I’m a gift

Flower myth, 1918 – Paul Klee

A rosebloom I give you as a gift. It has whorls
red, rich, complex, compound
like the unspeakable hope that my flesh
as well as my deep spirit requires

This rosebloom I give you as a gift. Feel its taste:
the same of my warm blood, the same colour.
It has the scent of all my desire
that your glance upsets and fiercely stokes

Get the bloom: it’s my gift for your love.
Then myself I’ll be gift, restless matter
delicate with petals and thorns
which defends both my shame and frail marrow

A rosebloom is my gift: I give you it.
You breathe it, kiss, caress, enjoy it
This my present that is me, my question.
My rose I give you helpless tonight


May, 3rd 2017

Italian version

Judy Barton


Kiba, Thank you for the beautiful photo!

Una rosa ed è tardi germoglia
nel grigiore di pallide nebbie
sboccia rossa e violenta in autunno
come incongrua, amorosa presenza

Sciocca Dorothy e dove le scarpe?
Nelle fiabe finite sepolte
tra la polvere e il tempo, relitti
di sognanti illusioni e d’istinti

Blocca vita, emozione perversa
che si annida in languori distanti
come d’altri
e di cremisi vesti.
Una rosa germoglia ed è tardi

Un antico rubino, un imbroglio
che collega a passate esistenze
D’altra donna e me stessa il dipinto
come allora e non so
quale vinca

Sunday, 21th october 2012
It’s too late but this rose is now budding
in the greyness of my land’s pale fogs
it buds red and so violent in the autumn
like incongruously, both loving presence

Foolish Dorothy where are your shoes?
They are buried in the fairy tales ending
wrecked between the dust and the time,
dreamy illusions and vain cry of instincts

Stops life for it’s a perverse emotion
that itself nests among distant languors
like of anyone else’s red dresses.
It’s too late but a rose is still budding

An old ruby now change in a cheat
that connects me to past lives, the
and the other girl just like at that time
and I cannot know which of two wins