March 2011
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Spring, Edna St. Vincent Millay
To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. But what does that signify? Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots. Life in...
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“When people agree with me I always feel that I must be wrong.”
– Oscar Wilde
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WatchEvan Viera, Sycamore Eve
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Alla sua donna, Piero Bigongiari
Le mura dove il nero travolgente delle tue notti illuni penetrò, o celeste sembiante che non ho perduto, tu ancor specchi e consumi. In timbri tramortiti le tue dita celebrano il vento se riaffiora, una lacrima cola illividita, tra due colori transita un’aurora. Ogni gesto riapre forse al limite più spento il proprio cielo, io per sempre velo il ritorno innamorato al mio lento confine...
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This Bread I Break, Dylan Thomas
This bread I break was once the oat, This wine upon a foreign tree Plunged in its fruit; Man in the day or wind at night Laid the crops low, broke the grape”s joy. Once in this wine the summer blood Knocked in the flesh that decked the vine, Once in this bread The oat was merry in the wind; Man broke the sun, pulled the wind down. This flesh you break, this blood you let Make desolation in...
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