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POETRY

THE WICKS: Poetry by Ernesto Calzavara

When the moon, women close the windows, and you can see the shadows of the cats on the walls, is down to the big rolls night on the tiles, it seems to me to die slowly, to go off too with the sun, to turn these false lights, these wicks, that keep me alive, so, not at all, in the …

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THIS LANGUAGE: Poetry of Fernando Bandini

This language is what my grandmother used tonight, looking from inside the frame. Her mouth remained closed, the words I heard them clear. My grandmother, she learned the language as you do water, flowing down from the cave, when she plays midnight walk hugging the low walls; and the irrigation ditches, where wash liners and sheets, feels ciof and ciof …

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LIKE A FISH THAT LIVES IN THE FUND: Poetry by Sandro Zanotto

Sitting next to a tiller, to look after, you can carefully observe the banks open. Although not wanting to, you follow a track without curbstones that follow behind these waters, rotting and still, always. When the eye does not look at the banks, is a face that rises from the depths stomach, like a fish that lives at the bottom …

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HOLD MY HAND: Poetry of Hermann Hesse

HOLD MY HAND Hold my hand at sunset, when the light of day goes out and darkness slips his cloth of stars. Keep it tight, when I can not live this imperfect world. Hold my hand, take me where time does not exist. Keep it close in hard living. Hold my hand, in the days when I feel disoriented, sing …

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I THINK OF YOU: Poetry by Johann Wolfgang Goethe

I THINK OF YOU I think of you, from the bosom of the sea when the sun rises and its rays darts. I think of you, when the moonlight wave serene whitens. I think of you, when it goes away the dust along the path, and in the dark night, when the passenger on the bridge, the heart leaps with …

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I CALL YOU RISE OR FALL: Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke

I CALL YOU RISE OR FALL What your name: rise or decline? Because sometimes I fear I am, and the red of her roses tend cautious, and I sense a fear in his flute, for those days without singing and without end. But myths and mine, I feel the evenings, the dim light of my gaze. The forests, between my …

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MUSA: Poetry by Germain Droogenbroodt

MUSA   Sailing immaculate, slipping on slate Mirror Lake, it only follows the bowsprit, the call of the seagull, sometimes he gets up, almost borders on the sky. An eagle with wings of Icarus. (Germain Droogenbroodt) http://www.amazon.com/Sruth-Ama-Irish-language-Rosenstock-Droogenbroodt-ebook/dp/B006PF8N4Y

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MY LIFE: Poetry of Henri Michaux

MY LIFE   Without me you go, my life. Rolls, and I have not done one more step. Elsewhere lead the battle. I leave me so. I I’ve never followed. I do not see clear about your proposals. The little that I want, I do not bring it to me ever. And for this failure, I aspire to much. A …

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WORD AGAINST THE WORD: Poetry, by Charles Ducal

WORD AGAINST THE WORD     Of all the words, ours are the most vulnerable, even if they are unquestionably in the mouth. No one asks, no one violent. They kiss the stars, they do not touch the ground. Other words, waving his arms and legs, skulls filled, inflamed throat. A knife in the back, translates as caress, a kick …

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DAYS IN WHITE: Poetry, by Ingeborg Bachmann

DAYS IN WHITE These days, I get up with birches, and forehead restart interlock the strands of wheat, in front of a mirror of ice. Amalgamated to my breath, sfiocca milk: so early, has easy foam. And where the glass I fogged with breath, seems painted by a child finger, yet your name: innocence! After a long time. These days, …

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