Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Andrea Gibellini

Hedgehogs, Threshing Machines and More

Huge machines, phosphorescent red
in the June sun, dig into the hay already stirred from pre-autumnal
slumbers and thresh it, creating
survival music. That is the place
for vacation, above all things, inside all things,

today again they began to push through the ears standing high in the sky,
a centripetal accusative thrust where everything is reborn from the harvest.
In the sight of sunlit nature, first morning, then afternoon,

hurts the eyes, not because of sun
but hedgehogs cut to pieces on the road, its asphalt
clogged with the flight, at least four or five I saw
squashed in the slow, exasperated scampering that

was useless for gaining refuge, stretching to the maximum
that internal defence of skin and flattened shell of bones.

At first it seemed a large coincidence in the hot asphalt

where the motorway meets trunk roads breathing dust
expelled from the indolent plain: it was a headlong
flight not really en masse but individual, each one’s body

flipped in a different direction beyond the fields and the houses
where you glimpse other fields, other natures.

EGELS, DORSMACHINES EN NOG WAT

De grote machines in een fosforescerend rood
in de junizon graven in het hooi dat al beroerd wordt door loomten
van voorherfst en componeren al dorsend
een overleefde muziek. Dat is
het vakantieoord, boven alles, temidden van alles

zijn ze vandaag opnieuw begonnen tussen de hemelhoge stengels
de naam naar het centrum te laten vallen waar alles herleefd van het maaien.
De ochtend en dan de middag irriteren en niet door de zon

de ogen bij het zicht van de zonovergoten natuur
omdat er egels stuk zijn gereden op straat, het asfalt hield
hun vlucht tegen, ik heb er minstens vier of vijf waargenomen
die hun eind hadden gevonden in het wanhopige langzame getrippel dat

geen nut heeft gehad om dekking te vinden om zoveel mogelijk
het interne fort van huid en geplet bottenkarkas te spannen.

Eerst leek het een coïncidentie in samenhang met de hitte van het asfalt

waar de snelweg aansluiting heeft op provinciale wegen die het stof ademen
dat opstijgt uit het lome laagland: maar het was een overhaaste
vlucht zeker niet massaal maar individueel elk ging

in tegengestelde richting over de kop voorbij de velden en huizen
waar men vluchtig zicht heeft op andere velden en landschappen.

RICCI TREBBIATRICI E ALTRO

Le macchine grandi dal rosso fosforescente
nel sole di giugno scavano nel fieno già mosso da languori
preautunnali e trebbiano componendo
una musica sopravvissuta. Quello è il luogo
della vacanza, sopra a tutto, dentro a tutto,

oggi hanno ripreso a spingere fra le spighe alte nel cielo
il centripeto moto accusativo dove ogni cosa rinasce dal taglio.
La mattina poi il pomeriggio e non per il sole

porta fastidio negli occhi alla vista della natura soleggiata
perché i ricci sono stati dilaniati sulla strada, l’asfalto ha
rappreso la fuga, ne ho osservati almeno quattro o cinque
già finiti nella esasperata e lenta zampettata che

non é servita a nulla a ripararsi a tendere il più possibile
il castello interno di pelle e guscio d’ossa schiacciato.

Prima pareva una coincidenza sostenuta dal caldo dell’asfalto

dove l’autostrada si congiunge a statali che respirano la polvere
estromessa dalla pianura indolente: è stata una precipitosa
fuga non proprio in massa ma individuale ognuno ribaltava

il corpo in direzione contraria dopo i campi e le case
dove si intravedono altri campi e nature.
Close

Hedgehogs, Threshing Machines and More

Huge machines, phosphorescent red
in the June sun, dig into the hay already stirred from pre-autumnal
slumbers and thresh it, creating
survival music. That is the place
for vacation, above all things, inside all things,

today again they began to push through the ears standing high in the sky,
a centripetal accusative thrust where everything is reborn from the harvest.
In the sight of sunlit nature, first morning, then afternoon,

hurts the eyes, not because of sun
but hedgehogs cut to pieces on the road, its asphalt
clogged with the flight, at least four or five I saw
squashed in the slow, exasperated scampering that

was useless for gaining refuge, stretching to the maximum
that internal defence of skin and flattened shell of bones.

At first it seemed a large coincidence in the hot asphalt

where the motorway meets trunk roads breathing dust
expelled from the indolent plain: it was a headlong
flight not really en masse but individual, each one’s body

flipped in a different direction beyond the fields and the houses
where you glimpse other fields, other natures.

Hedgehogs, Threshing Machines and More

Huge machines, phosphorescent red
in the June sun, dig into the hay already stirred from pre-autumnal
slumbers and thresh it, creating
survival music. That is the place
for vacation, above all things, inside all things,

today again they began to push through the ears standing high in the sky,
a centripetal accusative thrust where everything is reborn from the harvest.
In the sight of sunlit nature, first morning, then afternoon,

hurts the eyes, not because of sun
but hedgehogs cut to pieces on the road, its asphalt
clogged with the flight, at least four or five I saw
squashed in the slow, exasperated scampering that

was useless for gaining refuge, stretching to the maximum
that internal defence of skin and flattened shell of bones.

At first it seemed a large coincidence in the hot asphalt

where the motorway meets trunk roads breathing dust
expelled from the indolent plain: it was a headlong
flight not really en masse but individual, each one’s body

flipped in a different direction beyond the fields and the houses
where you glimpse other fields, other natures.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère