Kicked away by the waves the buildings
eventually dropped
to the november-coloured sea.
The wind crushed to the cheeks
dumping the switched off merry-go-rounds and a dog
leaded astray by the storm of the previous days.
I remember you blowing then from your nose
every disgusting sealife
uprooted by the hair lying exile
on the winter beach along with the teeth
lost by the sea.
The shading of the foreshore
was updating in real time
the borderlines of a noman’s land.
Note of that was taken by the seagulls
lurking on the stilts and their heads
hooded in the wings.
Originally posted in Italian on January 9, 2008 at 1:26
Mu
Two messy eyebrows
one little childhood scar.
The skyline on the sand
and four drops of green tea.
So one writes blank.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Like in Ostend
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
1 comment:
Some days after posting this poem, I’d like to say something more about it.
Although it could be already clear for someone, I wanted to say openly that these verses are a homage to the song of the same title by Léo Ferré (the lyric of the song is actually by Jean-Roger Caussimon). It is then a homage to him, to Léo, to all what he put into his music, into his voice, into his long white hair, into his art made at once of poetry and fight.
(Originally commented in Italian on January 16, 2008 at 1.14)
Post a Comment