Poem
Paolo Ruffilli
NOWHERE
How many timeshave I left
before daybreak or
at dead of night
and often reluctantly
all irritation lost
and my mind on
the threshold of return.
Could they be piled
one on the other
all those roads
and stack those destinations
leaf upon leaf
what a continual drifting
what a monstrous tangle
of distances
would this form
on a map . . .
it would confirm
the sentence that you
will never find rest,
and yet show
how you will never
advance a span,
that the more you go
and the less you stay
you never arrive
nowhere.
© Translation: 2004, Boris Peter
From: Poetry London, Spring, 47
From: Poetry London, Spring, 47
Da nessuna parte
Da nessuna parte
Quante voltesono partito
appena giorno o
nel cuore della notte
e, molte, controvoglia
nel dispetto finito
con la testa
sulla soglia del ritorno.
Se si potessero sommare
una all\'altra
tutte le rotte
e aggiungere le mete
foglia su foglia
quale catena lunga
di deriva,
che mostruoso disegno
della distanza
si comporrerebbe nel totale
sulle carte . . .
sarebbe la riprova
di una condanna
senza mai riposo,
si vedrebbe
che non si avanza
di una spanna,
che più si va
e meno si trova,
che non si arriva
da nessuna parte.
© 2006, Paolo Ruffilli
Poems
Poems of Paolo Ruffilli
Close
NOWHERE
How many timeshave I left
before daybreak or
at dead of night
and often reluctantly
all irritation lost
and my mind on
the threshold of return.
Could they be piled
one on the other
all those roads
and stack those destinations
leaf upon leaf
what a continual drifting
what a monstrous tangle
of distances
would this form
on a map . . .
it would confirm
the sentence that you
will never find rest,
and yet show
how you will never
advance a span,
that the more you go
and the less you stay
you never arrive
nowhere.
© 2004, Boris Peter
From: Poetry London, Spring, 47
From: Poetry London, Spring, 47
NOWHERE
How many timeshave I left
before daybreak or
at dead of night
and often reluctantly
all irritation lost
and my mind on
the threshold of return.
Could they be piled
one on the other
all those roads
and stack those destinations
leaf upon leaf
what a continual drifting
what a monstrous tangle
of distances
would this form
on a map . . .
it would confirm
the sentence that you
will never find rest,
and yet show
how you will never
advance a span,
that the more you go
and the less you stay
you never arrive
nowhere.
© 2004, Boris Peter
From: Poetry London, Spring, 47
From: Poetry London, Spring, 47
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