Marina Pizzi was born on 5th May 1955 and is based in Rome. In her literary career she has published over fifty books of poetry both on paper and in electronic format.
The two following poems come from her digital collection "Soqquadri del pane vieto" (2010-2011), which can be found on a number of websites both as a PDF file and as a single post.
The two following poems come from her digital collection "Soqquadri del pane vieto" (2010-2011), which can be found on a number of websites both as a PDF file and as a single post.
* All rights reserved. No part of the following translations may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior authorization.* Tutti i diritti sono riservati. La riproduzione, totale o parziale, delle seguenti traduzioni, è vietata. *
22.
I wish I could lose the
detritus
of my pain but instead a
relentless
computer nibbles at the
friction
in the flesh. I alternate
jocular eagles
with tender mosses and soft
lichens.
the array of the male dolls
does not help me to laugh, fear
stations me the abraded dark
queen
room of agony. the veil tearing
me
life is a boys' prank
without remedy. I descend from
the hoi polloi to the ground
only to live without god or the
saint's permission.
rancid beer swirls in my throat
where the pupil learns that his
mother is mortal
even more than like father's
doubt. I converge with
the cream of the populace to
feign youth
or the Vanessa butterfly that I find by the roadside
miracolous nexus of love for
innumerable
prohibitions. funereal flowers
with noble
corollae wait to be thrown away.
billions
of spores cannot make a life.
of spores cannot make a life.
55.
do not be late in loving me
I am crying tears of levy
since the urgency to surrender
imposes little bundles of pinwheels
fixed in the pain.
the graves going around the
world
smear the crystal of origin
the naked merry-go-round of crying
again
denied alms. now comes the
agony
of the yes for the betrayed
newlywed bride. in the throat
of the tempest of betraying
may the majesty's doubt appear
this lopsided she-saint's halo
mother gone over the border.
heirloom ruefulness to be gazing at
you
dead at the altar with the
coffin in your face.
crude winners don't like talent.
crude winners don't like talent.
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