THE POEM

Wishing for a Wrong Number by Joseph Tusiani

Call me, anonymous drunkard, tell me

that you are God and can create in seven

hours a much better world. And call me, sell me

anything, everything, even

the rusty wheels of the sun, whoever you are –

merchant or minister, harlot or child,

but let the sound of a human voice compel me

to think of what it would be,

when one’s about to gulp a fatal potion,

to be reminded suddenly of life going on

for man and mountain and tree

for valley and wing and ocean

for all except me.

Yes, I have heard of flights from dawn to sunset,

of Europe meeting Asia in an hour,

of man and moon becoming

closer and closer, as close as a stem to a flower.

Why should it be so hard, then,

for man to remember man,

for you to let me hear the sound of your voice?

Call me, whoever you are, and tell me

whatever you please. Speak even

of wind and heaven to

a wounded eagle in the grass, of bread and fire

to a famished beggar in the snow.

Be cruel and be rude

but talk to me and let me know

that I am not alone

in this my human solitude.

From Gente mia and other poems (1978)

Gargano. Photo Archivio Fotogramma

My Salento - by Maria Felicita Cordella Greetings from Punta Meliso - by Lino Angiuli The tired woman dreamer - by Adeodato Piazza Nicolai Greetings from Castro - by Lino Angiuli OSTUNI, I - by Paolo Valesio The Last Green God - by Barbara Carle Greetings from Acaia - by Lino Angiuli And now that our words… - by Giovanna Politi If you forget me - by Giovanna Politi Only a chapter - by Joseph Tusiani 2015-01-06 - by Francesco Aprile And they will come again - by Giovanna Nosarti Bar - by Maurizio Evangelista Grandma - by Toti Bellone The secret of fire - by Antonio Belpiede Half-open - by Carlo Alberto Augieri (De finibus terrae / The ends of the earth) - by Anita Piscazzi Gargano Olive trees - by Joseph Tusiani With tight long bites - by Rita Rucco The Traveller - by Marcello Comitini Greetings from - by Joseph Tusiani (to life) - by Marco F. D’Astice Deep in the desecrated country - by Tommaso Di Ciaula I was born on the 21st in Springtime - by Alda Merini Late spring - by Adeodato Piazza Nicolai These lemons - by Ernesto Treccani Of dreams and tatters - by Joseph Tusiani My grandmother’s wrinkled hands - by Giovanna Nosarti Freedom - by Marcello Comitini It’ll be a sentence handed down by the fathers - by Teodora Mastrototaro the suitcase - by Alessio Laterza I need - by Maurizio Evangelista Village Village - by Daniele Giancane i was reading the story of stories of stories - by Robert Viscusi Crossing the Murgia - by Sergio D’Amaro Murmur and a pearl - by Joseph Tusiani If you glimpse - by Tommaso Di Ciaula tuning can be difficult if you strain at it - by Robert Viscusi It’s a good omen - by Cristanziano Serricchio You can go deep into the woods at night - by Maurizio Cucchi For love - by Luigi Fontanella Dear words that you hear - by Cristanziano Serricchio Ants and children play nearby - by Cristanziano Serricchio The Celestial City - by Luigi Fontanella A glance at the stars - by Tommaso Di Ciaula When I went back to my town in the South - by Vittorio Bodini We live in a spell - by Vittorio Bodini You don’t know the South - by Vittorio Bodini warandpeace: from without to will be - by Walter Vergallo Song of Bicentennial - by Joseph Tusiani A long war - by Tommaso Di Ciaula let’s make ourselves a bridge - by Robert Viscusi