Poem in October

My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.

— Dylan Thomas

Happy Birthday, TS Eliot

“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
They called me the hyacinth girl.’
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od’ und leer das Meer.”

— TS Eliot, The Wasteland

Personal Helicon

As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
So deep you saw no reflection in it. Continue reading “Personal Helicon”

I salinai

Ad Aveiro
il mare non è mai dimenticato.
Qui, nelle nostre mani, si nasconde
in crepe e fessure della pelle.
Lenti, raccogliamo, incessanti
mentre gli anni passano e sfioriscono,
questa polvere – mandandola col vento
a riva, a posarsi su case coperte
di visi benevoli, rivolti
alle onde. A filtrare tra le pietre Continue reading “I salinai”