Gófl *

In questa casa zoppa
abbandonata
al caos del tempo
al sisma insensato
cerco tracce di te
come segugio affamato
di ricordi.

Rimangon solo la polvere
- il linguaggio dell’assenza -
e le ombre desolate
bucce di gioia trascorsa.

Nella borsa sgualcita
il tuo libro dell’orazioni
memoria tua che sempre
avrò nelle mie mani.

* “Bucce” in dialetto centese.
Cento (Fe), 24 gennaio 2013

I forget my childhood

Here I am grown
But who I was I don’t know
Today all seems so
Distant, dim without glow

As now I forget my childhood
Growing old is a bet of manhood

Nobody can know
Why I’m a nostalgic soul
Along this walk
I collect millions of thoughts

That don’t belong to my today’s mood
But often they in distance can loom

Past is sometimes a tear
Into my dreams
It sweeps my childish knees
And then go to change my heartbeat
And so can show why I am me

Also the place
It seems completely change
There is no trace
Of pupils, all is erased

But I need to believe somewhere
There is still a sign of that age

Past is sometimes a tear
Into my dreams
It sweeps my childish knees
And then go to change my heartbeat
And so can show why I am me

Why do we have to die?

In queste sere in cui la pioggia stenta a divenire neve e mi trovo solo in questa casa i cui rumori mi sono ancora sconosciuti, la mia mente si fa piccola e granulosa e il mio cuore invade ogni parte di me: supernova impazzita colma di sangue bollente. E vorrei gridare al mondo che sono vivo e che tutta questa vita che ho, la sto sprecando. Eretico illuminismo del cuore nelle sere invernali. Il cuore non conosce alcuna ragione per non piangere. E nemmeno per ridere. È esso stesso riso o pianto. Emozione diretta e non mediata dal pensiero. Sorgente di vita e di morte. Inutile chiedergli quanto sia possibile sprecare prima di fallire del tutto. Non ci sono nuove possibilità. Solamente le cicatrici di tutte quelle perdute. “Why do we have to die? Give me just more time, I'm gonna make it all right”.

 

Le parti in inglese sono tratte da “Little More Time” di Asaf Avidan

Sea of January

Sea of January
You’ve got inside the demons
Trying to be free
But kept locked by god’s eagles

I ask to the sea about my future
If I’ll be again father of the illusion

Sea of January
You’re always a surprise
In the everyday beat
Of this winter so unkind

So let me imagine new tomorrows
Further on disasters and on sorrow

It’s a little present after Christmas
And the ribbons are these rays of sun
I feel brilliant like some nepheline
Found into the mud by night

And I watch your face tired of darkness
And I would like saying something will change
But I can’t lie in front of this sea
We are here only for challenge

We are here to see
If there is little hope
To paint over me
And over you a smile

I know you want to understand my secrets
But I am not hiding anything

It’s a little present after Christmas
And the ribbons are these rays of sun
I feel brilliant like some nepheline
Found into the mud by night

And I watch your face tired of darkness
And I would like saying something will change
But I can’t lie in front of this sea
We are here only for challenge

Marina di Carrara, 7 Gennaio 2013

Il respiro di Set *

Ho raccolto i miei occhi
sulla neve gelata
caduti per spiar le stelle
specchiarsi sul ghiaccio.

Le lunghe orecchie d’Orione
ascoltano lo spazio immenso
nel silenzio bianchissimo
della notte, madre santa.

Il respiro mite di Set
invade il cielo invernale
scoprendo lacrime assopite
e rigagnoli di sogni.

* Set è l’antico dio egizio del deserto, antagonista di Osiride: gli egiziani lo identificavano con la costellazione di Orione dalle lunghe orecchie; “il respiro di Set” era il vento del sud che soffiava dal deserto, mitigando i climi dei paesi più a nord. Da alcune dottrine di ispirazione cristiana Set è spesso identificato con Satana.

To Gog and to Magog

When you are alone in front of the wind
And your mind is working like a mill
There’s nothing to discover but you
You’ve got enormous need of the truth

You know you fell in a fairy trick
Around you only trees and some sheep
There’s some drizzle but the sky is blue
Millions paths to follow with boots

So cut the winter rose today
And bring it now to God
While walking here along the lane
To Gog and to Magog *

Is there some space between
The legends and the prayers
In places like these where you can’t avoid to lose
Yourself for ages

And I go on to walk without
Cognition of the time
Into the mud I find my feet
When the evening arrives

To learn something you have
To miss the well known path
In places like these where you can’t avoid to lose
Yourself for ages

After every bend an hope is lit
To find after it the giant trees
The bible name is right to define
These creatures deeply divine

But there’s challenge into every search
And what you find is just what you learn
So on my way no Gog nor Magog
Only darkness in my coming back home

So cut the winter rose today
And bring it now to God
While walking here along the lane
To Gog and to Magog *

Is there some space between
The legends and the prayers
In places like these where you can’t avoid to lose
Yourself for ages

And I go on to walk without
Cognition of the time
Into the mud I find my feet
When the evening arrives

To learn something you have
To miss the well known path
In places like these where you can’t avoid to lose
Yourself for ages

Glanstonbury, 9 dicembre 2012, lungo il sentiero per Gog e Magog

* Gog e Magog sono querce millenarie che si trovano nei pressi di Glanstonbury e che si ritiene siano le uniche due superstiti di un antico cerchio druidico. I loro nomi sono quelli degli antichi giganti biblici (vedi Genesi, Ezechiele, ecc)