• TABLE OF CONTENT
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 16
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 15
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 14
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 13
    • the dreaming machine – issue number 12
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 11
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 10
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 9
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 8
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 7
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 6
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 5
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 4
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 3
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 2
    • The dreaming machine – issue number 1
  • THE DREAMING MACHINE
    • The dreaming machine n 16
    • The dreaming machine n 15
    • The dreaming machine n 14
    • The dreaming machine n 13
    • The dreaming machine n 12
    • The dreaming machine n 11
    • The dreaming machine n 10
    • The dreaming machine n 9
    • The dreaming machine n 8
    • The dreaming machine n 7
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    • The dreaming machine n 2
    • The dreaming machine n 1
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  • Home
  • Poetry
    The God of Submission Loves Gentle Calves and Other Poems –  Yuliya Musakovska

    The God of Submission Loves Gentle Calves and Other Poems – Yuliya Musakovska

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    Hence, the walruses will keep our memories – Poems from Ikaro Valderrama’s Tengri: The Book of Mysteries

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    “When Crimea Was Not a Grief”: Six Poems by Lyudmyla Khersonska, from 21st Century Ukraine

    Of Hunger and Tents: Poems from Gaza by Yousef el-Qedra

    Of Hunger and Tents: Poems from Gaza by Yousef el-Qedra

    Ratko Lalić’s painting, a little Noah’s ark –  Božidar Stanišić  

    The region suddenly turned into a deciduous forest. Poems by Paulami Sengupta

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    A False Dimension: regarding the empty walls – Aritra Sanyal

  • Fiction
    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    The Importance of Being Imperfect – Haroonuzzaman

    THE STATE – Hamim Faruque

    THE STATE – Hamim Faruque

    Tempus Fugit (in D Minor) – Michele Carenini

    Tempus Fugit (in D Minor) – Michele Carenini

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    A Mirage of a Dream – Kazi Rafi

    Prologue to “Maya and the World of the Spirits” – Gaius Tsaamo

    Prologue to “Maya and the World of the Spirits” – Gaius Tsaamo

    RETRIBUTION – Mojaffor Hossain

    RETRIBUTION – Mojaffor Hossain

    A Nation’s Reckoning on a Rickshaw: Photogallery from Bangladesh in turmoil – Melina and Pina Piccolo

    Between Two Lives – Mojaffor Hossain

    A Nation’s Reckoning on a Rickshaw: Photogallery from Bangladesh in turmoil – Melina and Pina Piccolo

    The Amatory Rainy Night – Kazi Rafi

    Chapter 1 of “Come What May”, a detective story set in Gaza, by Ahmed Masoud

    Come What May, chpt. 11 – Ahmed Masoud

  • Non Fiction
    I AM STILL HERE: It’s not a movie, it’s a hymn to democracy – Loretta Emiri

    I AM STILL HERE: It’s not a movie, it’s a hymn to democracy – Loretta Emiri

    Requiem for a Mattanza – Gia Marie Amella

    Requiem for a Mattanza – Gia Marie Amella

    In Defense of T.C. Boyle: Satire in the Era of Psychological Realism – Clark Bouwman

    In Defense of T.C. Boyle: Satire in the Era of Psychological Realism – Clark Bouwman

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    That is the Face – Appadurai Muttulingam

    Langston Hughes: Shakespeare in Harlem – Barry David Horwitz

    Langston Hughes: Shakespeare in Harlem – Barry David Horwitz

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Understanding the Quintessential Divinity: Binding the Two Geographies – Haroonuzzaman

  • Interviews & reviews
    Michelle Reale’s Volta: An Italian-American Reckoning With Race. Necessary turnabouts as  Columbus Day returns amidst Sinners’ vampires – Pina Piccolo

    Michelle Reale’s Volta: An Italian-American Reckoning With Race. Necessary turnabouts as Columbus Day returns amidst Sinners’ vampires – Pina Piccolo

    from The Creative Process: The Future of activism.  Bayo Akomolafe interviewed by Mia Funk and Natalie McCarthy

    from The Creative Process: The Future of activism. Bayo Akomolafe interviewed by Mia Funk and Natalie McCarthy

    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    from The Creative Process: A Life in Writing with T.C. Boyle, interviewed by Mia Funk & Cary Trott

    from The Creative Process: A Life in Writing with T.C. Boyle, interviewed by Mia Funk & Cary Trott

    Living as a painter: Shaun McDowell in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Living as a painter: Shaun McDowell in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

  • Out of bounds
    • All
    • Fiction
    • Intersections
    • Interviews and reviews
    • Non fiction
    • Poetry
    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Area Sacra at Torre di Largo Argentina —or, Calpurnia’s Dream – Laura Hinton

    from The Creative Process: TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE, interviewed by Mia Funk and Melannie Munoz

    from The Creative Process: TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE, interviewed by Mia Funk and Melannie Munoz

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    From The Stony Guests, Part IV: SIRAN BAKIRCI and SAIT B. KARAKAYA – Neil P. Doherty

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Chaos Theory – Michele Carenini

    Of People and Puppets, Kingdoms of Silence, Trauma and Storytelling: Review of “Azad, the rabbit and the wolf – Pina Piccolo

    Of People and Puppets, Kingdoms of Silence, Trauma and Storytelling: Review of “Azad, the rabbit and the wolf – Pina Piccolo

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Poetry is also born from Gesture – Ikaro Valderrama on Gestos de la Poesia, transnational poetry, multimedia and the energy of the Andes

    Poetry is also born from Gesture – Ikaro Valderrama on Gestos de la Poesia, transnational poetry, multimedia and the energy of the Andes

    A loneliness like an endless steppe – Poems from Maria Luisa Vezzali’s collection Home Ghost

    A loneliness like an endless steppe – Poems from Maria Luisa Vezzali’s collection Home Ghost

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Once the veil of artifice falls away: Poems by Haroonuzzaman

  • News
    Memorial Reading Marathon for Julio Monteiro Martins, Dec. 27, zoom live

    Memorial Reading Marathon for Julio Monteiro Martins, Dec. 27, zoom live

    PER/FORMATIVE CITIES

    PER/FORMATIVE CITIES

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5:  Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5: Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

  • Home
  • Poetry
    The God of Submission Loves Gentle Calves and Other Poems –  Yuliya Musakovska

    The God of Submission Loves Gentle Calves and Other Poems – Yuliya Musakovska

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    Hence, the walruses will keep our memories – Poems from Ikaro Valderrama’s Tengri: The Book of Mysteries

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    “When Crimea Was Not a Grief”: Six Poems by Lyudmyla Khersonska, from 21st Century Ukraine

    Of Hunger and Tents: Poems from Gaza by Yousef el-Qedra

    Of Hunger and Tents: Poems from Gaza by Yousef el-Qedra

    Ratko Lalić’s painting, a little Noah’s ark –  Božidar Stanišić  

    The region suddenly turned into a deciduous forest. Poems by Paulami Sengupta

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    A False Dimension: regarding the empty walls – Aritra Sanyal

  • Fiction
    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    The Importance of Being Imperfect – Haroonuzzaman

    THE STATE – Hamim Faruque

    THE STATE – Hamim Faruque

    Tempus Fugit (in D Minor) – Michele Carenini

    Tempus Fugit (in D Minor) – Michele Carenini

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    A Mirage of a Dream – Kazi Rafi

    Prologue to “Maya and the World of the Spirits” – Gaius Tsaamo

    Prologue to “Maya and the World of the Spirits” – Gaius Tsaamo

    RETRIBUTION – Mojaffor Hossain

    RETRIBUTION – Mojaffor Hossain

    A Nation’s Reckoning on a Rickshaw: Photogallery from Bangladesh in turmoil – Melina and Pina Piccolo

    Between Two Lives – Mojaffor Hossain

    A Nation’s Reckoning on a Rickshaw: Photogallery from Bangladesh in turmoil – Melina and Pina Piccolo

    The Amatory Rainy Night – Kazi Rafi

    Chapter 1 of “Come What May”, a detective story set in Gaza, by Ahmed Masoud

    Come What May, chpt. 11 – Ahmed Masoud

  • Non Fiction
    I AM STILL HERE: It’s not a movie, it’s a hymn to democracy – Loretta Emiri

    I AM STILL HERE: It’s not a movie, it’s a hymn to democracy – Loretta Emiri

    Requiem for a Mattanza – Gia Marie Amella

    Requiem for a Mattanza – Gia Marie Amella

    In Defense of T.C. Boyle: Satire in the Era of Psychological Realism – Clark Bouwman

    In Defense of T.C. Boyle: Satire in the Era of Psychological Realism – Clark Bouwman

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    That is the Face – Appadurai Muttulingam

    Langston Hughes: Shakespeare in Harlem – Barry David Horwitz

    Langston Hughes: Shakespeare in Harlem – Barry David Horwitz

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Understanding the Quintessential Divinity: Binding the Two Geographies – Haroonuzzaman

  • Interviews & reviews
    Michelle Reale’s Volta: An Italian-American Reckoning With Race. Necessary turnabouts as  Columbus Day returns amidst Sinners’ vampires – Pina Piccolo

    Michelle Reale’s Volta: An Italian-American Reckoning With Race. Necessary turnabouts as Columbus Day returns amidst Sinners’ vampires – Pina Piccolo

    from The Creative Process: The Future of activism.  Bayo Akomolafe interviewed by Mia Funk and Natalie McCarthy

    from The Creative Process: The Future of activism. Bayo Akomolafe interviewed by Mia Funk and Natalie McCarthy

    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    The Spanish Steps, Revisited: A Temporary Exhibition – A conversation with Sheila Pepe

    from The Creative Process: A Life in Writing with T.C. Boyle, interviewed by Mia Funk & Cary Trott

    from The Creative Process: A Life in Writing with T.C. Boyle, interviewed by Mia Funk & Cary Trott

    Living as a painter: Shaun McDowell in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Living as a painter: Shaun McDowell in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

    Calixto Robles and Ancestral Spirits in the Mission – A Conversation on Art, Society and Social Action

  • Out of bounds
    • All
    • Fiction
    • Intersections
    • Interviews and reviews
    • Non fiction
    • Poetry
    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Area Sacra at Torre di Largo Argentina —or, Calpurnia’s Dream – Laura Hinton

    from The Creative Process: TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE, interviewed by Mia Funk and Melannie Munoz

    from The Creative Process: TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE, interviewed by Mia Funk and Melannie Munoz

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    From The Stony Guests, Part IV: SIRAN BAKIRCI and SAIT B. KARAKAYA – Neil P. Doherty

    Eva Bovenzi: The inner world. The artist in conversation with curator Camilla Boemio

    Chaos Theory – Michele Carenini

    Of People and Puppets, Kingdoms of Silence, Trauma and Storytelling: Review of “Azad, the rabbit and the wolf – Pina Piccolo

    Of People and Puppets, Kingdoms of Silence, Trauma and Storytelling: Review of “Azad, the rabbit and the wolf – Pina Piccolo

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Poetry is also born from Gesture – Ikaro Valderrama on Gestos de la Poesia, transnational poetry, multimedia and the energy of the Andes

    Poetry is also born from Gesture – Ikaro Valderrama on Gestos de la Poesia, transnational poetry, multimedia and the energy of the Andes

    A loneliness like an endless steppe – Poems from Maria Luisa Vezzali’s collection Home Ghost

    A loneliness like an endless steppe – Poems from Maria Luisa Vezzali’s collection Home Ghost

    The Creeping of the Spirit of the Times and Other Poems – Pina Piccolo

    Once the veil of artifice falls away: Poems by Haroonuzzaman

  • News
    Memorial Reading Marathon for Julio Monteiro Martins, Dec. 27, zoom live

    Memorial Reading Marathon for Julio Monteiro Martins, Dec. 27, zoom live

    PER/FORMATIVE CITIES

    PER/FORMATIVE CITIES

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    HAIR IN THE WIND – Calling on poets to join international project in solidarity with the women of Iran

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    THE DREAMING MACHINE ISSUE N. 11 WILL BE OUT ON DEC. 10

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5:  Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5: Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

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Home Poetry

Three poems from Julio Monteiro Martin’s “La grazia di casa mia”, translated by Don Stang and Helen Wickes

Followed by the Italian original poems, published in the collection "La grazia di casa mia" Rediviva Edizioni 2013. Cover art by Gin Angri.

December 2, 2020
in Poetry, The dreaming machine n 7
POEMS FOR PEACE, by Hamid Barole Abdu
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At Sea

 

I am drowning among
totally unskilled sailors
and drunks.

 

I chose
this improbable ship,
with its unseemly bunch
who laughed at the rigging:
instead of a crew,
a party.

 

I was homeless
when I arrived at the wharf,
my cardboard suitcase
falling apart.
Each of my possessions
craved a drawer,
a shelf on which
to rest.
Nevertheless,
my eyes
searched for
a necklace of lights,
and I found it.

 

I had been told
that the cleverest
learn everything about water
so as never to feel it
creeping into their shoes.
They, however, my companions in misfortune,
had failed to learn.
And I, worst of all.

 

Now,
thanks to our actions,
in the midst of our chatter
we are going to the bottom.
It took only
a trivial storm,
a ripple, and we are thrown into disarray.

 

‘At Sea’, first published in Catamaran, Summer 2019

 

 

We Christianized Barbarians

 

We Christianized barbarians,
more alone than ever
in the world’s regard,
no longer have
the Ptolemies or the Basileuses
to explain us to others,
nor do we have other converted Goths
to hoist the two-sided blade
in our name.

 

We are alone,
without any remedy.

 

Searching the desert
that forewarns us of the lions,
we see everywhere
mirages of wild
beasts,
naked martyrs
forever in the center of the circus ring.

 

Antioch fell,
also Carthage and Byzantium,
the lighthouse of Alexandria,
the towers of Damascus,
the Twin Towers—
all the towers have fallen.
And while Vienna resists,
Lisbon is exhausted.
The blood rises up again
against the current
of the Tagus and the Guadalquivir.

 

Still stammering
from the revelation,
we cut our braids
to circle the seas
with Magellan.
Few of us returned
and few of us have remained—
a stunned handful
in Vancouver, in Brasilia,
in Riga, in La Valletta—
too few foot soldiers
for too many
unguarded gates.

 

From the passes of Friuli,
from the border crossings of the Pyrenees,
from the warmest waters,
the world approaches us
and surrounds us
in a circle of fire.
Firmly squeezed,
we burst away toward the heavens:
Apollo, Voyager,
Soyuz, Mir,
spouting into the ether,
new mirages
in new deserts.
(When the Justinian
empire fell,
we did the same:
we embarked
into the darkened sea.
But then
there were the Indies.)

 

Our eyes
by the hundreds
circle the planet.
They see everything
but understand little.
Would we want to eradicate
the frenzied preaching
with atomic strikes,
to remain alone,
talking
among the broken columns?

 

It’s not the nails that kill
during crucifixions.
It is only the weight
of the man crucified
that stops his breath.
At least this
we should have understood,
seeing the crosses
on the hill.

 

But we barbarians
are like children.
We have no recollection
of the sacrifices.
We have no memory
of anything.
We don’t ourselves know
who we are.
We have not been given
centuries to learn it.
‘We Christianized Barbarians’, first published in The Opiate (online), March 2019

 

The Museum of the Statues of Salt

 

 

We are all trapped
in old photographs.
No one has confined us there.
It’s that we have never been outside of them.

 

And no one knows where we are now—
certainly no one can know—
because we are nowhere
(while we are suspended
everywhere).

 

And every time we open our eyes
to look back,
we become statues of salt.
Each one corresponds

to a snapshot
in black and white,
calcified in time.
In place of an album,
another dream,
unexpected memories.

 

Each moment of our life
stops
and freezes forever,
somewhere,
while we believe
naively
that we are moving forward.
We will encounter ourselves farther down the road, yes,
but among the things of the past,
in the back of a drawer
full of useless objects
that we never throw away.

 

A sort
of continuous present
pursues us.
A showcase of events,
a well-stocked museum
of things lived,
the display case
of the soul’s antiques store.

 

Archaic passions
never at rest
know neither oblivion
nor respite.
Death is forbidden to them,

as it is to vampires.
They make their awful appearance
in the night.

 

Terrified,
appalled,
we always attempt
the same old futile
pleas:

 

My overflowing soul,
chaotic spirit,
how may I beg for silence
from your multitudes?
How may I convince them
to disperse,
to hide themselves
in a crevice
of eternity?

 

How may I get from them
a single night
without dreams?
Or a single day
that does not split apart
in the thirty thousand days
of an entire life?
‘The Museum of the Statues of Salt’, first published in The Opiate (print), April 2019

 


The following three poems were published originally in Italian in the collection “La grazia di casa mia”, Rediviva Edizioni, 2013

 

La rotta

 

 

Affogo in mezzo ai marinai
più inesperti
e agli ubriachi.

 

Ho scelto io
quella nave improbabile,
con la ciurma scomposta
che rideva del cordame:
invece dell’equipaggio
una festa.

 

Sono arrivato al molo
senza più casa.
La valigia di cartone
in disfacimento.
Ogni mio bene
bramava un cassetto,
uno scaffale
dove riposare.
I miei occhi,
nondimeno,
cercavano
collane di luci,
e le hanno trovate.

 

Mi avevano spiegato
che i più bravi
imparano tutto sull’acqua
per non sentirla mai
dentro le scarpe.
Hanno imparato male, però,
i miei compagni di sfortuna.
E io, peggio di tutti.

 

Ora,
per opera nostra,
andiamo a fondo
in mezzo al chiacchiericcio.
È bastata
una banale tempesta,
un’increspatura,
e siamo allo scompiglio.

 

È esplosa la caldaia
e in mezzo all’oscurità
quell’ultimo falò
ci ha riscaldato le mani.
Qualcuno ha portato il vino,
qualcun altro il tamburino,
e la ciurma di matti
cantava, rideva,
con l’acqua alla vita.

 

Si sapevano vicini
a conoscere
ciò che non è permesso
ai marinai:
il fondo del mare,
i coralli,
gli antichi relitti.

 

Guardando i loro volti
euforici,
infuocati
nella notte fonda,
ho finalmente capito
(avevo poco tempo per farlo)
che tutti loro
si erano preparati
per una vita
a navigare in verticale,
fingendo
di non essere all’altezza
del mestiere del mare.
E così si sono anche divertiti
a mascherare il coraggio
da imperizia.

 

Ho capito ancora
che avevo scelto per istinto
la nave giusta:
al porto ero solo,
in piedi sul lastricato,
a guardare quella gente.
E allora
ho seguito i passi
più svelti
che ci fossero,

i più gioiosi,
gli unici
che sembrassero ballare.

 

Noi barbari cristianizzati

 

Noi barbari cristianizzati,
più che mai soli
sotto lo sguardo del mondo,
non abbiamo più
i tolomei né i basilei
per spiegarci agli altri,
né abbiamo altri goti convertiti
per impugnare il gladio
in nome nostro.

 

Siamo soli,
senza rimedio.

 

Scrutando il deserto
che preannuncia i leoni
vediamo dappertutto
i miraggi delle belve
inferocite,
martiri nudi
per sempre in mezzo al circo.

 

Sono cadute Antiochia,
Cartagine e Bisanzio,
il faro di Alessandria,
le torri di Damasco,
le torri gemelle,
sono cadute tutte le torri.
E mentre Vienna resiste,
Lisbona è stremata.
Il sangue risale,
controcorrente,
il Tago e il Guadalquivir.

 

Ancora balbuzienti
dalla rivelazione
abbiamo tagliato le trecce
per fare il giro dei mari
con Magellano.
Siamo tornati in pochi
e in pochi siamo rimasti
– una manciata stupita
a Vancouver, a Brasília,
a Riga, a La Valletta –
troppo pochi fanti
per troppe porte
incustodite.

 

Dai passi del Friuli,
dai valichi dei Pirenei,
dalle acque più calde
il mondo ci si avvicina
e ci stringe
in un circolo di fuoco.
Stretti, spremuti,
scoppiamo verso l’alto:
Apollo, Voyager,
Soyuz, Mir,
zampilli nell’etere,
nuovi miraggi
su deserti nuovi.
(Quando cadde
l’impero dei Giustiniani
abbiamo fatto lo stesso:
ci siamo avventurati
nel mare tenebroso.
Ma allora
c’erano le Indie).

 

I nostri occhi,
a centinaia,
girano intorno al pianeta.
Vedono tutto,
ma capiscono poco.
Vorremmo cancellare
le prediche esagitate
a colpi di atomica
per restarci soli
a parlare
tra le colonne mozzate?

 

Non sono i chiodi a uccidere
nelle crocifissioni.
È solo il peso
dell’uomo crocifisso
a bloccargli il respiro.
Almeno questo
avremmo dovuto capire
guardando le croci
sul monte.

 

Ma noi barbari
siamo come i bambini.
Non abbiamo ricordi
dei sacrifici.
Non abbiamo memoria
di niente.
Non sappiamo chi siamo
noi stessi.
Non ci sono stati concessi
i secoli per impararlo.

 

 

Il museo delle statue di sale

 

Siamo tutti ingabbiati
dentro vecchie fotografie.
Nessuno ci ha rinchiuso lì.
È che non ne siamo mai stati fuori.

 

E nessuno sa dove siamo ora
– non ne può certo saperlo –
perché non siamo da nessuna parte
(mentre siamo bloccati
dappertutto).

 

E ogni volta che apriamo gli occhi
per guardarci indietro
diventiamo statue di sale.
A ciascuna corrisponde
un’istantanea
in bianco e nero
del tempo granitico.
Al posto dell’album,
un altro sogno,
i ricordi improvvisi.

 

Ogni momento della nostra vita
si ferma
e si congela per sempre
da qualche parte,
mentre noi crediamo
ingenuamente
di andare avanti.
C’imbatteremo in questo avanti, sì,
ma tra le cose del passato,
in fondo a un cassetto pieno
di oggetti inutili
che non si buttano via.

 

Una sorta
di presente continuo
ci perseguita.
Una vetrina di eventi,
un fornito museo
di cose vissute,
le bancarelle
dell’antiquariato dell’anima.

 

Arcaiche passioni
senza riposo
non conoscono oblio
né tregua.
La morte gli è interdetta
come ai vampiri.
Fanno atroci apparizioni
nella notte.

 

Atterriti,
sgomentati,
tentiamo sempre
le stesse vecchie suppliche
infruttuose:

 

Anima mia sovraffollata,
caotico spirito,
come chiedere silenzio
alle tue moltitudini?
Come convincerle
a disperdersi,
a nascondersi
in una crepa
dell’eternità?

 

Come ottenere da loro
una sola notte
senza sogni?
O un solo giorno
che non si sdoppi
nei trentamila giorni
di una vita intera?

 

 

Julio Monteiro Martins (born in Brazil in 1955 and  died in Italy in 2014). Honorary Fellow in Writing” at the University of Iowa in the United States, he  taught creative writing at Goddard College in Vermont (1979-82), at the Oficina Literária Afrânio Coutinho, Rio de Janeiro (1982-91), at the Instituto Camões, Lisbona (1994) and at the Pontifícia Universidade Católica do Rio de Janeiro (1995). Between 1996 and 2000 he held courses in several Tuscan cities. He was among the founders of the Brazilian Partito Verde and of the environmentalist movement “Os Verdes”. As a defender of human rights in Rio de Janeiro, he guaranteed the safety of the meninos de rua. In his country of origin he has published nine books, including short story collections, novels and essay, among which are Torpalium (Ática, São Paulo 1977), Sabe quem dançou? (Codecri, Rio 1978), A oeste de nada (Civilização Brasileira, Rio 1981) and O espaço imaginário (Anima, Rio 1987). In Italy he has published Il percorso dell’idea (petits poèmes en prose, with original photos by Enzo Cei, Vivaldi & Baldecchi, Pontedera 1998), as well as the short stories collections Racconti italiani (Besa, Lecce 2000), La passione del vuoto (Besa, Lecce 2003), L’amore scritto (Besa, Lecce 2007). and the novel madrelingua (Besa, Lecce 2005) . His story L’irruzione was included in the anthology Non siamo in vendita – Voci contro il regime (edited by Stefania Scateni and Beppe Sebaste, with a forward by Furio Colombo, Arcana Libri / L’Unità, Roma 2002). His poetry collection La grazia di casa mia was published by Rediviva in 2014 and many of his  poems have been published in  various literary journals, including the international three-monthly “Pagine” and the online magazine “El Ghibli”, as well as in the anthologies I confini del verso. Poesia della migrazione in italiano (Florence, Le Lettere 2006) and A New Map: the Poetry of Migrant Writers in Italy (Los Angeles, Green Integer 2006). He was the creator of the event “Scrivere Oltre le Mura”. He lived in Tuscany  from the early 2000’s to 2014 where, besides teaching  Portuguese and literary translation at the University of Pisa, where he directed and taught the Fiction Workshop in the Masters program of the Scuola Sagarana in Lucca, and was editor in chief of the  online literary magazine, “Sagarana” . His posthumous publications in Italian  include La macchina sognante (2015), and the novel L’ultima pelle (2019).  Many of his poems have appeared in English translation  by Helen Wickes and Don Stang in a number of US print and online journals.

 

The translators: Donald Stang is a longtime student of Italian. His
translations of Italian poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in
Carrying the Branch, by Glass Lyre Press, Silk Road, Pirene’s Fountain,
Mantis, Newfound, Catamaran, Ghost Town, Blackbird, Apple Valley Review,
Apricity Magazine, America, We Call Your Name: Poems of Resistance and
Resilience by Sixteen Rivers Press, and thedreamingmachine.com. Helen
Wickes’ work appears in AGNI Online, Atlanta Review, Boulevard,
Massachusetts Review, Slag Review, Sagarana, Soundings East, South
Dakota Review, Spillway, TriQuarterly, Westview, Willow Review, ZYZZYVA,
thedreamingmachine.com (poems and translations of Italian poetry), as
well as many others. Four books of her poetry have been published.

Tags: Christianized barbarianscontinuous presentfall from gloryhistoryJulio Monteiro MartinsLa grazia di casa miapastphotographsPoetryrestlessnesssinkinguncertitudewater
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