martedì 26 giugno 2012

I want to be where the sun warms the sky











 
Hai visto che la pianura da qui sembra un gigantesco mare. I suoi riflessi azzurri e grigi la rendono così uniforme da quassù. Da queste colline bordate d’oro da cui possiamo osservare tutto dall’alto. Qui il sole è così vicino che ne sento il suono nelle mie orecchie e lo sento pungermi gli occhi. “The sun would set so high, ring through my ears and sting my eyes”. Sembrano così lontani i giorni del tremore. Così lontana la scura landa all’orizzonte in cui la terra ha sussultato senza scampo. E noi possiamo sognare la perfezione. I nostri corpi bagnati dal sudore sono diamanti splendenti sotto la luce al suo apice. Vorrei che il tempo non corresse più, che i giorni durassero per sempre. “I prayed that the days would last, they went so fast”. Eppure sappiamo che nella massima luce sta l’inizio del buio*. Ma ora desidero essere solo dove il sole rende il cielo incandescente. “ I want to be where the sun warms the sky”. E voglio credere che questo vento caldo venga davvero dal mare che avvampa sotto le colline “Warm wind carried on the sea, he called to me”. E alleno i miei muscoli ad essere vivi di nuovo, mentre esercito la mia emotività con la prosa. L’indegna figliastra della poesia che non può produrre alcuna verità **. Ma che rende così liberi di viaggiare nella musica.

La parti in inglese sono tratte da “La Isla Bonita” by Madonna
* Il solstizio d’estate è il punto in cui le ore di luce raggiungono il massimo rispetto a quelle di buio. Tuttavia è anche il momento in cui le ore di buio ricominciano a crescere, fino ad un nuovo pareggio in settembre.
** In prosa si pensa a un solo livello alla volta e ciò inibisce i collegamenti nuovi che producono effettivamente sapere; ciò avviene solo nella poesia.

lunedì 25 giugno 2012

Where Jesus sings


Another morning I will meet you
May be in India where Jesus sings *
Without speaking I will call you
‘cause your name means exactly “wind”.

Another point on the blackboard
Of my life I’m going to write
I’m in a moment of no sense
And you are showing what I’m missing

And I see how many roses I have cut there in the sky
And I have left them drying without curing for a while

What will me save
From the big jaws
Of the time and
The barking cold
While the youth can’t help me no more
And God have not my hands again hold

And everyone
Has got something
In which believe
To make him free
But I have lost it by the way
Is there a God who can explain?

When I recall my strength and poetry
Many times I have no answer no
They say “The ones are satisfied
Of the life they’re drenched in the mist

And they’re used to lose their time in the unless chattering” **
I would like to be just different but it’s a difficult being

What will me save
From the big jaws
Of the time and
The barking cold
While the youth can’t help me no more
And God have not my hands again hold

And everyone
Has got something
In which believe
To make him free
But I have lost it by the way
Is there a God who can explain?

* Secondo una tradizione consolidata, di presunta origine tibetana, Gesù fu in India e in Tibet tra i 13 e i 30 anni, durante i quali i vangeli non ne parlano: in quei luoghi la sua tradizione spirituale ebraico-essena, si arricchì in prospettiva del ritorno in Palestina. Lo stesso Dalailama recentemente ha parlato di Gesù come di un’incarnazione del Buddha.
** Dall’ “Ṛgveda” X,82,7 : “Coloro che sono soddisfatti della vita vivono avvolti da foschia e dediti a vane chiacchiere”.

sabato 23 giugno 2012

Scampolo d'ovest


L’estate si affaccia
nello scampolo d’ovest
dietro la siepe gialla

L’osservo dischiudersi
bambina incurante
del tremare del mondo

Sotto un cielo corto
di respiri minuti
e parole sospese

Abbraccio il calore:
una preghiera nuova
fra mani in attesa.

Alban Heruin – solstizio d’estate - 2012

lunedì 18 giugno 2012

Sparks from water


Is there something else but youth?
I ask to myself and you
Driving towards these dim hills to south

Summer is not far and you
Seems to accept the obvious truth
Everything has its own age for sure

But I come back to my
Need of darkness
Not to see in the mirror
I am changed after
All what is happened in these years
Among the smiles and the fears
Is life a duty?

We are hybrids of what
We were in the past
And of what we’re going
To become in the future
And in this earth in the middle
We are both snakes and eagles
Sparks from water

They say when we lose our youth
It remains only the roof
Of the house we were in the past times

I can say without a proof
We can catch some kind of youth
Every time our smiles can become true

But I come back to my
Need of darkness
Not to see in the mirror
I am changed after
All what is happened in these years
Among the smiles and the fears
Is life a duty?

We are hybrids of what
We were in the past
And of what we’re going
To become in the future
And in this earth in the middle
We are both snakes and eagles
Sparks from water

giovedì 14 giugno 2012

The ideas of God are muscles


I would like to change my life
Under this welcome sunshine
Being a new man
Tasting the wind
As I was flying

An alphabet in my mind
The trees can teach to me right *
The poetry has
My own purest breath
I sip something of divine

I’ve to discover how wind
Becomes fields
And our thoughts in a blow
Can be real

The ideas of God are muscles
That create the atmosphere

And we are more than we can
Understand
The everyday life makes us so
Blind

We have to escape from our
Incapacity to change

To be free again

My face can be made of sun
Not like all the other ones
It can transmutes
As the woods do
From winter to springtime

My body too often tired
The energy it can bite
My teeth become clouds
An ocean my mouth
To devour the life

I’ve to discover how wind
Becomes fields
And our thoughts in a blow
Can be real

The ideas of God are muscles
That create the atmosphere

And we are more than we can
Understand
The everyday life makes us so
Blind

We have to escape from our
Incapacity to change

To be free again

* L’antico alfabeto druidico (Ogham) è detto anche “alfabeto degli alberi” perché ad ogni albero sacro è associata una lettera.


Nella foto, una statua di Cerunno, antico Dio dei boschi nella mitologia celtica.

domenica 10 giugno 2012

Our roots to render firm


Can’t say why
But the tears fall
down the wood floor

As they’re trying
To heal the soil
And its trembling stones

The earthquakes left a sing over my heart
And a new line over my worried face
And a mood that I wouldn’t ever find

Someone sais
This is the end
We’ve only to pray

The earthquake
Is a message
The earth is sick of us

The empire of the men is going to fail?
The prophets said the truth in the past eves?
We have to wait for catastrophes and shame?

So it’s the time to know who we are
And our roots to render firm
We understand there’s nothing of sure
But the truth of our soul

And in my hands I’ve got my future
Among these uncertain paths
Every fall’s a new beginning
It’s not only a metaphor

What to find
Among the downfalls
Of our past faults

Our true home
Hasn’t got walls
Only living thoughts

So let’s awake the spirits inside us
As ancient as the monuments crumbled
The only way the rebuilding to act

So it’s the time to know who we are
And our roots to render firm
We understand there’s nothing of sure
But the truth of our soul

And in my hands I’ve got my future
Among these uncertain paths
Every fall’s a new beginning
It’s not only a metaphor