
THE POEM
For Pascal D’Angelo
and for all the Italian immigrants in America
These places have been your pathways,
those struggle-hopes our pains,
seen from the shore the ocean is different
than when seen from a boat.
These places have been your windmills.
We didn’t go on that voyage:
it took us away, when for the traveler
the near and the far disappear.
These places have been our sighs,
the stranger in us cancelled every fate,
every Macondo. Today’s false exile
is a cohort of dreams within and without our world.
These places have been our mornings.
The floating city did not interest you
but only the heart divided between the recent past
and a future present only in the mind.
These places have been our destinies,
you, who followed the path of the sun,
unaware of what was awaiting you, starting
from a name hopelessly mispronounced.
Today these places are inside us and near,
here where everything and nothing would mix
the cards of game and need, transformed
into a pile deceit, nostalgia, dream.
(Translation by Carol Lettieri & Irene Marchegiani)
From Land of Time (2006)
Chelsea Editions, New York
New York. Statue of Liberty. Photo courtesy of Rocco Saltino

