Poem
Gian Mario Villalta
DEDICATION: 1
“ . . .What love, that of the dead, what desire
it digs inside
And neither the voice, his face, nothing.
What does it erase . . . detach . . . still nothing.
Today, too, while it rained, I opened the doors wide
and all the windows of the house, to make room
t o m a k e r o o m – for what?
Only noise, numbers, or light that moves on the clothes-line
and rapidly crosses the gravel.
Beyond the infection colored fence: asphalt, green wood.
The sky loses height, space.
The giving in
one word at a time.
© Translation: 2004, Gabriele Poole
DEDICA: 1.
DEDICA: 1.
“ . . .Che amore, quello dei morti, che desiderio
scava dentro
e non la voce, la sua faccia, niente.
Cosa cancella . . . stacca . . . ancora niente.
Anche oggi, mentre piove, ho spalancato le porte
e tutte le finestre della casa, per fare posto
f a r e p o s t o – a cosa?
Solo rumori, cifre, luce che vibra sul filo per stendere
e percorre veloce la ghiaia.
Oltre la rete colore infetto: asfalto, legna verde.
Il cielo perde altezza, perde spazio.
Il cedimento
una parola alla volta.
© 2004, Gian Mario Villalta
Poems
Poems of Gian Mario Villalta
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DEDICATION: 1
“ . . .What love, that of the dead, what desire
it digs inside
And neither the voice, his face, nothing.
What does it erase . . . detach . . . still nothing.
Today, too, while it rained, I opened the doors wide
and all the windows of the house, to make room
t o m a k e r o o m – for what?
Only noise, numbers, or light that moves on the clothes-line
and rapidly crosses the gravel.
Beyond the infection colored fence: asphalt, green wood.
The sky loses height, space.
The giving in
one word at a time.
© 2004, Gabriele Poole
DEDICATION: 1
“ . . .What love, that of the dead, what desire
it digs inside
And neither the voice, his face, nothing.
What does it erase . . . detach . . . still nothing.
Today, too, while it rained, I opened the doors wide
and all the windows of the house, to make room
t o m a k e r o o m – for what?
Only noise, numbers, or light that moves on the clothes-line
and rapidly crosses the gravel.
Beyond the infection colored fence: asphalt, green wood.
The sky loses height, space.
The giving in
one word at a time.
© 2004, Gabriele Poole
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