Poesie tradotte in inglese

(Traduzione di Rosa Giuliano)

A FARMER'S DEATH

Sweated years,
spit in his hands,
tired sun-faded jackets,
raising his hat
of dusty humility.
Today
shaved by the barber
and in a
beautiful new suit.

TO MY FATHER

I rinse memories
in empty glasses,
I spread sorrows
under an August moon,
and new tears
move me.
To feel you close
I wash and wear out life
from your shirt,
but the stain
will never fade.

A DELICATE FLOWER

A delicate flower
I held weakly
for a long time
in my inattentive
fingers
sure of not losing it
or of never ruining it.
A gust of wind
swept it away
one day,
and now it lies
stranded
in a tangle of thorns.

TO THE SOUTH EVERYTHING

In silence
we come back
where the sea,
in winter,
has dirty colours
of sands and salt
and foamy waves,
that dull one’s glasses,
moved by an African wind
full of dust.
From the windows
we reach
the South,
where a mother uses up
her youth
by a fireside,
and a child cries
to the slow
and low sound
of bells.
Where prayers
are long murmurs
wrapped in black shawls.
Where life is silence
and death, a fault.
Where a smile
is the sin of a wrinkle,
and a cry,
beads of sweat in the fields.
So,
we come back to the South
south of everything,
where love is mute
and only for the Saints.

FRATERNITY

It is so sad
to live
sitting
on the crumpled
page
of one’s loneliness.
Perhaps
it would be
wiser
to hold out one’s hand
and
in an embrace
to lean on
the other’s heart,
like the ears of corns
to the wind.