The Writers Voice
The World's Favourite Literary Website

Italian Poetries (32)

by


Evidda

SOME POETRIES OF EVIDDA IN ENGLISH:

FANTASY:

It dreamt invisible town, where alone artists inhabited. There were acrobats, you write poetry, writers, painters, producers, painters, acrobats, trampolieri, mimes, now next to sign l' armistice (agreement) with the reality. But when their pen was writing I have heard the singhiozzi of the sky. I saw the shooting stars. I saw to stop itself the comete. I saw the tides to rebel itself to the moon. The roads without name I saw to christen itself it a the other one. But they had had luck. The ink was nice. The artists reassured themselves, it is reassured the moon.
 

AN IMAGE OF LIFE:

The nature, his trame, its songs and
the life like an image,
that puts to alone fire
when is being at a distance hitself.

AN ARTIFICIAL HOUR OF PARADISE:

After to have open the doors of the
perception with ectasy, after
an artificial hour of paradise,
they moved unintentionally the jaws,
chewing the nothing.

YOU COME DAWN:

You come dawn
to greet souls and things
of this word.
You come dawn...
how if trenches the
first dawn of the word,
the last of every man.

RADIATE OF MOON:

Radiate of moon, spin argenteo, you
pierce and fringes geometries of spider.
You settle flashing your self on if you
it it of grass. Impalpable, almost imperceptible.
You hide yourself always in the clear one of moon,
in the multitude.
You crossed the empty universe
to deliver us your mistery.


MOON:

Moon, sole true light, that touches land in the night. Moon, alone you reassure the children and chase the fear of the darkness to them. Moon, sole true light, truth revealed. Moon, with your hawks, your face hidden, the your fourths, you deceive the lovers and do him believer that the largest loves I am those done not change again. Moon, from millennia the sighs of the fond muoiono over you. Moon, truth revealed, lie unmasked. Moon, light, that does not give heat to the heart
 

SO YOUNG:

We were so young. We felt us immortal or at least we did not think ever to the death. We were deaf to the slow apocalypses of the world, we were in continuous ferment, in perpetual motion and certain evenings the streetlights danced to the ritmo of the wind, to our eyes stayed still alone the firmament.

A LIZARD:

I look at the wall. It appears the tail of a lizard, appears the back of scales... and in the interstices of the hedge already I do not see it. ..like if with a rapid flash, a quick moviment of small legs was freed itself in a tunnel; like if the crossroads of the livid colors of the sunset, the I reflect of a flash of rays invisible revenue had it. Perhaps it is fled in a crack, in a dead zone of my eye, perhaps in a hole hidden, where it the plaster falls and it the lime emerges, escaping at my visa, now elusive.

THE TRUTH OF THE HEART:

Fathers and sons, brothers and sister to see
every day....to see grow them and to age
without to understand their changes.
Not to find ever the words....
how around the planet it gravites
the satellite, like around
the unit gravites the electron,
we turns always around the
truth of heart.

THE FREEDOM OF THELMA AND LOUISE:

The normality already closed the beating to the hour of the coprifuoco. The bus in the lethargy of the depot. The trains stop in a dead platform. The car parked in the clearings are tarnished. In the rooms of hotel you can heard drops of sinks from the trims routes, and sighs of pleasure. And themselves do not go around angels in the angles, girl that you pursue the freedom of Thelma and Louise.

CAPTURE THE LIFE ?

To capture the life?
No.
to Stop every so often a thought
and to do in manner that you do not become
a fixed idea.

THE UNIVERSE OF THE DOUBT:

To the west of the apathy, to the east of the sadness, to the north of the fog, to the south of the feeling. .... to the center of me same? and a beaten some mind collected distant images in an indeterminate dead point inferior. .. the lights of these fake choir.... the universe of the doubt is restricted and expanded.... like the universe of the physical moderns.

OF PASSAGE ON THE PLANET LAND:

Waterproof membrane, breaks irremediable, seed of the cosmos, dissolute filament in the time, energy imprisoned about, energy that goes out outside from my matter, of passage on the planet land.

THE RIVER AND THE CHILDREN:

The river runs slowly. The wind moves the glass of the house. The river runs slowly. It drags with dead sŤ leaves, stories passed, current things. The river runs slowly. The eyes of the children greet the running one.

INDISSOLUBLE CHAIN:

What hoops in what call love?
An experience totalizzane?
A secure port that you protect yourself from the storms and from the heavy sea?
A talisman that the fear of the solitude removes you?
Or you are awkward to the indissoluble chain of the habit ?

LIVING PERSON:

The song of the engine and the indecipherable sillabario of signs to the neon and the cigarettes on the cruscotto and the open window and the brezza in face that is a coarse caress that does hear you living person.

EVERY DILEMMA OF THE PAST:

I do not sigh ever on the look of a passerby, on the looks of bank of game crossed from the window with the girl sat on the train of the binary parallel. I do not sigh, dwelling itself to every dilemma of the past, thinking about what was able to be and did not be. Not to ask itself ever as it would have been the destiny in a place just seen, where the train never stopped; or in the town from the bei geraniums that ever saw us and that ever will see us. Not to ask itself ever if will stay something of lasting to our departure. Not to ask itself ever what hand of angelo or what fragment of our dream setbacks the shadow of the dead one from our sleep.

BEYOND THE FORMALITY AND THE HYPOCRISIES ???

You want perhaps to go beyond the formality and the hypocrisies and the fake smile or of circumstance and of the hands sweat that squeeze other hands for interest and suitability? You want perhaps to fight you alone the arrogance and the appearance and the superficiality? You want perhaps to go the substance? You are a crazy one!!!! You do like the majority: not to research will authenticate it. How many persons that you know think that are arranged to undertake a so difficult journey, that carries so distant?

IRONY:

I listen to without to understand. I smile without to laugh. I wilt without to cry. I speak without to say. I look at without vision. But to times looking at me in the mirror it seems me even of to distinguish a human being.

BEYOND MY HORIZON:

Beyond my horizon the replies that I have not. Beyond lives of millions my horizon and of looks that I do not know. Beyond all my horizon what ever was, that ever I will be

THE AIR OF THE SPRING:

There where it ends the rainbow. There where they flower and they nests of swallows are born. There to smell the air of the Spring, between the colors of party of the roads of the world.

A BREATH OF LIGHT:

Now weak thread , a breath of light, spread the warmth on the edge of gold, dies on an ear of grain.

NOT TO THINK US:

To be and to become. Identity and change. Stasi and motion. Sole and complex. To want and to have. Loss and possession. No. Not to think us. For itself not to times you suffice do not to claim nothing from the things and from the other, from this moon between the branches.

OURS CONSOLATIONS:

Hope and awaited,
sole ours consolations,
while concentric hoops
dissolve themselves in the water.

A JOURNEY:

>From the window of the train the landscapes had the color of my moods and of my spirit, because then- seas or rivers, plains or you ascend- to the end all of the journey are inner.

THE MATURITY:

The maturity has the I turn dug, is a luggage of coconut palms and of shining pieces; but for escape, consolation, euphemism they give the name of experience. Maturity and experience.

INVISIBLE BARRIERS:

We are more being at a distance
from the nature and from our fellows:
too invisible barriers.

DEAD PLATFORM:

That still train on that dead platform,
how many lives, how many loves
transported
a time.

THE STONE:

Too times i envy the stone, because exists without the anxiety of the live. Then i think that also the stone, if had conscience, enould our vital breath.

THE PERFUME OF YOUR HAIR:

A day corsed the dust.
Another day claim to inhabit on a star.
I could not carry you all of the morninies
of the world and all of the morninies of the world
talked me about your hair.
That seek itself and to lose itself in the perfume of your hair.

ON THE DARK SIDE OF THE ROAD:

Itself exchange the confortable one with the necessary one. It is run to arrive and who is stopped on the dark side of the road becomes invisible.

BUT:

But the wind and the water dig still between the rocks with hisses and shaving drops. And wild roses flower still between stones.

Critique this work

Click on the book to leave a comment about this work

All Authors (hi-speed)    All Authors (dialup)    Children    Columnists    Contact    Drama    Fiction    Grammar    Guest Book    Home    Humour    Links    Narratives    Novels    Poems    Published Authors    Reviews    September 11    Short Stories    Teen Writings    Submission Guidelines

Be sure to have a look at our Discussion Forum today to see what's
happening on The World's Favourite Literary Website.