Marco Pelliccioli

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English

Dutch

Original language

YOUR QUESTION

Now that piece after piece the wall is bare
infinite windows open on the Mörla,
now that the voices of the dead and the living
have attempted communion,
garments and tram, comets and hull,
their names
overflow into the streets by the Mörla
flooding basements, shelters and houses:
ask your question
to the wet mist on the lawn,
before the sun dries everything again.

JOUW VRAAG

Nu dat de brokstukken de wanden hebben neergehaald
ontstaan eindeloze cirkels op de stroom van de Mörla,
nu dat de stemmen van de doden, van de levenden,
probeerden samen te komen,
de kleding, de trams, de kometen, de casco’s,
hun naam,
de vloed van de Mörla loopt door de straten
overspoelt huizen, kelders, schuilplaatsen:
stel aan de vochtige mist op de weiden
voordat de zon alles droogt
jouw vraag…

LA TUA DOMANDA

Ora che i cocci hanno spogliato le pareti
aperto infiniti cerchi sul Corso della Mörla,
or ache le voci dei morti, quelle dei vivi,
hanno tentato la loro comunione,
le vesti, i tram, comete, scafi,
il loro nome,
straripa per le vie la piena della Mörla
inonda case, tetti, sottoscala:
prima che il sole asciughi
porgi alla foschia umida sui prati
la tua domanda…

Marco Pelliccioli

(Italy, 1982)

“Who are we?”
you ask me now...

Marco Pelliccioli populates his poetry with a wide variety of characters. The place is crowded, one figure after another rooted in the obscenity of our modern age passes by you, visibly unaware of the fundamental changes this era is inflicting on them. They are small representations, fragments of events, expressionistic portraits of characters in their trivial da...