Poem
Antonella Anedda
Courage
The kitchen is a promontory. The pans are reefs eaten by a wolf-wind that blows and runsin circles on the island. The railing is a grey gust, his mate our sharp sister. Just awaken
we are the birds bent over the sink, tired of the nightly migration, confused by the rockets
that pelt our dreams.
In the entire painting it is winter.
In the music on the radio hail tolls.
Its white vibrates on the antennas and the balcony.
With its compassionate cloud muzzle
dawn drives us to life.
© Translation: 2004, Antonella Anedda
Coraggio
Coraggio
La cucina è un promontorio. Le pentole sono scogli divorati da un vento-lupo che soffiae corre in cerchio nell’isola. La ringhiera della finestra è una raffica grigia, sua compagna
nostra sorella aguzza. Appena svegli noi siamo gli uccelli chini sul lavabo, stanchi della
migrazione notturna, confusi dai razzi che percuotono i sogni.
In tutto il quadro è inverno.
Nella musica della radio rintocca la grandine.
Il suo bianco vibra sulle antenne e il balcone.
Con il suo muso di nuvola pietosa
l’alba ci spinge alla vita.
© 2003, Antonella Anedda
From: Il catalogo della gioia
Publisher: Donzelli, Roma
From: Il catalogo della gioia
Publisher: Donzelli, Roma
Poems
Poems of Antonella Anedda
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Courage
The kitchen is a promontory. The pans are reefs eaten by a wolf-wind that blows and runsin circles on the island. The railing is a grey gust, his mate our sharp sister. Just awaken
we are the birds bent over the sink, tired of the nightly migration, confused by the rockets
that pelt our dreams.
In the entire painting it is winter.
In the music on the radio hail tolls.
Its white vibrates on the antennas and the balcony.
With its compassionate cloud muzzle
dawn drives us to life.
© 2004, Antonella Anedda
From: Il catalogo della gioia
From: Il catalogo della gioia
Courage
The kitchen is a promontory. The pans are reefs eaten by a wolf-wind that blows and runsin circles on the island. The railing is a grey gust, his mate our sharp sister. Just awaken
we are the birds bent over the sink, tired of the nightly migration, confused by the rockets
that pelt our dreams.
In the entire painting it is winter.
In the music on the radio hail tolls.
Its white vibrates on the antennas and the balcony.
With its compassionate cloud muzzle
dawn drives us to life.
© 2004, Antonella Anedda
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