terça-feira, 9 de março de 2010

Existing Psychically

From this contriving flesh-land
thin whetted senses
and startlements and silences,
from this slaver of events
- suns that hit the threads of eyelashes
wheatspikes beginning to fray on hillsides -
from this long moment
swallowed by snows, swallowed by wind,
from all this that wasn't
spring not July not autumn
but just sickly opening
but just psyche,
from all this wind is nothing
and which is everything that I am:
in a similar way truth moans to itself,
wants to be apple that swells with moisture and rots.
Acid brightness that weaves
the stings of hell and atoms
with the heavy heaves
of seaweed and worms,
that in the dying mucus makes words,
makes loves.

Andrea Zanzotto in Italian Poetry: 1950 to 1990, Ridinger and Renello (eds.), Dante University Press, 1996.

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