by Guido Monte
(translated by Silvia Dello Russo)
© 2010 Guido Monte
[ed. Please see Part I of the poem.]
(Swans - September 20, 2010)
we go further in the land of darkness,
of unconsciousness, of night numbness...
impossible to bring living bodies on the sails of the styx!
but sybilla has our golden branch, that she carries under her dress,
and the opposing old man calms down, lets us get on the reed boat
(the famous dog arrives too, sybilla makes him sleep: la force)
then I hear fragile a wide crying, the souls of crying kids...
nor offered to life, a black day
swallowed them ahead in the never ending night,
people say that the air trembles at their sighing
(but i can't even see their faces,
in this end of infinite)
we come to the crying fields. here is fedra and pasifae,
at last elissa, the woman that i loved and abandoned
for i hadn't the strength to change my destiny.
i cry (am i l'amoureux?), i come close to her and tell words:
i didn't want to leave you, obligations drag me unwillingly
through shadows, through abandoned reigns, through the profound night...
do not go away, perhaps we could no more see each other...
(but her wound is in gangrene, she keeps her eyes fixed far away)
i see then a uselessly amputee body
with no hands, no ears, no nose, le pendu.
the night runs... we leave on the left the steel tartarus,
le diable prisoner of a blood dirty woman,
while chains do squeak under la roue de fortune
a steel building, la maison de dieu
all the authorities burning inside (what a silly demagogy),
prime ministers kings generals & their disfigured faces,
cropped ears cropped noses. And (once hailing) crowds crawl
before the river, just shades hunting for themselves...
the weeping camp smells of hospital wards,
syrinxes phleboclysis crutches & amputation saws.
la Mort, "the rest is silence."
the woman-kamikaze: no arms; her mother, no legs,
killed in a refugee camp.
"elì elì, lemà sabactani?"
we do finally come to the light clad fields,
that know personal suns and stars.
and my father, la justice,
the one for whom i passed the big rivers of the erebus.
i find him busy to control other souls (le jugement)
before they do again the big step to the life, ins leben.
i'd like to embrace him, but i can't,
son smeshnovo sheloveka
ridiculous man's dream ("pulvis et umbra sumus").
and he tells me of men who drink long forgetfulness
on the careless river of the elysian fields (asperges me, hysopo),
of the interior spirit that feeds skies and lands of the world,
of the past that each of us suffers,
of the fragile "joi qu'esper, denan."
lilies poured profusely he shows me in the time to come,
purple flowers of the generations chain,
till the two dream doors.
one is a horn door, of true dreams, the other is a ivory door,
of false dreams: the father tells me to go with sybilla
through the ivory one, and he lets me go out,
with my travelling manes
"a riveder le stelle," to see the stars again
om shantih, comme en apparence de rêve
nous traversons la porte d'ivoire. at the dream doors: der horizont, le monde
few guests de terra lonhdana.
on the stream only green leaves, mizu no oto!
pebbles & nests on the water-lilies...
a twinkling morning star, l'étoile, la alma,
up high the stars still look at us
Silvia Dello Russo was born in Parma, Italy, in 1974. In 1995 she left for Germany, Halle an der Saale, at the "Marthin Luther Universitaet"; in 1997 she started an innovative study on mitteleuropean languages at the University college of London, especially on a translation of the Etymlanguage of Arno Schmidt in Zettels Traum, with the successive publication of her works in Power of words (ed. universitaria indip., 2000).
Picture: Wadi Rum, by Guido Monte (2010).
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