George Gray, by E.L.Masters

pic from here

 

 

Spoon River Anthology, 64.

George Gray

 

I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me —
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.

In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.

For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.

And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.

To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire —
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

 

Edgar Lee Masters

 

These words torture me from the first time I read them, during a long bus trip to my holidays.

I attended high school

Winter variations

JB, 2009

 

Frozen countryside looks at me now
while I go and see background fog where
trees and houses drown down near the ground,
where a church and a tower float up

Frozen countryside waits for me so
that I go today too; background clumps
itself between ice fields under fog:
There I see tower, church and belfry

Frozen countryside stretches now here
pale footsteps between ditches and background
weakened by soft fog breaths in the wind.
I see churches and silence; a tower

Countryside now is frozen. I stretch
usual path and is background your face
beyond pale grey mist streams.
My flesh misses your sweet and warm love

Countryside is my frost field which, tired,
into each day path today is limping.
This fog enters me and it’s as background
a far Church. And I struggle

 

February, 3rd 2020

 

Italian version

A Fritillary

JB, 2018

 

A Fritillary like dying leaf
trembles in sun light piercing dark shadow
there, in that clearing among high firs.
Later she flies up back like a thought

From a distance she’s gold dillydallying
that descends and too random vault, twirl
as a life without way, with no path,
almost gust of faint air in main wind

 

Genova Valley, La Todesca

August, 17th 2019

 

Italian version

All that heat

I look at all that heat from cool shade,
from a cave among green and old ivy.
Outside hot spell insists with cicada
in the merciless, summer day light

In your shadow I live, you are a fresh
shelter from anxiety that takes me
when I work or I go on black roads,
when I see people’s empty pale faces

Last solstice skimmed short time ago
and it’s victory of living on darkness.
I almost forget the time end
even if it comes down: I feel peace

We are in the shadow of a so strong Hand
which governs everything in best way
We are shipwrecked spread in this world
yet we are not alone. We are there
                                                      and there is here a Sense

 

June, 28th 2019

 

Italian version

 

…………………………..AND NOW…. HOLIDAY!!!!!

I see us, I see you

JB, that night

 

I see us on that sofa, it’s night
we’ve a rest looking at our future
that awaits us and is full of sense.
Next September we’ll get married, so

You are on that sofa: it’s a moment
overlaid both to time and to space:
your background is the same yet it’s different.
Next September you’ll get married, so

Our link was young but sure and certain,
more than only beginning, prelude,
it was real and eternal fact
we so thought and so lived our love

So you are today, you, my son and
her, that’s new but real part of the whole
which we live and not only unclear hope.
God can hold your hand. You go on!

 

Bernina Hospice, February, 16th 2019

 

Italian version

It’s so light

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

 

Italian version

Where does lead … ?

J.B. 2018

 

Where does lead my road this so grey morning?
Into fog that wraps heavily all things
frosty grass, rimy stubbles and dark
trees that seem only scattered skeletons
 

Where does lead my road also today?
Towards gates of a new confused day
that together throws deadlines and blackmails
some small things to do before night come
 

Where do lead again roads anyway?
Into a world I no more understand
where perhaps hope goes bad ...
I know that there is sun above here
                           give me it

 

December, 18th 2018

Italian version

Spectres of bones

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

 

Italian version

If I can

Photo by JB, 2018

 

Some anemones still bloom within
their companions that dry any fruit
fitting so life and hope to this season
that decrees defeat and silence too

Also larch trees cry yellow leaves now
among leftovers of tired grass
aimed at signs of next winter start.
Maybe I too can bloom, if I can

 

Toward Col Portola, August, 24th 2018

 

Italian version

Blue light

Photo by J.B., 2018

 

Blue light, she is reflected by water:
dragonfly turns around and the pool
is her whole universe so contracted.
She doesn’t know about Dolomites, there

I too go around, trapped days
of the norm that dulls every sense,
where I lose both Your world and Your Beauty
and I waste all my life and its meaning

Malga Valchestria (Brenta Dolomites), August 4th, 2018

Italian version