Poem
Davide Rondoni
New York
Central Park, end of fall, treesof electric silk and the color of blood
in the cold blue of the sky which rise
open
then slowly turn off
shadow
that is coming, air
that is darkening
And the frozen crown
of the skyscrapers begins to shine
over the darker crowd in the streets.
I ask Oonagh: why do wear your hair like this,
gray at thirty
But dancing she moves the ashes of her head
and her unthinkable sky-blue eyes
draws a magic circle
around Manhattan, makes a fire of herself
and spreads her arms, oars, wings
in the ocean of the evening voices.
You hear her cry out of invisible boats.
In the dark bay.
© Translation: 2003, Gabriele Poole
New York
New York
Central Park, fine autunno, alberidi seta elettrica e color sangue
nel freddo azzurro del cielo che salgono
si aprono
poi piano che si spengono,
ombra
che sta venendo, aria
che si oscura.
E inizia a splendere la corona
ghiacciata dei grattacieli
sulla folla più cupa nelle strade.
Io chiedo a Oonagh: perché tieni i capelli così,
grigi a trent’anni.
Ma lei ballando muove la cenere della testa
e gli occhi celesti impensabili
fa un cerchio magico
a Manhattan, fa di sé un incendio
e apre braccia, remi, ali
nell’oceano delle voci della sera.
Senti che grida di barche invisibili.
Nella baia nera.
© 2003, Davide Rondoni
From: Avrebbe amato chiunque
Publisher: Guanda, Milano
From: Avrebbe amato chiunque
Publisher: Guanda, Milano
Poems
Poems of Davide Rondoni
Close
New York
Central Park, end of fall, treesof electric silk and the color of blood
in the cold blue of the sky which rise
open
then slowly turn off
shadow
that is coming, air
that is darkening
And the frozen crown
of the skyscrapers begins to shine
over the darker crowd in the streets.
I ask Oonagh: why do wear your hair like this,
gray at thirty
But dancing she moves the ashes of her head
and her unthinkable sky-blue eyes
draws a magic circle
around Manhattan, makes a fire of herself
and spreads her arms, oars, wings
in the ocean of the evening voices.
You hear her cry out of invisible boats.
In the dark bay.
© 2003, Gabriele Poole
From: Avrebbe amato chiunque
From: Avrebbe amato chiunque
New York
Central Park, end of fall, treesof electric silk and the color of blood
in the cold blue of the sky which rise
open
then slowly turn off
shadow
that is coming, air
that is darkening
And the frozen crown
of the skyscrapers begins to shine
over the darker crowd in the streets.
I ask Oonagh: why do wear your hair like this,
gray at thirty
But dancing she moves the ashes of her head
and her unthinkable sky-blue eyes
draws a magic circle
around Manhattan, makes a fire of herself
and spreads her arms, oars, wings
in the ocean of the evening voices.
You hear her cry out of invisible boats.
In the dark bay.
© 2003, Gabriele Poole
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