Rain on the windows

 

Max 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

Windshield

 

I wrote today stuff after I saw Catherine pic and words on her blog, here. This pic is by her.

Our eyes often cannot see how
the real world is, as when falling rain
flows across window’s glasses so that
all things change into hazy pale forms

And so often my eyes don’t see how
real things, people and thoughts truly are
as when rain falls on my windshield and
changes roads to perverted bad dreams

Human eyes seem built to do not see
the world that is beyond their small glasses
rough and imprecise shapes of each thing
become dream, nightmare, not real facts

Please, cut off cataracts from my eyes,
from my mind so that I will can see
iuxta propria principia Your world,
finding in it my true sense, my way

 

on the WEB, visiting Catherine blog, October, 15th 2021

 

The stream gurgles

 

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

Italian version

 

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.

Rain’s relief

 

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

Italian version

As in autumn

JB

 

As in autumn now rain turns to gray
this unhappy world without a sense
that it doesn’t see, find or too want
lost in vain nonsense or importances

Pure white plum tree is looking for space
among meaningless jumble of buds
shrunk in uncertain passage to green.
I keep watch around looking for peace

 

March, 3rd 2020

 

Italian version

Blackristine song

Take care, my friend.

I don’t know if a veil
can be a lie, can be a jail
hiding and trapping well
what I am in my hell

I need what I don’t know
maybe love, maybe more
I’m alone in this world
I’m my rain falling down

I would like sing nice words
free my soul, fly as bird
yet that red purple moth
seems a wound on my mouth

I shake my body hard
with no sense. I move hands
like a child with no dad.
Pain is my name so far

I don’t know, maybe a veil
can be a lie or a jail…
My mask falls down to earth
I show you now my heart

 

October, 1st 2019

A wren tries

I took this photo on February, 9th 2018

 

Days already get shorter and evening
runs to win leading us towards nights
with their sad load of dark feelings and
filled with boredom and mood of gloom
 

A wren tries timidly to throw colours
using his minute song while clouds now
dripping inhibit impulses to
any full turgor of summer life
 

I dream of dead who are now so many,
I confuse them with the living ones.
After which I see you in twilight
and your tender light breath calms me again

October, 29th 2018

Italian version

First rain

pic found here

 

First rain comes in the new coming year
that has come by now and that now passes
on the lake, on the woods and the mountains
and on me, on my alarmed look
 

Just now a frozen breeze brings me back
languors of all my time and the snow
covers the alps of far and distant worlds
where each summer and beauty hurt me
 

Give me strength to go further me while
the cold tightens my mind and her thoughts
to go where You want me, where You wait
me and my heavy spirit of ice
 

Bring me away from the winter sad time
of my relentless, slow and bad nights
me, that look at my old withered glares
in the clouds that flow and so fast go

January, 3rd 2018

 

Italian version

 

 

 

Stormy weather

 

pic by sellsworth, from here

Paris, London, Kabul, Teheran …

 

Stormy weather again on the lake
as the troubles I keep in my mind.
People run to look for some repair;
I still here wait for cool on my face
 

Stormy weather again in this world.
Someone somewhere is preparing wars
in the middle of eastern warm lands
where the mankind knew how to eat grain
 

Stormy weather again in lost towns
where no one understands to see sense
in his acts further what he can see
with his eyes or touch with his own hands
 

Stormy weather again in my soul,
in your one and wherever a man
or a woman can live or can stay.
Without horizon there all falls: rain

 

June, 6th 2017

 

Italian version

As in the Beatles song

 

Yesterday, in the night, the plum tree
was the source of so delicate breath

Spring is raining now on this white prune
life without any sense drips to ground

 

At my home, today, March, 22nd 2015

 

Italian version here