Two Poems



Two Poems

                                                           to my son

 From the gulf of Sorrento, you can just make out Gavdos


Te voglio bene assai

Ma tanto tanto bene, sai

È una catena ormai 

Che scioglie il sangue dint'e ’vvene, sai 


A chain that breaks in the breath of your voice 

The same tape in the aging Ford again and again Pavarotti's ode recorded live in Paris [Lucio Dalla lulled me at nights, but I betrayed him]

This god-forsaken generation drained of its own blood 

I love you as much as the whole of the earth/ Look at the lights in the sea


Unending nights and the propeller breaking the waves [I must match the proper reckless word to my irreverent years] Later the memory holy moments Imagination an endless ocean [And how can I swim with my limited education?]

Our winding descent Absolute bliss to have you beside me A hard world full of landslides 

Listening again and again to Pavarotti singing Enrico Caruso in the aging cassette player of the aging Ford switching gear winding down touching the sea Immobile lake the two of us Time stretched before us but we didn't know [We don't touch it because it streams away in the void] 


Hard crossings fill your breath The hand on the wheel 

The frame the sea [how the open horizon opens up my soul]

Heat with canyons slowly dissipating miles 

[I know no names I never loved geography Maybe because my life seemed transient] 

We mustn't get lost I'll find my way again 

In the cassette player Caruso, Pavarotti, Lucio Dalla, Gavdos wait on the other side You next to me 


Qui dove il mare luccica

E tira forte il vento

Su una vecchia terrazza 

Davanti al golfo di Surriento


Samaria weighs anchor The journey must go on

We have a lot to say, some day

Catch up with the fleeting time


In place of a CV


I often confess to the district tax collector 

to the court representatives 

who look in vain for my name in their lists 

To the gilded vestments of the bishops I confess

To the open windows recently barred 

To the neighborhood butcher

To the policeman patrolling alone at nights

To the bailiff with scores of summonses 

that he releases to the wind like kites 

To the court martial I confess and their harsh punishment

[terror and authority forever wounds in bodies] 


I speak of my sins

I apologize from birth to have a clear conscience on the guillotine

I always take care

to maintain my good relations with executioners 

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