The sonnets back
I.
worn on the steps, like a poor beggar
I sit, umilicorde:
House or because rails with ropes of wisteria
the door of the shelter?
The enclosure of the shoots I pricked
the soul as a gesture of rebuke
how long since the rover
opens doors on the rooms of those deaf!
Deaf and cold and dark ... An odor is the humble house
sad centenary
of quince, mold, the country ...
from the benches grates six hundred
cement crumbles when renewing air
opens the windows.
II. The scent of wisteria
dispel the odor of mold and quince. Under the bright light
beating the living room!
And my dream
revise its principles in the fruits of alabaster on the cabinets -
martyrdom once the child delicious -
in fake flowers in the broken mirror, in the guise of
dagherottipi.
O house between the rural and the noble, graceful wisteria
crowned, through the fields or
hermitage sweet!
was good in you, that of immune artifice, serenely
my father's father lived the life of an ancient sage!
worn on the steps, like a poor beggar
I sit, umilicorde:
House or because rails with ropes of wisteria
the door of the shelter?
The enclosure of the shoots I pricked
the soul as a gesture of rebuke
how long since the rover
opens doors on the rooms of those deaf!
Deaf and cold and dark ... An odor is the humble house
sad centenary
of quince, mold, the country ...
from the benches grates six hundred
cement crumbles when renewing air
opens the windows.
II. The scent of wisteria
dispel the odor of mold and quince. Under the bright light
beating the living room!
And my dream
revise its principles in the fruits of alabaster on the cabinets -
martyrdom once the child delicious -
in fake flowers in the broken mirror, in the guise of
dagherottipi.
O house between the rural and the noble, graceful wisteria
crowned, through the fields or
hermitage sweet!
was good in you, that of immune artifice, serenely
my father's father lived the life of an ancient sage!
III.
O Grandpa! And you do not forgive me
leisure spaces of syllables sublime
thou hast loved the science of fertilizers
api screw implants! Yet
find the source of these dreams in your
early warnings, when
, happy harvest Opima,
you take pleasure of your books be honest: the
your Manzoni ... Meadows ... Metastasio ...
The long evenings! And those shaky
your fingers on the books I read! And the tedium,
sleep ... the Lake .. Transferrin ... and Parrasio ... And I fell in
perhaps the first germ of this
evil that has no remedy.
IV.
Grandfather, silver gray hairs of your
shines in the light paths:
distance between figs, plums and pears between
hands with a basket of first fruits:
"The rains of September already conducive
gonfian figs on the branch whites and blacks, plums
claudie ... Who
work and hope Jesus gives all pleasures. "
Twenty years later, today, in the living room with the scent of mint
relive
quince and all that was.
me in the mirror still broken mirror, I see the fake fruit
alabaster ...
But you are dead and there is no Jesus
O Grandpa! And you do not forgive me
leisure spaces of syllables sublime
thou hast loved the science of fertilizers
api screw implants! Yet
find the source of these dreams in your
early warnings, when
, happy harvest Opima,
you take pleasure of your books be honest: the
your Manzoni ... Meadows ... Metastasio ...
The long evenings! And those shaky
your fingers on the books I read! And the tedium,
sleep ... the Lake .. Transferrin ... and Parrasio ... And I fell in
perhaps the first germ of this
evil that has no remedy.
IV.
Grandfather, silver gray hairs of your
shines in the light paths:
distance between figs, plums and pears between
hands with a basket of first fruits:
"The rains of September already conducive
gonfian figs on the branch whites and blacks, plums
claudie ... Who
work and hope Jesus gives all pleasures. "
Twenty years later, today, in the living room with the scent of mint
relive
quince and all that was.
me in the mirror still broken mirror, I see the fake fruit
alabaster ...
But you are dead and there is no Jesus
V.
O you who invoke, if not the 'I
one virtue of appearance, so much absence
back after one of the fruits of the orchard sunny.
you come from the orchard of oblivion,
from beyond the boundaries of knowledge,
to me that I live without beliefs, without
the imaginative tale of a God ..
But do not come back! You're like
who is not never been, you who go missing
in all the great Mother Nature.
Alas! The tears cried in the street
the relentlessness of the Universe
laughs a laugh that scares me.
VI.
"Blessed are Mortu here domino moriuntur "
(Cartouche solar clock)
adventure if who lived
pilgrimage, yet so v'agogna,
or old rooms, fragrant quince, wisteria
or roof from lengthy, if he ventured
died in you! And you, Jesus, lies
sweet, would make the soul who dreams
crucified for your good hands!
This is the lost votes in the pupil, or Jesus
Christ! A double centenary
m'accolga under the admonition of Gold.
Back in the late autumn purple:
rosary shall not die pressing against her mouth, in the Lord?
O you who invoke, if not the 'I
one virtue of appearance, so much absence
back after one of the fruits of the orchard sunny.
you come from the orchard of oblivion,
from beyond the boundaries of knowledge,
to me that I live without beliefs, without
the imaginative tale of a God ..
But do not come back! You're like
who is not never been, you who go missing
in all the great Mother Nature.
Alas! The tears cried in the street
the relentlessness of the Universe
laughs a laugh that scares me.
VI.
"Blessed are Mortu here domino moriuntur "
(Cartouche solar clock)
adventure if who lived
pilgrimage, yet so v'agogna,
or old rooms, fragrant quince, wisteria
or roof from lengthy, if he ventured
died in you! And you, Jesus, lies
sweet, would make the soul who dreams
crucified for your good hands!
This is the lost votes in the pupil, or Jesus
Christ! A double centenary
m'accolga under the admonition of Gold.
Back in the late autumn purple:
rosary shall not die pressing against her mouth, in the Lord?
Guido Gozzano
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