Franco Fortini (Italian Poet)
"The animal"
Last night some animal or other
killed a little creature below the house. On the tiled floor
lit by a warm sun
it has left a bloody smear
a little heap of purple guts
and the gall-bladder all golden.
Who knows where now it's sated, where it sleeps, where
it dreams of biting and in a flash spewing
from the victim's belly the fetid
bitter parts.
I look at the sea, so blue, the ever-joyful sails.
And it is not true.
The bloodthirsty little animal
has bitten into the poison
and now blinded with light
screeches and struggles and begs pity from the thorns.
(from Summer is not all, Carcanet, translation by Paul Lawton, 1992)
Saluti, Erminia
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