IN MEMORIAM

ÁGNES HELLER

12 May 1929 – 19 July 2019

IN MEMORIAM

ANDREA CAMILLERI

6 September 1925 – 17 July 2019

PROFLIGACY

And when each anger charge

Inside me

Is drained and empty,

I find myself

Coming to a stop

In the rubble I’ve created

And gulping over

The fatter tears

Of totally adrift

Despair.

I thus fall

Into crystallised periods

Of blank stillness

That come from

Overspending on

Emotion.

SCRIPTS

Little did I know when I concocted
my potion that, although one may stop time,
it is impossible to turn it back.
Youth, they say, is wasted on the young.
Perhaps I'll have a T-shirt made that reads,
Eternal life is wasted on the old.
And yet the world is no less beautiful.
Toward evening dew collects upon the lawn, rising again as fireflies. Above
the white steepled church a flock of swallows
copies a Greek text out in hieroglyphs,
and in the maple trees a light breeze stirs,
sounding for all the world like water falling
distantly off the edges of the world.

REMAINS OF THE DAY

Let your pure
space crowd my heart,
that we might stay awhile longer
amid the flying
debris.
This moment,
I swear it,
isn't going anywhere.

THIS POEM

You know, without my telling you, how sometimes
A word or name eludes you, and you seek it
Through running ghosts of shadow,—leaping at it,
Lying in wait for it to spring upon it,
Spreading faint snares for it of sense or sound:
Until, of a sudden, as if in a phantom forest,
You hear it, see it flash among the branches,
And scarcely knowing how, suddenly have it—
Well, it was so I followed down this poem,
Glimpsing a face in darkness, hearing a cry,
Remembering days forgotten, moods exhausted,
Corners in sunlight, puddles reflecting stars—;
Until, of a sudden, and least of all suspected,
The thing resolved itself: and I remembered
This poem.

A DARK VULTURE INSIDE MY CHEST...

AVVOLTOIO NERO Un avvoltoio nero Mi e’ penetrato in petto. A volte Mi si appollaia nel cervello, Ma oggi e’ nel torace, Che sbatte le mie vertebre Come in una gabbia. Se lo vedessi arrivare, lo scaccerei Con un coltello o una mazza. O lo afferrerei per il collo scarno spelato E lo strizzerei come un cencio bagnato. Ma mi prende dalle spalle. Troppo tardi lo sento sulla schiena — Carcassa, immondizia, escremento. Una volta dentro, si pavoneggia, razzola, Avvoltoio su un palo di servizio. Poi agita le ali, grida, fissa, Si arrabbia, si erge, mi ficca In fegato il suo becco fremente. Le intestina, il cuore, strappa dei pezzi. Mi riempio di sangue nero, nera bile. Dura minuti o giorni. Poi solleva le ali adunche, Si alza, se ne va, lasciando il suo residuo: Alito fetido, feci, penne mutate a Mezzanotte. E la vita continua. E poi di nuovo il panico mi prende.

A DARK VULTURE A dark vulture just flew inside my chest. Some days it lights inside my brain, but today it's in my bonehouse, rattling ribs like a birdcage. If I saw it coming, I'd fend it off with machete or baseball bat. Or grab its scrawny hackled neck, wring it like a wet dishrag. But it approaches from behind. Too late I sense it at my back — carrion, garbage, excrement. Once inside me it preens, roosts, vulture on a public utility pole. Next it flaps, it cries, it glares, it rages, it struts, it thrusts its clacking beak into my liver, my guts, my heart, rips off strips. I fill with black blood, black bile. This may last minutes or days. Then it lifts sickle-shaped wings, rises, is gone, leaving a residue — foul breath, droppings, molted midnight feathers. And life continues. And then I'm prey to panic again.

KLAGE Schlaf und Tod, die düstern Adler Umrauschen nachtlang dieses Haupt: Des Menschen goldnes Bildnis Verschlänge die eisige Woge Der Ewigkeit. An schaurigen Riffen Zerschellt der purpurne Leib. Und es klagt die dunkle Stimme Über dem Meer. Schwester stürmischer Schwermut Sich ein ängstlicher Kahn versinkt Under Sternen, Dem schweigenden Antlitz der Nacht. -Georg Trakl (1887-1914)

LAMENT Sleep and death, the dusky eagles Rustle all night round my head: the golden effigy of man consumed by the icy tides of eternity. On hideous rocks the purpling body shatters. And the dark voice mourns over the sea. Sister of my wild despair, look: a lonely skiff is sinking under the stars, the silent face of night. -Georg Trakl (1887-1914)

LAMENTO Sonno e morte, le aquile tetre frusciano tutta la notte intorno al mio capo: la gelida onda dell’eternità ingoierà forse l’aurea effigie dell’uomo. Contro orridi scogli si sfracella il corpo purpureo. Ed è un lagno la voce opaca sul mare. Sorella di burrascosa tristezza, vedi: una barca angosciata affonda sotto le stelle, tacito volto della notte. -Georg Trakl (1887-1914)