Long enough

 

dalla tangenziale MI, 21-9-2011 (3)-min

Around Milan, JB. September, 21st 2011

 

When there’s rain on the grass, from the sky,
and I shiver and watch that dark grey
thinking of sun and summer and light

Long enough is a day
so that I lose myself

When, alone, I sit there waiting for
something new, something else, something that
could change finally me and my life

Long enough is an hour
so that I could get wrong

When, again, as a flash
sudden thought hits my mind
making thrill all my flesh and my skin

Long enough is a second
so that I could fall down

When, at last, I see this older me
looking for better, more
looking for reasons, sense

Long enough is my life
so that You can save me

 

September, 18th 2022

 

Thank you so much Lizzie for your suggestion!

 

Day of nothing

 

IMG_1313-min

There, some years ago. JB, summer 2016

 

Finally, here’s a day of none, nothing
after a peaceful night made to sleep.
My head empties, and my body wilts
with each of its so tired old muscles

Yesterday I lost words, cause my flesh
needed everything to go up and up
and then wild and fast jumping downhill
it found again strength and knowledge

Today I’m watching my day go by
like it was really and actual vacation.
I can take a book to read a novel
I still hope and wait that Something happens

 

Faé House, September, 3rd 2022

 

Italian version

Rain on the windows

 

max richterMax Richter – On The Nature Of Daylight.

 

Some years ago I discovered the world of the chats and I found some friends; one of them, that I named Annapiccola (little Annie), made me love the adagio from the Piano Concerto in G by Maurice Ravel: so I wrote this stuff.

Some days ago, another web friend, Janus Fall, asked me to listen to Max Richter’s On The Nature Of Daylight. This music made me remember Ravel’s one and Annapiccola.  

 

Rusty dripping
grimly oozes
using spun around sad thoughts
vitreous bedroom

A recursive trimming now
contracts into
cold tears that
only other one recalls

trails of boredom trace so much
a stagnate sad motif …

It doesn’t change, it doesn’t move,
obsessively tags itself.

It survives.

 

Translated on August, 27th 2022

 

Italian (original) version

A fresh wind

 

800px-wind-beaten_tree_28stolen29_-_my_dream

A Wind-Beaten Tree, by Vincent van Gogh (pic found here)

 

 

A fresh wind now arises from there,
far from me, far from my usual home
It tells me about days fully blue
far from these suffocating warm times

A cold breeze drags the leaves on those trees
reaching me on my tired sad face
while I seat on my stony terrace
watching at long gone days of young girls

A sweet breeze sweeps my mind and my soul
overcoming my thin older skin:
a pale box I fill with evil, sins.
They make me defile our plain love

A fresh wind comes from your other world
it says about our love, about God
I can see both us there, both us pure
I can see both us new, happy and free

 

September, 1st 2022

 

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

 

Swifts

 

DSCN0260-min

Pic by me, that place, that day

 

A short holiday makes little lighter
all the cares that give me many troubles
This old town gives itself to us and
owns us like it did when we got married

Crazy game all swifts play fast and freely
while I watch them black under the sky
                                                            over Siena.
As it’s usual I envy them when
my eyes and mind scroll across deep blue

Please, don’t let our memory wane
and our passion turn to old regret:
It’s my love odd and needs skin and flesh,
to be concrete and not abstract trend

 

Siena, July, 1st 2022

 

 

Italian version

 

My crow cries

pqhzrt5fngpsoeumfmgswh-970-80.jpg

Pic found here

My crow cries like did Poe one once shouting
nevermore
even if everything always happens:
life and death, love and pain, hate and joy
run together

A gull flies printing its shadow fast
on this Earth where we stand up like dreaming
while I confuse to do, to be, sleeping,
to find shivers of love on my skin

Save me, oh!
Free me now, again, free me now Lord
watch at my ill poor weak troubled mind
see the flesh You gave me as weird gift…
Please consider how much I’m poor thing

Give me each thing I need, that is love,
that is knowledge to be safe, that’s peace

Castiglioncello, July, 6th 2022

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

crema-for-espresso.jpg

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

vento-in-montagna_cosc3a8-800x532-1

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