JB 2021, The Twins (near Alimonta Shelter)
You run nimbly, joy and freshness spreading,
aware of your so young and firm muscles.
On the path sloping down among stones
I see myself in you and tail you
Then my legs give in and I can not
keep your young rate and follow your steps.
You go away and I slow down, laughing.
My time gets shorter, yours rises higher
Coming back from Alimonta Shelter, August, 9th 2021
JB 2021, Val Nambrone
I don’t care if each step is a pain,
maybe due to a sore leg sinew.
Each peak of Brenta Dolomites smiles
while white clouds gentle mantle its rock
Here and there icy, clear water cuts
somewhere, sometimes my path, breaking off
fords and bridges, so -forcing delays.
Wealth of splashes is wonder
Last days rain filled streams, filled floods
and they vent showing powerful joy.
In the crystal clear ponds I can see
mayflies, pearls, and white Geridae
They will rise – it is time – from the water
sub-images and images fully made:
they’ll be light, a new fluid to enjoy,
tiny ascending as dance in the air
Fleeting sub-image, I dance like them.
I too would like to cast off my skin
old and tired and beautiful rise
truly how You made me: it’s my song
Milegna, August, 5th 2021
JB 2021, that day, bridge to Milegna
The stream gurgles fresh things, song of water
running down draining hornblende crystals
that are dark, black and blacker than places
where I plunge my poor mind every night
I smoke and I enjoy the sun lying
as a lover, down, on the green grass.
While I rest in the shade I remember
a spring gushing from stone: it’s like ice
Today rain’s water kissed my hair
imbuing me everywhere, flowing through
all my neck and my shoulders and back.
Even that rain was a tender lover
So I walked there, my steps were sure,
I went towards soft clouds, higher up.
I found my muscles warm, strong again.
I feel life rise again and it’s great
Casa Faé, August, 2nd 2021
P.S.: I know that “to gurgle” is intransitive: it’s so also in Italian language. Yet I really wish to write what I wrote. Sorry.
JB 2021, that day, there
This was the beginning of my last holidays
Beech trees show pitch-black foliage today
and smooth shiny trunks like marble columns.
The rain falls softly everywhere,
relief of each wild beautiful green
A dark gap leads into the woods, where
coolness thickens grey ghosts
that a breeze gently frays.
They are spirits of mine, from far years
I was young and perhaps I was cuter
and more nervous in my stronger muscles
I pursued my pride running so fast
and both silent, and wild and so foolish
Well, I’m here, and my holidays starts,
while my mind is erasing all frills
that make hard each the days of my year.
I am free and dissolve in the air
Also larches turn soft and thin branches
towards the ground and I indulge them,
so I lay my arms beside my hips.
I breathe water and air and feel good
Casa Faé, August, 1st 2021
I’m so confused… I know that my English is very bad, yet I cannot stop to try it.
Well … I try again… and thanks to my friend Bonchance Longfall for his suggestions
Claemp, that day. Photo by JB, 2020
She drinks happily laughing the sunlight
under blue sky: the green grass of Claemp
Light imbues every clump, stem and leaf
so she shines: it’s the green grass of Claemp
Meadows sing Life and breeze is a caress
as a cuddle on green grass of Claemp
There’s a Beauty surrounded by mountains
she’s alive and she’s green grass of Claemp
Here I smile and again find the power
of the life in the green grass of Claemp
There is silence and peace and that fills
all my heart among green grass of Claemp
Here you are and God too watches us
while we sit on the green grass of Claemp
Claemp, Brenta Dolomites
August, 5th 2020
JB 2019, that day
Sudden downpour breaks clouds below us,
where Ayas Valley opens itself
widening its green far to the east
where Elina is kissed by wind
There I climbed for my so young years
among rock ruins, boulders and screes
to find myself, beyond any path
footed by crowd, beyond summer rules
I was looking for huge solitudes
on the peak where I placed a cross.
Then I missed you, soon, so nostalgia
made me run back to your tight hugs
Here we are, quite in front of that mountain
in the clear sky above the dark rain.
We are in peace and enjoy this last day
of vacation. Our gaze goes on far
Zerbion Mount,
August, 30th 2019
JB, 2019
This stone highland that boxwood shrubs dress
thickly with small hard leaves as a robe
climbs down steeply to the river ghost
where a ravine become wider meander
White rock deforms in concentric spasms,
isoipses that marks so a cadence
of warm climate and parched hardground
towards the ancient mill, at the source
That fresh water like faith and like hope
caused motion of people: thus wheat
became flour and then became bread
for miles all around here. It was life.
I go down and climb back in the circus.
I look at terebinth and lentisk
building alien landscape that refers
to the sea: it’s true factor yet absent presence
Each thing changes, so houses and churches
were destroyed and turn now to vain tourism,
empty goals only for pleasant holiday.
Oh my Christ, return clear and alive
Cirque de Navacelles,
April, 24th
You can find here more informations about this holiday.
Photo by JB, there, that night
It’s so light air on ice
where we move sudden, heavy,
as dark bodies. White is everywhere.
For two days I’ve no worries with me
Frost now creaks under us: every weight
becomes noise without answer
and this shadow that Moon draws grey down
is surprise on the virgin snow ground
Really priceless is silence or panting
taking my breath away in the cold.
All my world tonight is black and white
and discloses new mountains, new stars
Bernina Pass, February, 16th 2019
Photo by JB, 2018
Dawn is coming, colouring pale rocks
on the Sfulmini as does on each mountain.
Up there glaciers are shining deep blue
and my mind is kidnapped away
I gaze at any peaks standing up
above soft cotton made by white clouds
I curl up in the cold sunrise light,
that’s all. I kneel and stammer prayers
Refuge Alimonta,
August, 9th 2018
Photo by JB, 2018
There are standing in silence tonight
spectres of bones blackened by shadow
that returns regardless of the scream
of those who long for light and for blue
Your stars up there are piercing the nothing
where’s a gash into clouds that connects
mountain’s rock and sky showing a path.
I sit out of the world on the stones
Refuge Alimonta,
August, 8th 2018
The skin of the angels 