Cover art: Ksenia Datsiuk, “Mantra” 2021, courtesy of Ukrainian painters’ exhibit in Padua
From the author’s unpublished notebooks, working title “Timidezza delle fronde” (The Shyness of Foliage”), this poem is part of Notebook n. 7. Translated from Italian by Pina Piccolo, and reviewed by the author.
what do you know about good and evil
an entity that possesses you for a few minutes
performs its task
leaving a cruel scenario
you are born superficial,
sadly
you can’t become that way
see?
everything that surrounds you has exactly your face
a gigantic karmic construction
everything exists even without it
but it is practically psychedelic
the true nature appears of things and people
the universe is a hologram
the same for everyone
different for everyone
even a louse has a soul
and you
are exactly where you were meant to be
exercising the mind
is not poetry
only useful to clean the room
to make room
poetry is a princess
it does not stoop to frequent crowded places
poetry is a holy beggar
it does not come into fake halls
it does not sit at the table
it keeps the company of kings and wretches
it is a gnam *
it’s like
stopping your internal conversation
such a hard thing to do
you see ? so easy
the world doesn’t open up
some think too much
others never think
some grab everything
others take nothing
how presumptuous my
standing aside
to be the center of attention
I get on stage
trying to hide
in the morning mist
walking in the dark
with uncertain gait
the lady with her little dog
the child left like a package
the madwoman panhandling to buy bleach
found dead in the San Francesco della Vigna church
in a Venetian campo her shoes
her coat in Santa Giustina
So god does exist
but is sick with AIDS
he pisses in his pants and you smell it
he is pimped by two hustlers
two hustlers of fiery complexion
the Slavic woman beggar
with her cell phone
two other Slavs pimp her
one in a wheelchair
one with rings on his finger
early morning in the Corte dei miracoli
a creaturely light
and poetry keeps out
crouched in the fog and whoosh
let me in let me out
a lady with her monster son
a half-bird son
a lady who cannot walk
walks on the water
I glimpse her astral body
its speed the agility
scare me
can you hear?
it’s crossing bridges and calli
lady Murasaki
or poetry
one time dressed
another time not
with a hat pulled down over its eyes
messy hair
where is the sound coming from
soul mind heart
iron wood brass
ah, here you are
I was waiting for you
I was looking for you
I have nothing to say
you go ahead, speak
1
Ahriman Beslan Cechnya the Far East
water in the Kaliyuga (1)
Ab fonte usque ad eodem fluentes (2)
fish head
quachi (3)
huachuca (4) parentless
lights of vision
labyrinth of bardic lights (5)
flags
without a season
darkness and light
where the soul seeks its own place
tempera grassa
clay and oxide
overturning planes in the labyrinth
raku ceramics
garden nurseries
landscape stone
meditative stone
and always a line of blood
from the color moving forward
(1) Kaliyuga: dark age, the current era, characterized by spiritual obfuscation, wars and
ignorance
(2) From the source flowing to the same point
(3) quachi: south american animal, of the racoon family
(4) huachuca: south american jaguar
(5) bardo: in buddhist culture, intermediate state between death and rebirth
2
for the uncertain glory of the angel girl
the solid kaleidoscope
the wings amputated buried
the map of the treasure
but then at least it was certain
that hidden in a corner of the world
there lived
an angel
unaware of its glory
not a whole lot could happen
with that kind of light
the touched up pictures of the dead
indeed the secret alchemy of being
knew no rules
disease with no medicine
the inescapable severance pay
for art
warmth or speed
that’s the point
3
the dimension of the bottom
gather something like seven hundred crickets at dawn
and eat them
to cure your back ache
halt your inner dialogue
total chaos under my sky
spit jewels Macintosh asses soda drinks
never was the void so full
in the new world order
poetry too is made putting one layer upon the other, PAM (1)
and the result seems the outcome of a single movement
(1) PAM: Swiss artist, Paolo Mazzuchelli
Rita degli Esposti is an internationally known italian poet and artist who lives in venice and is widely published in italy, switzerland and the United States. Her books include: The Angel-L’Angelo (with Lewis MacAdams e Gianantonio Pozzi, Scorribanda, Svizzera, 1980); Anticorpi (edizioni inedite, Bologna,1981); Calle dei colori (edizioni inedite, Venezia, 1986); In livrea di transizione (Supernova, Venezia, 1990), Amrita (Supernova, Venezia, 1998); Dal margine del ciclone (Porto Dei Santi, Loiano, 2000); Tiger in the mirror (Coyote Books, USA, 2006); Specchio convesso (with Mara Cini, Anaedizioni, Locarno, 2005); Letters to the nightingale (Longhouse, USA, 2006); Sul calesse di Andrea (Lato selvatico, Portiolo, 2012). She has translated into Italian works by Kathy Acker, James Koller,Tom Raworth, Louise Landes Levi, Cid Corman, Joanne Kyger, Allen Ginsberg, Anne Waldman, Coco Gordon, Namkhai Norbu, Gary Snyder, including her latest translation of his work, Questo istante presente, d ed. Jouvence 2017.
