Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Aldo Nove

GOODBY MY TWENTIETH CENTURY (II)

Seasons,
on the magnetic tape we used to record them,
to mix the decades with our names,
with those of cities and ages,
to play the tape backwards
and wear out the tape
to blur its mechanical sliding
with the one of our dreams
and the fulfillments of time,
this way, they weren’t quite the days
that formed the years, but scraps of hours
interwoven with millennia,
with toys, with bodies,
they arrived, ethereal, 
and clothed in solid
plastic, we inserted the pencil in history
to block its gears,
we illuminated them,
the light was coming from a box,
the box was coloured,
we used to live in there,
the walls melted like a cloth,
we bought chocolates,
the man was on the moon.

Addio mio novecento (II)

Addio mio novecento (II)

Le stagioni
sul nastro magnetico le registravamo,
miscelavamo i decenni e i nostri nomi,
quelli delle città e delle epoche,
facevamo girare il nastro all’incontrario
logoravamo il nastro
ne confondevamo lo scorrimento meccanico
con quello dei nostri sogni
e  degli adempimenti del tempo,
cosí non erano propriamente giorni
a fare gli anni, ma cascami di ore
intrecciate a millenni,
a giocattoli, a corpi
arrivavano, eterei
e rivestiti di plastica
compatta, infilavamo la matita nella storia
per bloccarne gli ingranaggi,
li illuminavamo,
la luce veniva da una scatola,
la scatola era colorata,
ci abitavamo dentro,
i muri si scoglievano come uno straccio,
compravamo i cioccolatini,
l’uomo era allunato.
Close

GOODBY MY TWENTIETH CENTURY (II)

Seasons,
on the magnetic tape we used to record them,
to mix the decades with our names,
with those of cities and ages,
to play the tape backwards
and wear out the tape
to blur its mechanical sliding
with the one of our dreams
and the fulfillments of time,
this way, they weren’t quite the days
that formed the years, but scraps of hours
interwoven with millennia,
with toys, with bodies,
they arrived, ethereal, 
and clothed in solid
plastic, we inserted the pencil in history
to block its gears,
we illuminated them,
the light was coming from a box,
the box was coloured,
we used to live in there,
the walls melted like a cloth,
we bought chocolates,
the man was on the moon.

GOODBY MY TWENTIETH CENTURY (II)

Seasons,
on the magnetic tape we used to record them,
to mix the decades with our names,
with those of cities and ages,
to play the tape backwards
and wear out the tape
to blur its mechanical sliding
with the one of our dreams
and the fulfillments of time,
this way, they weren’t quite the days
that formed the years, but scraps of hours
interwoven with millennia,
with toys, with bodies,
they arrived, ethereal, 
and clothed in solid
plastic, we inserted the pencil in history
to block its gears,
we illuminated them,
the light was coming from a box,
the box was coloured,
we used to live in there,
the walls melted like a cloth,
we bought chocolates,
the man was on the moon.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère