THE POEM

(to life) by Marco F. D’Astice

when we are old

we’ll shrug our shoulders

weighed down

by the mute November rains

and on a veranda

we will rock

the sound of a gramophone

a mock antique

without a word

you will look at my silent body

my bad blood

and you will love me maybe

like you love an old hound

when he’s no good at hunting anymore

when we are old

we’ll shake our heads

weighed down

by the long clattering of clogs and rattles

and on a veranda

we will rock

to the sound of a gramophone

a mock antique

without a word

I will look at your silent body

your lean belly

your skin like clay

and I will love you I think

like you love a poem

of words almost lost to memory

then we won’t remember

the crazy things we do now

we’ll sit on that veranda

and we will rock

to the sound of that gramophone

a mock antique

without a word (there’ll be no need)

we will watch the silent world

its bad blood

its skin like clay and

a hidden amidst the branches

of the great chestnut tree

death

– rocking –

(Translation by Susan Perry) 

From L’amore, la merda & altre immolazioni (ascoli satriano blues & altre storie) (2008)

Grottaglie (Taranto). Museum of Ceramics. Photo Archivio Fotogramma

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