La nostra è lingua parziale e in parte pantomima
in parte sudicia supposizione: speculazione adulterata
in significato & motivazione.
Tradotto, cuore indica un congegno familiare,
universale ma la composizione chimica varia –
anche a componenti solite e non fuori dal comune.
Il mondo non ci deve niente. Ci promette anche meno.
Chiamala: libertà. Libero arbitrio. O mercoledì.
[Originale in inglese di Rangi McNeil, ‘The Heart is a Foreign Country’]
cities were never really my thing
but there is something here that
calls – maybe not to me but
maybe not to all of me maybe not
as loudly as it thinks but I
do hear my name ringing
in the jingle of traffic lights
in the chirping of train platforms
and it draws me closer, line after
line to a feeling no longer
just a sketch not just a draft
and no matter how much I laugh it away
it’s there it calls it carries me
for a while – just a little longer as
the light dims it carries more
than just my name, and eyelids
and limbs feel heavier and slower
than they have in a long time and
I let the city carry
the soft ringing of my name
slowly fading into town
fading from shi to cho
from here to home and I’m
back I’m back I’m back
Sei cavalli morti a causa di un trattore incendiato.
Fatto. Quello era il difficile. Volevo
dirvelo subito almeno possiamo
piangere insieme. Così tante cose tristi,
quella è solo una di una lista troppo lunga
che si avvolge e si stende nel petto,
nel diaframma, negli alveoli. Come
è che dicono, mal di cuore o scoraggiata?
Mi immagino un cuore sdraiato sul fondo
del torso, tirandosi le coperte
sopra la testa, pensando che il dolore sarà
per sempre (anche se non lo sarà).
Il cuore guarda film drammatici a lieto fine
e spera, e le mancano tutte le parti buone
di sé che ormai ha dimenticato.
Il cuore è così stanca di battersi
il petto, vorrebbe fermarsi del tutto,
ma vuole anche far tornare il sangue,
far tornare il brivido e il vento della corsa,
il corso veloce della vita che la guida.
Cosa vuole il cuore? Il cuore vuole
che tornino i suoi cavalli.
[Originale in inglese di Ada Limón, ‘Downhearted’]
too many roads to cross too many bridges too many inches becoming centimetres slowly crawling timezone over timezone through mountains and planes into plain sight. i see you and i do not want and i see you and i do and all the helplessness rises up again and again and again. teach me the sounds of moving and splashing and dokidoki and jumping and glitter and mochimochi and squelching after a long day of rain and the sound that minds make when the spark is shared when the shock is spared when we pair words when we fare well in the worlds apart we inhabit. at least it was here, right? at least we did not count the reasons we should stay they remain they maintain they are still also here still reasons still valid they still count. i do not want to feel how much it hurts or how much joy it brings but i do, i let it swell and inflate and modulate my lungs and stomach. i choose books and screens and pages that tell me what i’ve left where i’ve been when i’ve said which instincts we’ve followed and what lines we’ve crossed and what we leave behind. so we leave traces we leave marks we leave signs. and we fall. and we leave. believe when i say that books were made for this that books were made out of this that oceans were made out of rivers for stars and bears and nights to shine that moon and sun are one and we count to five and sleep, at last.
before we got lost
our words carved the paths we took.
just read back, and smile
It pulses. Listen?
At heart, it hears the river flow
the humble river the river burns.
No real direction
from your starting point
other than onwards downwards inwards
it heals as it runs up stream down stream streaming constant flowing constant changing constant motion reckless breaking through the banks the dams the walls that hold that stand that shelter that keep that ground that close that stop.
It pauses. Shuffle?
Stumble upon stumble into another stream another beam another ray no other way to run to lose to loosen off this crude matter it don’t matter where when there then the forces beyond forces within forces join and grow and glow and flow wild harder faster further higher more than more then anchored grounded held still stood stopped.
It pleases. Feel?
how it shapes | how it shares | how it flows
what it shapes | what it shares | what it grows
why it shapes | why it shares | why it knows
Know how. Know what. Know why. Now.
our demons can’t
can’t kill us
starve the ego
by night our demons fly
only by night
between two points
(on my watch)
(on my watch)
drive it like
(take to the night)
drive it like you stole it
take to the night
bad wings can’t
can’t carry the sun
(I need my memory back)
and we swarm
to the beat
to the heart
control the feed
She watches them run through the pages
the images flowing beneath them,
hands touching the story.
She reaches out, a new
tenderness rushing through her skin.
She watches the ink singing
on the paper on their fingertips,
plots swirling under digits
lines spoken without sound
– she stops.
She plots, weaving into the
chapter this reading
this flowing of paper trails
and cuts to new scenes.
She is a reader, and can flesh out
characters only perfectly flawed
on the page, turn them into
whatever she can imagine
until they adapt to another vision.
She knows the twist turning in the wound
she sees the knot in the thread
the heart of the matter
and lets it beat.
She knows a book can end
as inevitable frames close the scene
lines are drawn and quartered
covers tucked in for an early sundown.
She knows a book can hold
lists and how-to tips and a universe of
suggestions and revisions and pages upon
pages upon pages of the kind
of words that are meant
to help and heal and soothe.
She knows all this but also knows
that none of it really helps
to turn a new leaf
start a chapter anew
and read further than the words
Except for her to pick up
or the same book perhaps
turn it round in her hands
and begin, again.
We crouch, soul to mind
sole to ground, hand to soil
inhale, shift eyes, gaze up
prepare – count as
we beat, we strike, foot-
strike toe-to-heel, absorb
the world, the wind, the sound
in flux – flowing as
we flex, propulsion forward
through space extend, time
stop flowing, hold the beat
beat the track feel
the pulse as
we race, hearts pacing
pumping blood coursing
through, rushing by
streaming through veins
heart beating constant speed
The first title for this one was ‘And we run’. But I then remembered a song by Within Temptation called just that, and decided not to. You can listen to it here, though: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RhKEVRrSJZo.