Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Aldo Nove

UNFOLDING SPACE

The place where we are is not this one,
equipped with all kinds of comfort,
distant. It’s never been
elsewhere, it’s neither here, nor now. It’s not a place.
And incessantly
it flows, heavily, you can feel it
as though coming from the inside
but which inside
it’s so strong, it screeches, it dies, and dies again,
it turns on one side, it tunes in,
finds identities in the flow
but doesn’t distinguish them, doesn’t find them, 
it doesn’t tune in. It gets up, walks
around the room, 
draws the margins
in its mind, outside the room there are others,
in each one of them, someone goes into the mountains,
he sees the sea, checks the time
but there is no more time, doesn’t see the sea,
it just 
seemed
so strong and here it comes,
the slope of the mountains
declines,
the direct opposite,
misleading,
men crowding. It sits in the centre,
there is no more 
present, no more
places.

Lo spazio spiegato

Lo spazio spiegato

Il posto dove siamo non è questo
fornito di ogni tipo di comfort
distanti. Non è altrove
da sempre e non è
presente. Non è un posto.
E ininterrottamente
scorre, pesante, si sente
come se giungesse da dentro,
ma quale, dentro
è fortissimo, stride e continua a morire,
si gira sul fianco, sintonizza
i canali, trova identità nel flusso
ma non le distingue, non le trova, non sintonizza
i canali. Si alza, cammina
nella stanza,
ne disegna i margini,
con la mente, fuori dalla stanza ce ne sono altre,
in ognuno ciascuno va sui monti,
ne vede il mare, controlla il tempo
che non c’è più, non vede il mare,
sembrava
             soltanto
fortissimo e arriva, si spende
il declivio dei monti,
l’esatto contrario
apparente,
 
la gente. Si siede nel centro,
non c’è più
presente e
non ci sono più posti.
Close

UNFOLDING SPACE

The place where we are is not this one,
equipped with all kinds of comfort,
distant. It’s never been
elsewhere, it’s neither here, nor now. It’s not a place.
And incessantly
it flows, heavily, you can feel it
as though coming from the inside
but which inside
it’s so strong, it screeches, it dies, and dies again,
it turns on one side, it tunes in,
finds identities in the flow
but doesn’t distinguish them, doesn’t find them, 
it doesn’t tune in. It gets up, walks
around the room, 
draws the margins
in its mind, outside the room there are others,
in each one of them, someone goes into the mountains,
he sees the sea, checks the time
but there is no more time, doesn’t see the sea,
it just 
seemed
so strong and here it comes,
the slope of the mountains
declines,
the direct opposite,
misleading,
men crowding. It sits in the centre,
there is no more 
present, no more
places.

UNFOLDING SPACE

The place where we are is not this one,
equipped with all kinds of comfort,
distant. It’s never been
elsewhere, it’s neither here, nor now. It’s not a place.
And incessantly
it flows, heavily, you can feel it
as though coming from the inside
but which inside
it’s so strong, it screeches, it dies, and dies again,
it turns on one side, it tunes in,
finds identities in the flow
but doesn’t distinguish them, doesn’t find them, 
it doesn’t tune in. It gets up, walks
around the room, 
draws the margins
in its mind, outside the room there are others,
in each one of them, someone goes into the mountains,
he sees the sea, checks the time
but there is no more time, doesn’t see the sea,
it just 
seemed
so strong and here it comes,
the slope of the mountains
declines,
the direct opposite,
misleading,
men crowding. It sits in the centre,
there is no more 
present, no more
places.
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