Translated from the Italian by Patrick Williamson
The horse won’t budge. They’ve been telling it to move
for far too long, but there’s too much sand
all around, and the man isn’t convincing enough.
The animal snorts. There was never any point
to this journey, and the horse carried on just as
the heart beats and the sun rises each day.
The man speaks to it, offering it a date,
and holds its large open ear in his hand:
“I know how you feel. The road is long
and we are alone. I need a witness, horse,
a witness to this journey that is ours.”
The animal mustered one last effort to gracefully
offer a reply: “I am no witness, you are on me,
and we do nothing but pass from day
to life, to death, but it is all just.”
With that, it folded its strong legs
and collapsed like a castle by the sea.
The man slowly dismounted
and the silence was total.
(from La cura, Fermenti, 2015)
MELVILLE
I held the book of the whale to my chest
and breathed quietly, following words
warmly hoisted aboard to lull me to sleep.
With every breath it seemed
the ship’s timber was enlarging
in a creaking din, and I felt within
all the water a man holds.
Then even the lines began to skip
along with the ropes
and the sailors fell asleep.
There is a moment in the night where everything
is suspended. I felt my way towards it,
picking up signs on land and at sea
that heralded my departure.
Just long enough to close my eyes and open them again.
(from La cura, Fermenti, 2015)
THE HOTEL
For you, they are teeth to collect,
my tongue to be hung from the ceiling,
and my hair to iron
with glue onto a mannequin.
This isn’t seeing, it isn’t loving,
this is trying to touch,
to find out what is real.
When the heart has gone cold by the window
the lover can be taken apart, and details prevail.
Terror makes you speak very plainly.
You leaving? Staying? Who should you call?
Better you gnaw one of my bones than to suffer.
(from La cura, Fermenti, 2015)
