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[Amelia Rosselli, “Le poesie”, Garzanti, p.520]
A face of yours does have human contours
a gesture of yours is really springlike and
a looking at me of yours is the first of the things
I think of when – in the vivid excelling
of the afternoon clouds – very slowly I
look for you.
And if dying is an everyday thing
your glance too has evil lights
and a sign of shyness or of love of yours
does nothing but delay the horror
of a day.
[Amelia Rosselli, “Le poesie”, Garzanti, p.612]
Hunger blew and it was extreme, the symptom
or the (singular) single fit of an extreme
passion, sincere – with its spreading
iconoclastic clothes on the ground and on the
sidewalk – of a lost value and remotely
what I’d have wanted to do. Sincerity
(oh fit of the last passion), sincere
it was, in its waking up at the forbidden hour
and in taking out, from each brush or toothpaste
what could be the good hour
the ungraspable moment now that the matter
is delicate; and you would count the hours, of a
possible prize of yours, and you would count the future
as if it were coins!
***
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