Non ricordo più il sole

Non ricordo più il sole
dopo giorni inzuppati
di nubi artificiali
e parole sussurrate.

E dal costato ferito
sgorga acqua benedetta:
credere è respirare
oltre il fumo del tempo.

29 marzo 2013, venerdì santo.

The coloured walls are shivers

I am one of those unknown
And I’m not proud anymore
Nothing seems to touch my soul, no more
Nor the ascensions and nor the bad falls

I’m an expert in being what
Everyone else want to watch
Where is gone the root from which I’m born?
Like a weed’s been snatched into a blow?

Too much cold for a thin coat
While the weather seems absurd
And this sky is a fish bowl
Sun can swim but not being strong

My thoughts slide on the river
Or may be the sea
The coloured walls are shivers
On my back

Sometimes I feel really old
Sometimes else like I’m just born
Rollercoaster in eternal go
Near the sky and then again on the floor

Too much cold for a thin coat
While the weather seems absurd
And this sky is a fish bowl
Sun can swim but not being strong

My thoughts slide on the river
Or may be the sea
The coloured walls are shivers
On my back

Copenhagen, Denmark, 15th March 2013

Danish evening

Wind is whispering
With the snow
My face tired
I’m alone

Many people
Speak to me
About reasons
About dreams

And I’ve to escape from them
Freedom can I pretend?

The river almost iced
My windows is my eye
Full of life the road

And I am not obliged
To avoid again to cry
It’s not always wrong

Love seems something
I can’t hold I
n my cold hands
I’m a ghost

Danish evening
I can’t hear
My weak weeping
Of chronic fear

So I transcend from me
I’ll be a different me

The river almost iced
My windows is my eye
Full of life the road

And I am not obliged
To avoid again to cry
It’s not always wrong

Copenhagen, Denmark, 13th March 2013

Aviv *

Sento la pioggia sillabare
il nome della nuova stagione
e poi il sole benedirla
con le lunghe falangi di Dio.

Un giorno saprò forse scrivere
 in questi giorni simmetrici
tra il buio ed il riverbero
una preghiera assoluta.

E m’inginocchierò sul bordo
di nuvole inconsapevoli
del travaglio obliquo dell’uomo
in eterna attesa d’ armonia.

“Aviv” significa “Primavera” in ebraico.
Nella foto: spring storm brings rain to Southern California.

In a city of the future

Il cielo prima della pioggia sembra una gigantesca conchiglia che racchiude l’orizzonte. Sono teso e stanco. Non ho voglia di partire per Copenhagen. Sento già il freddo aguzzo del nord trafiggermi la pelle e i muscoli. Osservo il fumo avvicinarsi lentamente alle poche stelle non ancora coperte e sento che in un qualche modo mi rappresenta. Sono privo di concretezza nel mio percorso impreciso verso i pochi sogni rimasti. E penso che anche a Palo Alto in California i giardini stanno fiorendo di vita. E fuori dalla porta di casa mia i tulipani e i narcisi già spuntano dalla terra appena scoperta dalla neve. Ma questa malinconia, questo senso di immensa inettitudine pervadono la mia anima. Come se dentro di me sapessi bene di non essere in grado di vivere il futuro. Di trovare il mio spazio. “In a city of the future it is difficult to find a space”. A chi mi chiede come sto, rispondo che sto bene. E ringrazio. Quasi senza rendermi conto di cosa questo significhi. “But I'm okay, how are you? Thanks for asking, thanks for asking”. Mi butto nel lavoro e poi mi rendo subito conto di imbrogliare me stesso. “I throw myself into my work I'm too lazy, I've been kidding myself for so long”. E quando tornerò in Italia forse ci saranno un nuovo papa e un nuovo presidente. E forse anche un cielo blu di primavera. “When the sky's California blue”.

 

Le parti in inglese sono tratte da “Palo Alto” by Radiohead

Gone away

My lazy days
They have gone away
What I have felt
It is gone away
All I’ve know
It is gone away
And they never will come back

My childish tears
They have gone away
To love my fear
It is gone away
All my hopes
They are now away
So far from where now I am

And everybody sais
It is normal
To lose everything
To gain nothing
Growth just means to accept
Every day is a bet
While illusions are now left

What we said
It is gone away
Our embrace
It is now away
All I have lived
It is gone away
And what I’ll be no one knows

All I wrote
It is here to say
All I’ve lost
It is on my page
And I hope
One day to let
Become again some new life

And everybody sais
It is normal
To lose everything
To gain nothing
Growth just means to accept
Every day is a bet
While illusions are now left

Oblivion

Every time I feel
This kind of fusion
It’s like I heal

I play with the dreams
Kings of the future
That I can’t sweep

And I take single chases
Inside different places
You can spot me around

Show me nights in which I will be exactly what I mean
No need of the heaven if I could reach my belief

I’m not red fish into a bowl
In this state I feel like drown
I cannot start again all
But I think I could have more

I’d like to be a fisher of the farthest stars from here
A giant among hipsters that are living just to bleed

In youth there’s the only inspiration
I have to admit sometimes
So in these years the last lesson
I have to learn to feel right

Nothing here I see
But my illusion
On the mirror

I notice that I am
The eternal waiting
Of something more

And I have been awakening
But I would like to come back
To the oblivion land

Show me nights in which I will be exactly what I mean
No need of the heaven if I could reach my belief

I’m not red fish into a bowl
In this state I feel like drown
I cannot start again all
But I think I could have more

I’d like to be a fisher of the farthest stars from here
A giant among hipsters that are living just to bleed

In youth there’s the only inspiration
I have to admit sometimes
So in these years the last lesson
I have to learn to feel right

Il libro bianco del loto

Il libro bianco del loto.
Il tocco leggero di Dio
sulla fronte stupita.
Il sole come la luna
nel cielo offuscato
Il canto antico del lupo
ch'intona il vento nuovo.

(Il mondo non conosce il segreto
dei miei sogni di giada.
Soltanto una piccola goccia di essi
diventerà parola)