Poem
Umberto Fiori
WALL
There are times of daywhen over the petrol pump
a certain bare wall is lit up
and stands against the blue
like a moon.
There comes a moment when
you do really live here
and look these houses in the face, and learn
to stand – to be – in the world,
to speak to a blank wall.
You learn the language,
you listen to people passing.
You begin to see this place,
to feel
in the clarity of their words
the light of this wall.
© Translation: 2009, Alistair Elliot
MUUR
Op bepaalde tijdenwordt boven de benzinepomp
een kale muur verlicht
die als een maan
tegen het blauw staat.
Op een bepaald moment
woont een mens hier echt,
en kijkt naar die huizen, en leert
op de wereld te zijn,
leert te praten tegen de muur.
Leert de taal,
luistert naar de mensen op straat.
Begint deze plek te zien,
in de helderheid
van de gesprekken
het licht van die muur te horen.
© Vertaling: 2009, Ike Cialona
Muro
In certe oresopra il distributore di benzina
un muro nudo si illumina
e sta contro l’azzurro
come una luna.
A un certo punto uno
abita qui davvero
e guarda in faccia queste case, e impara
a stare al mondo,
impara a parlare al muro.
Impara la lingua,
ascolta la gente in giro.
Incomincia a vedere questo posto,
a sentire
nel chiaro dei discorsi
la luce di questo muro.
Poems
Poems of Umberto Fiori
Close
WALL
There are times of daywhen over the petrol pump
a certain bare wall is lit up
and stands against the blue
like a moon.
There comes a moment when
you do really live here
and look these houses in the face, and learn
to stand – to be – in the world,
to speak to a blank wall.
You learn the language,
you listen to people passing.
You begin to see this place,
to feel
in the clarity of their words
the light of this wall.
© 2009, Alistair Elliot
WALL
There are times of daywhen over the petrol pump
a certain bare wall is lit up
and stands against the blue
like a moon.
There comes a moment when
you do really live here
and look these houses in the face, and learn
to stand – to be – in the world,
to speak to a blank wall.
You learn the language,
you listen to people passing.
You begin to see this place,
to feel
in the clarity of their words
the light of this wall.
© 2009, Alistair Elliot
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