Poetry from The Literary Review
Collisions
Francesco Giuntini
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Slant falls a ray, penetrating from out the half-open door in an empty afternoon of rooms, apprehending the dust suspended and lingering within it. Slant world the rays intersect, refracting at the end of their flight, slant universe and curved time, vain intention of holding together. Slant the memory of one who sees the impact against the light’s pulse, the hanging dust, the weary day, you lost in the crowd, who knows where. Translated from the Italian by Chris Glomski
The man pursuing his shadow among the pavestones descends quickly and passes, without lifting his gaze from the curve of the street. The silent man knows that this night holds bladed words, that it seldom comes to from the torpor of its frost. He knows that quickening his step shortens the way, makes the wait more watchful. The passing man believes that night persists around him and that his coat is a shield against the ice and the climbing dark. Translated from the Italian by Chris Glomski |
