IO ero un immenso cielo d’estate [1]
Antonia Pozzi in her own Latin language
develops a vision that proliferates like a whistle
reaped and fleeting stuck between the awareness of that image and
the glacial seas, mirror of roses, on the verge of shattering
over themselves
unlinked from the world, oriented to the abyssal shelf
like roses, I mean
to the oceanic corridor
the celestial and genuine vision that reveals what was
hidden only to be abandoned
took place in some moment prior to the path which
the poet would walk for all eternity
counting twenty-six years, kissing the hand of Erebus
plucking herself, petals, detached from the world
in some moment prior to the conjunction in which
she looks at the sky, it is no longer centrifugal summer
she looks at the last road and holds its gaze

she takes the road, blindly leaps

Far from 1938, someone finds herself different, with a desert
ahead at her back: a future beach which creates destroys
breast and crest the nocturnal iridescence of the real

Two
fell mute

In a blue and glutinous temporal arc, surrounded by silence
The distance of a drift was compressed into a
muddled syllable from a muddled language
a resplendence, a sudden fall which surfaces:
somehow hanging
they’re temporally upheld

they look at each other through a hedge which grows
which emulsifies in the heart of the wind
and leaves only
a viridescent lamp waning in the air
where it ripples
looking inward water distinct rumor
lacking temporal arc of five days so that they
would abandon there anything reminiscent
of a minor enigma sweet and bitter
blurry angles surviving in this instant
when in the glass it rains from within
when in the eyes they don’t look at each other
in memory they confuse their words

What it concerns is the vivid journey burning
borders of the journey and
every unfamiliar door dissolves limits

They invite a flowering
in the deaf hour in which they persist in existing proximally
bent towards
inclined aimed palliative the tongues

a succession of two
successions horizons retreat
like a thirst that stretches a body
y bebe sed de vaso que no bebe [2]
an internal bonfire.

growing while breaching a path while
fissure of radiant sun for black sun preparing itself






Notes

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[1] “I was an immense summer sky.” This line comes from Pozzi’s poem, “L’allodola” (The Lark).

[2] “and drink thirst of a glass that doesn’t drink.” From Fábula de Leandro y Hero (Fable of Leander and Hero), an epic poem published in 1627 by the Spanish Golden Age poet Gabriel Bocángel.