{"id":298,"date":"2007-06-05T19:20:29","date_gmt":"2007-06-05T19:20:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/nucleus-import\/?p=298"},"modified":"2007-06-05T19:20:29","modified_gmt":"2007-06-05T19:20:29","slug":"poems-by-luigi-cannillo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/poems-by-luigi-cannillo\/","title":{"rendered":"poems by: Luigi Cannillo"},"content":{"rendered":"

Translated by:Michael d’Esposito<\/b>” from Italian . <\/p>\n

null<\/div>\n

\nThe gaze fathoms
\nfrom the dark edges the bottom
\nof the well, invisible, the danger.
\nThe grown ups warn,
\nbeware of the tarantula.
\n We still do not know<\/p>\n

shape for that name.<\/p>\n

The sunken threat does not ripple.<\/p>\n

The fountain does not roar while<\/p>\n

they forbid us to dip and drink.<\/p>\n

Will it be claws or horns to tear?<\/p>\n

Open jaws mixed with our screams?<\/p>\n

Tentacles which swallow or poison?<\/p>\n

Lightening jumped out of water?<\/p>\n

Misery and war will explode tarantula.<\/p>\n

While mystery guards every passion<\/p>\n

from the cistern throbs in every effort, <\/p>\n

as shadows dominate the asters of the garden,<\/p>\n

The beast growls from afar,<\/p>\n

shakes our fate. <\/p>\n

We lie in wait,<\/p>\n

flat under the tall grass or like knives<\/p>\n

vertical in the corners of barns.<\/p>\n

We will be first<\/p>\n

\nLight<\/b> so definitive<\/p>\n

as to shake the incandescent gates <\/p>\n

asks why you do not return.<\/p>\n

The roads in midsummer go back<\/p>\n

to the origins leading nowhere.<\/p>\n

A cancer of the plain bonds the city<\/p>\n

barren of river, leaning not on the sea,<\/p>\n

no body of mountains to shield.<\/p>\n

This is the place, all banishes us.<\/p>\n

Here we can only light rancour<\/p>\n

and consume it. Will this empty nest<\/p>\n

hold us in the flowing air?<\/p>\n

Iron and asphalt chained, silence<\/p>\n

only a blister of talent<\/p>\n

blowing us beyond the line\u2019s end.<\/p>\n

We are no longer here<\/p>\n

but not yet elsewhere<\/p>\n

and without a dwelling we breathe emptiness.<\/p>\n

They will be back, but the evenings<\/p>\n

pushed beyond dinner\u2019s steam<\/p>\n

mercifully encourage a certainty<\/p>\n

That the sun, rather than celebrate<\/p>\n

the triumph of the season, <\/p>\n

shines ferocious on our absence. <\/p>\n

Between<\/b> armour and sky<\/p>\n

weighs entirely our gravity.<\/p>\n

Fruit and hail, every event<\/p>\n

snaps and falls<\/p>\n

invoking the ground.<\/p>\n

The forehead must break the visor<\/p>\n

to chase the source<\/p>\n

in the emptiness from which gush<\/p>\n

seasons and incompleted gestures.<\/p>\n

Let me feel your hand<\/p>\n

between skin and armour<\/p>\n

sow the negated caresses.<\/p>\n

Body of all absent hands<\/p>\n

weaves the nourishment basket <\/p>\n

til from bones are born<\/p>\n

curls of wind and sighs.<\/p>\n

As the Sirocco stuns<\/p>\n

and exhausts the joints.<\/p>\n

As fireworks light dreams. <\/p>\n

Empty<\/b> plain evenings, early nights<\/p>\n

Fog assaults the window<\/p>\n

No other place accessible<\/p>\n

We must stay and blind <\/p>\n

Without figures in motion<\/p>\n

Turbulence of leaves and sleepless animals,<\/p>\n

Without light on the farm<\/p>\n

Even our voice useless<\/p>\n

Moved objects have sounds<\/p>\n

To speak pages and clocks<\/p>\n

In exile ticked in silence <\/p>\n

Disconsolate all expectations spread<\/p>\n

If the radio announces<\/p>\n

Still fog in the Padana valley <\/p>\n

The invisible empire wraps<\/p>\n

Woollen balls to the cribs<\/p>\n

First memory sprouts<\/p>\n

Darkness teaches waiting <\/p>\n

Years of presumed glory <\/p>\n

Thrown on high<\/p>\n

Like caps rejoicing<\/p>\n

When summer dinners opened wide<\/p>\n

The generous doors to the neighbourhood<\/p>\n

And then rushing shiny to the variety show <\/p>\n

\nPushed without past<\/p>\n

To follow the century<\/p>\n

Time in bills for adults<\/p>\n

Signed head down to cancel<\/p>\n

Bruises of fatigue and nightly frenzy<\/p>\n

They saved us from the stories<\/p>\n

Of parades the race for shelters<\/p>\n

Why the wounds and change of uniform<\/p>\n

History set aside for the grown ups <\/p>\n

\nFor me on the edges of silence<\/p>\n

Races solitary theatre <\/p>\n

Cartoon heroes and obstacles to face <\/p>\n

\nNobody now is allowed<\/p>\n

The luxury of nostalgia<\/p>\n

Documents burn in our hands<\/p>\n

Without ever consuming <\/p>\n

\nHistory remains the wrenching time<\/p>\n

And it blows, skin<\/p>\n

Still burning<\/p>\n

This our crown<\/p>\n

The battle field without truce<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Translated by:Michael d’Esposito” from Italian . The gaze fathoms from the dark edges the bottom of the well, invisible, the danger. The grown ups warn, beware of the tarantula.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":546,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[45],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/298"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/546"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=298"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/298\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=298"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=298"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=298"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}