Poesie in lingua straniera


Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
They shut me up in Prose -
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet -
Because they liked me "still" -
Still! Could themself have peeped -
And seen my Brain - go round -
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason - in the Pound -

Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Look down upon Captivity -
And laugh - No more have I.
Vota la poesia: Commenta
    Scritta da: Maresa Schembri
    in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)

    La mort des amants / La morte degli amanti

    Nous aurons des lits pleins d'odeurs légères,
    des divans profonds comme des tombeaux,
    et d'étranges fleurs sur des étagères,
    écloses pour nous des cieux plus beaux.

    Usant à l'envi leurs chaleurs dernières,
    nos deux coeurs seront deux vastes flambeaux,
    qui réfléchiront leurs doubles lumières
    dans nos deux esprits, ces miroirs jumeaux.

    Une soir fait de rose et de bleu mystique,
    nous échangerons un éclair unique,
    comme un long sanglot, tout chargé d'adieux;

    et plus tard un Ange, entr'ouvrant les portes,
    viendra ranimer, fidèle et joyeux,
    les miroirs ternis et les flammes mortes.


    Avremo letti pieni d'odori leggeri,
    divani profondi come avelli
    e strani fiori sulle mensole,
    schiusi per noi soto cieli più belli.

    Consumando a gara i loro estremi ardori,
    i nostri due cuori saranno due grandi torce
    che rifletteranno i loro duplici splendori
    nelle due nostre anime, questi specchi gemelli.

    In una sera fatta di rosa e di mistico azzurro
    ci scambieremo un unico lampo
    come un lungo singhiozzo, tutto carico d'addii;

    e più tardi un angelo, aprendo le porte,
    verrà a rianimare, fedele e giocoso,
    gli offuscati specchi e le fiamme morte.
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      Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
      in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
      It would have starved a Gnat -
      To live so small as I -
      And yet, I was a living child -
      With Food's necessity
      Upon me - like a Claw -
      I could no more remove
      Than I could modify a Leech -
      Or make a Dragon - move -

      Not like the Gnat - had I -
      The privilege to fly
      And seek a Dinner for myself -
      How mightier He - than I!

      Nor like Himself - the Art
      Upon the Window Pane
      To gad my little Being out -
      And not begin - again -
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        Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
        in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
        I see thee better - in the Dark -
        I do not need a Light -
        The Love of Thee - a Prism be -
        Excelling Violet -
        I see thee better for the Years
        That pile themselves - between -
        The Miner's Lamp - sufficient be -
        To nullify the Mine -

        And in the Grave - I see Thee best -
        It's little Panels be
        Aglow - All ruddy - with the Light
        I held so high, for Thee -

        What need of Day -
        To Those whose Dark - hath so - surpassing Sun -
        It deem it be - Continually -
        At the Meridian?
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          Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
          in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
          You'll find - it when you try to die -
          The Easier to let go -
          For recollecting such as went -
          You could not spare - you know.
          And though their places somewhat filled -
          As did their Marble names
          With Moss - they never grew so full -
          You chose the newer names -

          And when this World - sets further back -
          As Dying - say it does -
          The former love - distincter grows -
          And supersedes the fresh -

          And Thought of them - so fair invites -
          It looks too tawdry Grace
          To stay behind - with just the Toys
          We bought - to ease their place -
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            Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
            in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
            Years - had been - from Home -
            And now - before the Door -
            I dared not open - lest a face
            I never saw before
            Stare vacant into mine -
            And ask my Business there -
            My Business - just a Life I left -
            Was such - still dwelling there?

            I fumbled at my nerve -
            I scanned the Windows o'er -
            The Silence - like an Ocean rolled -
            And broke against my Ear -

            I laughed a Wooden laugh -
            That I - could fear a Door -
            Who Danger - and the Dead - had faced -
            But never shook - before -

            I fitted to the Latch - My Hand -
            With trembling Care
            Lest back the Awful Door should spring -
            And leave me - in the Floor -

            I moved my fingers off, as cautiously as Glass -
            And held my Ears - and like a Thief
            Stole - gasping - from the House -
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              Scritta da: Sergio Pugliese
              in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
              Animula vagula blandula,
              Hospes comesque corporis
              Quae nunc abibis in loca
              Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
              Nec, ut soles, dabis iocos...

              Piccola anima smarrita e soave,
              compagna e ospite del corpo,
              ora ti appresti a scendere in luoghi
              incolori, ardui e spogli,
              ove non avrai più gli svaghi consueti...
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                Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
                in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
                Afraid! Of whom am I afraid?
                Not Death - for who is He?
                The Porter of my Father's Lodge
                As much abasheth me!
                Of Life? 'Twere odd I fear a thing
                That comprehendeth me
                In one or two existences -
                Just as the case may be -

                Of Resurrection? Is the East
                Afraid to trust the Morn
                With her fastidious forehead?
                As soon impeach my Crown.
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                  Scritta da: Silvana Stremiz
                  in Poesie (Poesie in lingua straniera)
                  Of nearness to her sundered Things
                  The Soul has special times -
                  When Dimness - looks the Oddity -
                  Distinctness - easy - seems -
                  The Shapes we buried, dwell about,
                  Familiar, in the Rooms -
                  Untarnished by the Sepulchre,
                  The Mouldering Playmate comes -

                  In just the Jacket that he wore -
                  Long buttoned in the Mold
                  Since we - old mornings, Children - played -
                  Divided - by a world -

                  The Grave yields back her Robberies -
                  The Years, our pilfered Things -
                  Bright Knots of Apparitions
                  Salute us, with their wings -

                  As we - it were - that perished -
                  Themself - had just remained till we rejoin them -
                  And 'twas they, and not ourself
                  That mourned.
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