(1941-2014)
I am so nostalgic about Civitella, the Paradise of my life. I was so deeply happy that I remember rivers of sounds, lights, and words. I had happy eyes, happy body, happy mind, because I was able to work so hard as a poet. I am constantly living with: how Arshile Egoyan (4 years old, my muse) once said: “Goooordon!” and with the proverb Cecilia once quoted: “ll sole bacia i belli e i brutti per consolarli.”
Poljubi oci Miru
Poljubi oci Miru, ki naj se razlije p0
drevesih. Sonce zunaj sije in ne buci vec
tako neznosno. Dusa upa spet zacutiti svoja
rebra, svoj sok. Mraz mi je dobro del. Ce
piha in hodim in gledam avtomobile, me
zivljenje vrne sebi. Najbolj strasno bi
bilo, ker pri odhodu ne bi nikogar spoznal.
Predalec bi bili, da bi se jih dotaknil ali
cutil. V crni temi ne bi ohranil spomina na
ljubezen. Skorja ledu se dela cez vrelo lavo.
Pocasi se bom morda lahko spet zadrsal. Hodil
po prasnih cestah. Otresel suknjic, ce bo
prasno. Prevec medu in miline je bilo, to je
vse. Od prevelikega razkosja se clovek razleti.
Kiss the Eyes of Peace
Kiss the eyes of Peace, may it stream down
upon the trees. The sun shines and no longer roars
so intolerably. The soul again hopes to sense its
ribs, the sap. The cold has done me good. If the wind
blows, and I walk and watch the cars, life
brings me back to itself. It would be terrible
not to recognize anyone at the departure.
They’d be too far to touch or
be felt. In the pitch darkness I would not hold the memory
of love. A crust of ice forms on molten lava.
In time I might again be able to slide off. Walk
those roads of dust. Shake the jacket off, if it’s
dusty. There has been too much honey and grace, that’s
all. Too many blessings break a man apart.