A Gift Of Flowers Poem by Stefano Dal Bianco
A Gift Of Flowers
to the reader
Under the mountain, on the edge of the meadow,
close to the mountain stream of Planaval,
I don't say it coyly,
I picked some flowers:
three of each kind.
For a person I picked them, who for many years has been dead and yet perhaps still
lives here and does not keep us company and maybe doesn't care about the flowers,
nor about the place that has changed.
Maybe I picked them out of uncertainty,
three by three,
precisely repeating a shiver.
Uncertainty of doing it for myself,
Uncertainty of wanting that you,
who do not know this place
who have never been there
and who now read my diary,
seeing the flowers will be moved
and come near me and understand
what it is that still lives on the edge of the meadow
and with the mountain breathes
and blends its voice with the water,
and towers above us.
Translation: 2004, Gabriele Poole
by S. Dal Bianco, another poem (in Italian) : _________________________________ Dalla gabbia Vi sono giorni di debolezza estrema poiché – dice qualcuno – la pressione atmosferica di fuori, che ha potere sui corpi, essendo bassa, si consustanzia a noi fin dentro il sanguecon la sua tenera virtù di morte. Ma altri vi potranno assicurare (e oggi io sono tra quelli) che tutto questo spossamento, in questi giorni, non procede dall’aria né dal corpo ma è soltanto dolore di anime costrette, solitudine di molti, vuoto vissuto male, mancanza o assenza di uno scopo. [Stefano dal Bianco (Padova,1961) , da Prove di libertà (Mondadori 2012]
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5/23/2024 10:46:37 PM # 1.0.0.1119
A very beautiful, touching and sad poem, with a style all of its own. Great poetry!