*
summer is usual
.
year after year
I seldom stop
to realize the cycles
in my own life
.
I just hung out in the
yard to dry some clothes
I wore when I was sixteen
.
colorful clashing joyful
lightly sprayed to let
the sun iron them
back to life they are
.
called vintage nowadays
.
.
.
*
I sit outside
sipping some
home made mint tea
letting the morning
light falling on
me gently
the cat rolls
on his back under
my chair making sure
the pebbles work
well on him the
dog moans
.
.
.
.
Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
manco
nel narrare la bellezza
un attributo divino
.
le parole allineate come perle
.
pronte per essere collana
e io che non trovo
il filo
.
.
.
.
If you wish to read the English Version click here.
Sì, la domeninca le poesie saranno in italiano!
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
*
we stall through August
aside the rare days
when the sky thundered
the wind hissed and shout
and we run up and down
closing windows pulling
shades and lifting chairs
the following steps
were those of picking up
the tender plants uprooted
from the garden the scattered
tomatoes and plums
august with its singing nights
.
.
.
.
*
summer comes
with invisible mirrors
on which each one stares
poses and eventually
struts away
indifferent are the spaces
on which people pause
I look up at the abundance
of details I look at them
and turn my eyes to
the parching fields
.
.
.
.
*
she huffs and puts her face
down lined up with the concrete
patiently waiting for me
to remember to feed her
as I read and write and forget
the cat comes protesting
instead loud and demanding
until I get up to feed them both
.
.
.
.
*
I dreamed my secret name
yes it was written
on a white stone
everything was crystal
clear then just like
the sky today harmony
coated and I felt so
relaxed so sleepy
.
I fell into another night
when I woke up I could
not make out the writing
and I got news of more
deaths more killings
more drowning crimes
.
if I could if I just could
tell everybody their
secret names
waking them up to life
.
.
.
.
Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
la conoscenza non è
l’intuizione della bellezza
non colpisce allo stesso modo
nè affonda come una radice sottile
nutrendo l’anima come
una pupilla dilatata che si apre
alla meraviglia
la bellezza è spontanea
.
.
.
.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano!
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
.
*
shy me lord
of what sinks me down
as I fall asleep
let peace wrap me up
my thoughts
lighten my worries
remove just
a timid smile to
welcome you
.
.
Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
mi adorna
un sorriso inaspettato
io che attendo poco e vivo
d’ora che esploro sorvolando
non trattengo nulla lascio
che il movimento accada e non ho
indirizzi punte di spilli o di matite
mi trovo felice tra le ultime tre righe
.
.
.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano!
Poesia tratta dai “California Notebooks” in vendita da Feltrinelli.
This poems can be read in its English version here.
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
*
the volume of the sky
above me and the land
stretching from my feet
.
.
.
.
.
.
*
knowledge is not
the intuition of beauty
it doesn’t strike the same
nor sinks deep as a thin root
nourishing the soul as
a dilated pupil widening
to the wonderful
beauty is spontaneous
.
.
.
.
*
me decorated
with an unexpected smile
.
I now expect little and live the moment
exploring while passing over
.
I’ve quit detaining I let
motion befalling having no
.
more addresses, pinheads or pencils
I found my self delighted
in the last three lines
.
.
.
This poem is part of the first volume of the “California Notebooks”. If you wish to get your own copy click here
.
*
I am a drawing compass
one feet pointed the soft
one bent on a dance to
go from here to there to
close the circles to jump
out to run free today
.
.
.
.
Sunday Posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry
*
una volta
facevo parte di mio padre
a anche facevo parte di
mia madre
più tardi anche
se non letteralmente
fui parte di altri
più avanti sarò parte
delle radici degli alberi
contribuirò alla folgorante
bellezza dei fiori
sarò parte dell’acqua
su nel cielo da qualche
parte per tutto il tempo
io ero parte di dio ma
qui tu ti irrigidisci
di colpo e obbietti
che non posso
provarlo
.
.
.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano!
Questa poesia è a pagina 54 della raccolta California Notebooks 02 .
This poem was published in English last Tuesday.
Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
