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Errata corrige

Altro che falce pigiama della vita la morte amica — A scythe? Not really. Pyjamas of life, I say, our everyday death.

Being and Time

I am who I was and who I’ll be and who was not but could have been or could perhaps but will not be ( is this the magic soap to wash away regret and lather hope? ) for sure I’ll never be who I should be I am … Essere e Tempo Io sono […]

The King’s Troop horses on a morning walk

Like waves of a bay torrent, three by three, they clang along the road the Army steeds; in rhythm, striking, beautiful to see, obedient and compliant on their leads. Grey skies above: a canvas for the mood of Sergeant Doom, while lanky fractal trees are playing tricks and shameless, in the nude, they mock the […]

?

“È” come un re sull’ultimo gradino della sublime scala dei perché e la sostiene. Ontologia dell’Essere: inizio e fine, unica fonte della nostra verità. — Riflessioni su Sein und Zeit (Heidegger)

Autunno

Una sull’altra, a chiazze, sul selciato, dormono soffici, d’oro le foglie, forse in un sogno brumoso le coglie il dubbio d’avere un po’ troppo frusciato. Ma è tardi. Ora il ramo, educato all’indifferenza del vento che toglie, tremulo avverte, gelide e spoglie le sue estremità, lassù, desolato. Bianca, la luce dell’alba autunnale tinge di fragile […]

14 May 1973 “Seven die in helicopter crash”

One day in May they told us you were dead, inside a monster called Agusta Bell: “it crashed, there was no chance — no, no-one fled, it burned — but up in heaven, now, they dwell”. Our Mamma froze, she gasped yet she did not shed tears, because the three of us were so so […]

The Holm

…and what are you doing there aloof, full-leafed, when all the leaves have left?!?

Soldiers (1918)

hanging like in the autumn on to the trees the leaves – my translation of Giuseppe Ungaretti’s poem: Soldati Si sta come d’autunno sugli alberi le foglie

Two people

A mirror palindrome One is elated not unusual except it’s eight am and it’s grey “I‘ll walk with you for a bit you don’t mind do you” happy humming “lovely the wild birds how they fly free drawing gentle loops on that crisp blue water” an uncertain sun pierces the clouds “in those spent grey […]

Nomina induta

Ovid’s Metamorphoses III.206-236 Actaeon, transformed by the goddess Diana into a deer, as punishment for spying on her bathing, is pursued and mauled by his own hounds. Latin reading: https://youtu.be/qAt0hORk4hU My translation While in a daze (the shock of his likeness to deer so perplexing), Blackfur and Tracker, hawk-eyed, are the first to call out […]