visiting the beautiful blog Akiko ( http://Zebre.ilcannocchiale.it ) I was reminded Pedro Salinas. Madrilegno, poet fleeing the horrors of civil war, came to earth to die in exile in North America, in Boston. Obviously I have some sympathy with the exiles. For Salinas, poetry is an adventure to the absolute, I read somewhere, this makes me appreciate a lot. I had a book of his poems, an anthology dell'Einaudi. Now who knows how closed pack is yellowing, in Italy ...
SIN VOZ, Desnuda
Sin armas. Ni las dulces
Sonrisas, ni las llamas de la
Rapidase anger.
Sin armas. Ni las dulces
Sonrisas, ni las llamas de la Rapidase anger.
Sin armas. Ni las
waters of goodness bottomless
or perfidy, curved beak.
Nothing. No weapons. Sola. Upwind
in your silence.
'Yes' and 'no', 'tomorrow' and 'where' sharp break
of useless tips in your silence arrows
smooth without defeat and glory.
out!
kills you -cold, invincible, eternal
So, what saves you,
So, what saves you,
the edge of silence you sharp.
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