Jesus and the Samaritan woman (Georgian manuscript “Jruchi Gospels”, 936-940 AD) – I found it here
We read now about you in
Samaria
Ancient days reflect now this today
so colouring hopes that never died
I, the one speaking to you,
I am the life
I’m the life, you can take it and be
in peace and filled with everything
I look at You, I’m dismayed in a corner
give me water, put it
in my dry well
so that my very little can resurrect
Give me each thing: I offer my nothing
March, 5th 2023
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.
photo by JB 2016
The sky maybe builds link with the heavy
Earth
while down far it falls over there, farther
starting to link itself to the water
painting colours without any violence
A seagull screams both silly and foolish
paradigms with no sense or momentum
So desire becomes poor vain ambition:
everything is a fluid and fail supports
April, 30th 2016
Italian version
Beyond the forest, beyond any thoughts
there’s a river.
There I hear the water’s cry
In the mystery of woods, under the trees
with the fresh shadow mosses, I feel
my wild wordless drive strong. I seem free
Beyond the forest, inside my bad thoughts
there’s a river
where I see the water’s run.
Like me it seems be free but I hear
its screams thrown to the wind
Beyond any forest and inside my free thoughts
I’ve a river and it cries.
As a fresh water stream I may not
reach back my true deep source
Ayas Valley,
August, 1st 2014
Italian version here
The skin of the angels 