IN THE NORDIC
palm grove of deconsecrated churches,
forced laughter
the city in the palm,
charred life
YOU CAN'T WITHSTAND this winter
modestly
that innocent mud
and with shoes in hand
and naked you cross
that square,
traveling across squares.
LERMON HILL: IMPECCABLE
solitude! imbued with light
I am tonight: not dark
the green estate or ecstatic
the violet march towards
vendetta . . .
THE YOUNG, THEIR roses
akin to you: the young
their roses, akin
to me: the young, their
faults, akin to ours
YOUR WHITE HANDS
forgiving complaints of the poor
or forcing complaints
I play mute bells.
ROSES TIDIED UP
forgettable loneliness
meticulous farmer
best in the world
recognizing yourself as a tank
of covert nullity
spent crushing
death solitude
all the more valuable
if thinly I'm marble.
I'VE REMOVED EACH light
downplayed your spring
his combing his hair.
That indifferent land
and where are you,
born with science.
Seeing myself written on the walls
I crossed the islet.
OUT OF TUNE life,
it blows itself out
hope is plucked
hard to piece itself together
wants nothing to do with it
thoughts are oval then, or opaque.
ONCE THE GOAL is achieved
little refuge in my candid sky
splendid unused sun
our life shivering
with borrowed dismay
if he doesn't speed up I'll compete.
______________________________________
Amelia Rosselli
Document
translated from the Italian by
Roberta Antognini & Deborah Woodard
World Poetry, 2025
