. Since it seems
everything hides us. Look, trees exist; houses,
we live in, still stand. Only we
pass everything by, like an exchange of air.
And all is at one, in keeping us secret, half out of
shame perhaps, half out of inexpressible hope.
(…)

Rainer Maria Rilke.

Original German text:

Duineser Elegien, Aus Die zweite Elegie


Liebende könnten, verstünden sie’s, in der Nachtluft
wunderlich reden. Denn es scheint, daß uns alles
verheimlicht. Siehe, die Bäume sind; die Häuser,
die wir bewohnen, bestehn noch. Wir nur
ziehen allem vorbei wie ein luftiger Austausch.
Und alles ist einig, uns zu verschweigen, halb als
Schande vielleicht und halb als unsägliche Hoffnung.

Rilke’s Elegies is one of my favourite books.

Half out of inexpressible hope … so much of my life, so much of my deepest wishes is like so…

Peace and crickets

This movie is by Francesca Bonfatti

 

Peace and crickets knead themselves at evening
with leftover heat wave of this day.
I release my mind free: it finds sweetly
you and thinks about you everywhere

You gave me your caresses tonight
I caught you full of passion and quiver
like a tender surrender and gift
to that love that still takes us so tight

Evening star shins up there looking at
me from a deep dark sharp blue clear sky
into the summer night. It is fullness
of memories, that are now too much,
                                                             and it’s hope

 

Italian version

 

The fourth candle

Today, at my home

 

The fourth candle lights up and it’s late:
like as usual it’s already here.
When I waited for, it was for wait
and I hid all my face to His light
 

This last candle I light up today.
It’s a memory of past that promises
future when I’ll can look at your aspect
without shadows and shame in my eyes
 

The fourth candle now shines while anger
rises everywhere; I shout it
and demand what I don’t. My life is
as a moaning consumed by nothing
 

There are four candles, they are red scarlet:
they are like lives that burn and both give
light, warm, love and too hope for the Grace.
I kneel down to the Child and His blood

 

December, 24th 2018

Italian version