Il conto

Ho ormai perso il conto
degli errori apatici
che scandiscono la notte
delle sere infrante
contro un nulla ospitale
delle lacrime sciolte
sulle labbra stanche.

Ma appena innanzi al sonno
prima che la palpebre vincano
tra le braccia supplicanti
e le gambe intrecciate
sussurro inconfessabile
la preghiera più vera.

The great north

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA








The paths going to west
are everyday less used
and there is not a trace
of any human foot

Yes I am the last one
that walks along this land
without knowing if it's
here all my destiny

We are in the moment of the great north 
each ray of light has a big worth 
and every day the light goes forth 
the old year is now ready to burst 

I pick the holy rare mistletoe 
to call abundance for my little world 
and I will give some to all my loves 
now that I am really alone 

The social year is at
its so desired end
I know that I have let
ghosts growing in my head

But I have got inside
still crumbles of my life
I have to nourish time
to find back my divine

We are in the moment of the great north 
each ray of light has a big worth 
and every day the light goes forth 
the old year is now ready to burst 

I pick the holy rare mistletoe 
to call abundance for my little world 
and I will give some to all my loves 
now that I am really alone

But it don't snow here, stays pretty green

Un natale di sole. Giornate terse che rendono gli spazi immobili, quasi fossero dipinti rinascimentali. I due bordi della pianura, ricamati di bianco, si osservano. Un natale fradicio di passato. Ma con il gusto di un futuro che non vuole palesarsi e che si osserva soltanto al di là di una vetrina. Giornate di voci assordanti e sere raccolte in una solitudine imperfetta. Cupa e mistica allo stesso tempo. Cosa sono io in questi giorni in cui la nuova luce fa capolino al di là delle colline dell'ovest? Dopo venti anni dalla mia grande rivoluzione, è forse il tempo per sconvolger di nuovo tutto? Ho le forze per creare una nuova sacralità? Per ribaltare l'altare e costruirne uno nuovo? Fra pochi giorni mi attenderanno 366 pagine bianche da riempire di lettere. Saranno parole stanche e trascinate come barche nel fango? Oppure parole leggere, di ispirazione nuova? Intanto, fuori, nel giardino che non sento più mio, una rosa è sbocciata. Come fosse primavera. Come per dire che la vita va avanti ed è pronta a sorprenderci sempre. Anche se teniamo gli occhi chiusi. “But it don't snow here, stays pretty green.... Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on”. 

Le parole in inglese sono tratte da “River” di Joni Mitchell

Call it Solstice or call it Christmas

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA








Call it Solstice or call it Christmas
but it is a change
by the fireplace I wait for
some crumbles of faith

When did start the dusk of it?
It was when I started to slay me

But the new light has come with 
the strength of the streams 
the sire of winter 
while wind hints at spring 

I feel a bit grateful 
along this wet field 
while I catch fresh herbs 
from darkness I flee 

I set forth to reach a place where
there are no more ghouls
but with grief I understand
they are in my soul

Since when have I this grim cast?
Since when I don this rapped mask

But the new light has come with 
the strength of the streams 
the sire of winter 
while wind hints at spring 

I feel a bit grateful 
along this wet field while 
I catch fresh herbs 
from darkness I flee

Between black and blue

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA







I want to sing, slowly
until comes midnight
some twinkles are showing
but there is no light

I sing without knowing
why I'm still alive
my spirit is scrawny
in the gut of mine

It's so far, it's so far that emotion 
that I have felt and so loved in past times 
I want to cry, I want to cry a vast ocean 
but I'm so gaunt that I cannot try 

My faith's like the flurry of snow 
it covers some soil and some not 

My notes are now dappling
the floor of my room
and my words are parrying
everything is true

I'm brittling and hissing
while my snarl is mute
and the night is rustling
between black and blue

It's so far, it's so far that emotion 
that I have felt and so loved in past times 
I want to cry, I want to cry a vast ocean 
but I'm so gaunt that I cannot try 

My faith's like the flurry of snow 
it covers some soil and some not

Everything is perspective

LISTEN TO - ASCOLTA













You said me that there's a place
where I can be myself
completely, but I don't know where it is

Yes, a defiant I am
it's the sap in my veins
that flows only if I halt for a moment

Everything is perspective 
there is nothing else 
the way I use adjectives 
the tense of the verbs 
I understand everyday something more 
but the next day I'm still weak and so cold 

But everything is perspective 
and there is no shame 
It's not enough to be active 
to fight drowsy days 
I have to cling to my deepest desires 
reluctantly putting them in the fire 

I shimmer when I'm in peace
when I'm not on my knees
and from my perch I can see further

In those days I'm like an owl
that can hoot on its trunk
to say to the night there is a king

Everything is perspective 
there is nothing else 
the way I use adjectives 
the tense of the verbs 
I understand everyday something more 
but the next day I'm still weak and so cold 

But everything is perspective 
and there is no shame 
not enough to be active 
to fight drowsy days 
I have to cling to my deepest desires 
reluctantly to put them in the fire

Shalechet*

Le ultime a cadere
sono quelle del melo
ancora verdi e rigide
la veglia del solstizio
quando l'inverno bussa
alla porta socchiusa
del giardino segreto.

* “Foglie cadute” in ebraico