A poem of suffering by Erminia Passannanti
"Isolde. O della sventura di esistere", in Macchina, Manni editore, 2000
(Kinly translated by Michael Pickering)
"Isolde. Or the misadventure of existing."
arborescent branches. wry neck. poisoned by the bite.
pia mater. dura mater.
seized with intruding cold through the sheer skin -
body trembling, alien.
like a spiderweb vibrating - in the sun.
only at times tears, proof
that sometimes a humour is exuded
from the most uncertain vein.
my dead retina. photophobia.
fiber that excludes my sight. permanently.
dura. dura mater. no core.
belly of a spider that deforms my (perhaps immature)
life. flaking away. emaciated. childless.
redeeming weeping of Isolde.
what does it mean? it does not
contradict itself. so much accumulated grief
cries out.
so little would have be needed to forestall its birth,
Isolde.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
|