I thank Flavio Almerighi for the translation and publication in his Sunday poetry selection of my poem «Reunion».

Grazie mille Flavio!

Gioielli Rubati 391: silviatico – Riccardo Solieri – Marina Pizzi – Marta Lugano – Julie Sopetràn – Abel Abilheira – Cipriano Gentilino – Francesca Tuscano.

On February dawn, early in the morning, the houses and trees are overflowing with hope.

As servilletas de tela
E o mantel elegante
Decoran as palabras
Que van rebotando 
Contra a cubertería
Contra os dentes
Que sorrín
Escollen a lingua
Da sua nai
A dos meus pais
A dos xogos
Mentres, a luz dalgún sol
Atrévese a percorrer o salón
Deixando destellos
Na superficies 
Dos obxectos duros
Sen, porén 
Chegar a quentalos

Reunion

The cloth napkins
And the elegant tablecloth
Decorate the words
That ricochet
Off the cutlery
And the teeth
Which smile
They choose the language
Of their mother
That of my parents
That of the games
Meanwhile, the light of some sun
Dares to walk through the living room
Leaving sparkles
On the surfaces
Of the hard objects
Without, however
Getting to warm them

No teu colo
pouso a cabeza 
distraidamente 
enredas os dedos 
entre o meu pelo
mentres froto os bigotes
contra as tuas coxas

definitivamente a tarde 
élle propicia aos felinos
aproveito a vantaxe 
de saturno retrógrado
para ronronar 
asking for more
encore, s’il te plait!

sinto as xemas dos dedos 
percorrendo 
camiños cegos 
círculos, elipses 
liñas de ida e volta
encerelladas no pelello

vendería a miña alma
por morar en permanencia
nesta felinidade
acceso cada tarde
á calor do teu ventre
aos teus aloumiños

Felinity

On your lap
I rest my head
distractedly
You tangle your fingers
in my hair
While I rub my whiskers
against your thighs

Definitely the afternoon
is favorable for felines
I take advantage
of Saturn retrograde
to purr
Asking for more
Encore, s’il te plait!

I feel the tips of your fingers
Traveling blind paths
Circles, ellipses
Back and forth lines 
Intertwined in my fur

I would sell my soul
To live permanently
In this felinity
having access every afternoon
To the warmth of your womb
To your caresses

El calor del horno de la cocina
el olor de los tomates asados
ya nos unen de vuelta 
en el momento íntimo 
en el que juntos correremos 
los mismos caminos 
del protagonista

Es la dulce hora de la cena
y ya se aleja veloz 
ya ni se recuerda
la vida entera pasada 
patinando sobre la superficie 
embarrada de las cosas 
mientras con un diccionario 
me vendaba los ojos

y con los ojos vendados 
conseguía recorrer 
la ruta mas larga
rodeo a ninguna parte
como único objetivo 
aumentar la entropía
del universo

Pero ya comienzan 
a tostarse los tomates
la mesa con los cubiertos
aguarda a los comensales
y el protagonista sólo espera
que pulsemos el botón
del mando a distancia

The pause button

The kitchen oven’s warmth
the smell of roasted tomatoes
already reunite us
in the intimate moment
when together we will run
the same paths
as the protagonist

It is the sweet hour of dinner
and it is already swiftly slipping away
it is no longer remembered
the entire life spent
slipping on the muddy surface
of things
while with a dictionary
I blindfolded myself

and with my eyes blindfolded
I managed to travel
the longest route
a circuit to nowhere
with the sole objective
of increasing the entropy
of the universe

But now the tomatoes 
are beginning to be done
the table with the cutlery
awaits the diners
and the protagonist only waits
for us to press the button
on the remote control

Aquí estaba eu 
nun banal día de semana 
a agardar pola neve
ao carón das hortensias 
que como pista de despegue 
usa decote a miña alma 
para o inicio gozoso
das suas viaxes 
alén dos carballos 

cedo veu o solpor
dezaseis cincuenta e nove
e a rua seguía mollada 
escura
acendéronse as farolas
pero aquí non hai signos
da branca esperanza

subo ao cuarto darriba
axexo o fondo da rúa
tampouco alí se ve
xa me pesan as pálpebras
parece que o norte de Gales
acaparouna toda
vaise outro día 
frío de febreiro
no que esperou a esperanza

Hope on hold

Here I was 
on a banal weekday 
waiting for the snow 
beside the hydrangeas 
that my soul often uses 
as a runway for the joyful beginning 
of its journeys 
beyond the oaks 

The sunset came early 
sixteen fifty-nine 
and the street was still wet dark 
the lampposts were on 
but here there are no signs 
of white hope 

I go upstairs 
I look down the street 
can't see it there either  
my eyelids are already heavy  
it seems that North Wales 
has taken it all 
another cold February day 
when hope just waited

De toutes mes forces, j'essaie de découvrir ce que l’on appelle la poésie.

Pendant ma quête, en gros, j’ai pu écrire à peu près sept mille vers et malgré les tonnes de foi épaisse déversées sur eux à la bétonneuse, je n’ai jamais aperçu un rayon divin naissant entre deux estrofes.

Ce fut, la plupart du temps, un demi-dieu mort-né le fruit de mes soucis, après déchiqueter son corps mou je jetais les morceaux aux fourmis toujours avides de matière première.

Et je recommence à frotter les mots jusqu’au jour où jaillisse l’étincelle et devienne un soudain éclair assez puissant pour bâtir la Chanson des Nibelungen de mon peuple moribond ou une version européenne des Lusiades de Camões comme une consigne pour réaliser une RCP au cœur du désespoir.

The quest

With all my might, I try to discover what is called poetry.

During my quest, I've managed to write roughly seven thousand lines, and despite the tons of thick faith poured over them, like a cement mixer, I've never glimpsed a nascent divine ray between two stanzas.

Most of the time, it was a stillborn demigod, the fruit of my sleepless worries. After tearing its soft body to shreds, I threw the pieces to the ants, ever hungry for raw material.

And I start rubbing the words together again until the day the spark ignites and becomes a sudden flash powerful enough to build the Song of the Nibelungs for my dying people, or a European version of Camões's Lusiads, like instructions for performing CPR in the midst of despair.

Desde a radio do moble do salón 
xorde inesperado o contrabaixo 
a vibración grave das suas cordas 
arríncame a alma, literal

a través da fiestra pechada
sobre as hortensias podadas,
a sebe e màis alá os carballos 
do outro lado da estrada

afástase flotando, deixa atrás
o corpo ríxido de cicatrices
conquista un universo
onde volve ser posible a fe

Soul & body

From the radio on the living room furniture 
the double bass suddenly appears 
the low vibration of its strings 
literally rips out my soul 

through the closed window 
over the pruned hydrangeas 
the hedge and beyond the oak trees 
on the other side of the road 

floating away, leaving behind 
a body stiff with scars 
conquering a universe 
where faith is once again possible.
 

A ausencia como unha arma
ameaza o leve equilibrio
promete praceneira caida
tan fácil, tan excitante!

atrévese a cuestionar o meu reino
de barquiños de papel
e follas secas de carballo
sabe que avanzo dificultosamente
batendo a cabeza contras as paredes

por iso téntame co mergullo
no que as mans xuntas 
abren a superficie
e o corpo enteiro avanza, 
liberado, noutra densidade 
mundo novo por descubrir!

non penso en que na baixada
hánseme baleirar os petos 
nos que gardo uns poucos principios
que me manteñen erguido;

seguramente na ventá do salón
escorregando efímera sobre o cristal
unha pinga gorda de chuvia
como unha lágrima
sería o único testigo da desfeita

Confessions on the deathbed of January

Absence like a weapon
threatens the slight balance
promises a pleasant fall
so easy, so exciting!

it dares to question my kingdom
of paper boats
and dry oak leaves
knows that I advance with difficulty
beating my head against the walls

that is why it tempts me with the dive
in which the hands together
open the surface
and the whole body advances,
liberated, in another density
new world to discover!

I do not think that on the descent
I would empty my pockets
in which I keep a few principles
that keep me upright;

surely in the living room window
slipping ephemerally on the glass
a fat drop of rain
like a tear
would be the only witness to the undoing

Ante la avalancha que a primera hora 
Amenaza con enterrarme en el fracaso
Con las puntas de los dedos 
Tamborileo sobre el escritorio

Y el repiqueteo apurado 
Como de un intenso tiroteo lejano 
Genera alerta en los pájaros 
Que aletean confusos en sus jaulas

Mientras, en algún territorio remoto 
Tras la cortina de la atención
Vuelve a subir mi bici de carreras 
A los terrenos agrestes del lobo 

Donde la soledad es tan patente 
Que no hace ya daño
Y pago por mi aislamiento
Con lo única moneda que creo poseer

Allá sólo los perros me reconocen
Y abalanzan sus caninos amarillos 
Contra mis muslos exaustos 
Incapaces de ocultar el rechazo


Wolf habitat

Before the avalanche, 
first thing in the morning, 
Threatens to bury me in failure
With my fingertips
I tap on the desk

And the hurried tapping
Like an intense distant shootout
Raises the birds' alarm
That flutter confusedly in their cages

Meanwhile, in some remote territory
Behind the curtain of attention
My racing bike climbs back up
To the wolf's wild terrain

Where loneliness is so evident
That it no longer hurts
And I pay for my isolation
With the only currency 
I think I possess

There, only the dogs recognize me
And they lunge their yellow canines
Against my exhausted thighs
Unable to hide their rejection