My father passed away few days ago. I do remember in June I was already aware about his situation. I was sitting at the bar, open air, drinking a rum and thinking about him.
Few words flowed throungh me on the paper.
La resa fatale
Lo scuro della notte impenetrabile
Volteggia l’aria pre-estiva
Incongruo piacere di fronte a tale imperscrutabilità
Giovane e gioviale giugno di fine scuola
Fraintende me ormai vecchio
Vetusto silenzio e spartana solitudine mi esula
La corteccia tradisce immobile gli anni
Di cui la chioma si disinteressa
Passa in cerchi avvertiti perfetti e lisci il mio pollice sul vetro
Spirito contenuto diviene contenente e generatore del mio torpore
Ed emerge facile il rumore di fondo
Un respiro, un flebile suono, un lieve sapore di canna da zucchero
Un tremito di premorte
Dissonante, che fu distante
Ma è li a due passi dai miei bimbi
Ed uno solo da me
The fatal yield
The dark night of the impenetrable
Whirls pre – summer air
Incongruous pleasure in front of the inscrutability
Young and jovial “end of school’s” June
It misunderstand me already an old man
Ancient Spartan silence and solitude is beyond me
The bark still betrays the years
Whose foliage is not interested
Goes in circles my thumb felt as perfect and smooth the glass
Spirit contained becomes container and generator of my torpor
And the background noise emerges easly
A breath, a faint sound, a slight taste of sugar cane
A tremor of near death
Dissonant, which was far
But is there, two steps away from my children
And only one from me
