Poem
Andrea Inglese
CYNOMACHY IS FORBIDDEN BY LAW
Cynomachy is forbidden by lawthose dogs are no robots, they don’t have
tubes and hydraulic pumps inside
but real veins and if you cut them
when the blood trickles out
they suffer, and truly, like dogs,
because today animals, in Europe,
are a juridical subject, though vaguely
defined. Instead, if you make cockroaches
fight, directing them between boundaries
of poison, or you hypnotize them with spray,
or if you flog a pigeon, nobody
will punish you, because a silent
pain, without its transparent
theater, is an insufficiently
convincing hypothesis.
Thus, even those beyond many seas
and mountains, in their cloud
of sand, with flies on their abdomens,
the hot concrete. When called
they turn towards the lenses slit-eyed:
for the occasion they try to utter
a dutiful silent cry.
© Translation: 2005, Gabriele Poole
CYNOMACHY IS FORBIDDEN BY LAW
Le cinomachie sono proibite dalla legge,
non sono automi quei cani, non hanno
tubi e pompe idrauliche dentro
ma vere vene e se le recidi
quando gli stilla il sangue
soffrono, e davvero, come cani,
poiché oggi l’animale, in Europa,
è soggetto giuridico, pur dai vaghi
contorni. Se invece fai lottare
le blatte, indirizzandole tra bordi
di veleni, o le ipnotizzi con lo spray,
o se bastoni un piccione, nessuno
ti sanzionerà, perché un dolore
muto, senza il suo trasparente
teatro, è un’ipotesi
troppo poco attendibile.
Così anche quelli oltre molti mari
e montagne, nella loro nube
di sabbia, con le mosche sull’addome,
il cemento rovente. A richiamo
volgono all’obiettivo occhi-fessura:
tentano per la bella occasione
un volonteroso urlo
afono.
non sono automi quei cani, non hanno
tubi e pompe idrauliche dentro
ma vere vene e se le recidi
quando gli stilla il sangue
soffrono, e davvero, come cani,
poiché oggi l’animale, in Europa,
è soggetto giuridico, pur dai vaghi
contorni. Se invece fai lottare
le blatte, indirizzandole tra bordi
di veleni, o le ipnotizzi con lo spray,
o se bastoni un piccione, nessuno
ti sanzionerà, perché un dolore
muto, senza il suo trasparente
teatro, è un’ipotesi
troppo poco attendibile.
Così anche quelli oltre molti mari
e montagne, nella loro nube
di sabbia, con le mosche sull’addome,
il cemento rovente. A richiamo
volgono all’obiettivo occhi-fessura:
tentano per la bella occasione
un volonteroso urlo
afono.
© 2004, Andrea Inglese
From: Bilico
Publisher: d’if,
From: Bilico
Publisher: d’if,
Poems
Poems of Andrea Inglese
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CYNOMACHY IS FORBIDDEN BY LAW
Cynomachy is forbidden by lawthose dogs are no robots, they don’t have
tubes and hydraulic pumps inside
but real veins and if you cut them
when the blood trickles out
they suffer, and truly, like dogs,
because today animals, in Europe,
are a juridical subject, though vaguely
defined. Instead, if you make cockroaches
fight, directing them between boundaries
of poison, or you hypnotize them with spray,
or if you flog a pigeon, nobody
will punish you, because a silent
pain, without its transparent
theater, is an insufficiently
convincing hypothesis.
Thus, even those beyond many seas
and mountains, in their cloud
of sand, with flies on their abdomens,
the hot concrete. When called
they turn towards the lenses slit-eyed:
for the occasion they try to utter
a dutiful silent cry.
© 2005, Gabriele Poole
From: Bilico
From: Bilico
CYNOMACHY IS FORBIDDEN BY LAW
Cynomachy is forbidden by lawthose dogs are no robots, they don’t have
tubes and hydraulic pumps inside
but real veins and if you cut them
when the blood trickles out
they suffer, and truly, like dogs,
because today animals, in Europe,
are a juridical subject, though vaguely
defined. Instead, if you make cockroaches
fight, directing them between boundaries
of poison, or you hypnotize them with spray,
or if you flog a pigeon, nobody
will punish you, because a silent
pain, without its transparent
theater, is an insufficiently
convincing hypothesis.
Thus, even those beyond many seas
and mountains, in their cloud
of sand, with flies on their abdomens,
the hot concrete. When called
they turn towards the lenses slit-eyed:
for the occasion they try to utter
a dutiful silent cry.
© 2005, Gabriele Poole
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