Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Monica Martinelli

34

I am the rain that quenches the earth’s thirst,
a pregnant gift, no parturition.
The sound of happiness on rough stones,
the patter of heavy rain drops.
I am the wind that shakes the rain from the clouds
undressing, crumpling, knotting up souls.
I am the earth soaked with rain
where, clod after clump,
you place your tired, uneven steps.

I take leave in silence, without tears
while the breath of the hawthorn nears.
I let it be.
You cannot know how much frost
will blow across your grave.
I will protect you,
from sinking in the mud
because everything returns to where it came from.
Lone thistles in an evolving underground
turn into something else.
To renew oneself means to persist,
a vortex of indefinite atoms.

I am the blood, osmotic puppet,
viscous fluid
elevator of metabolisms
that flows in the carousel of chemistry.
The moon too bleeds
if the sun bites her.
But it is not a wound of hate.
I have a backup constellation.

34

34

Sono la pioggia che disseta la terra
dono gravido senza parto.
Rumore di felicità su sassi ruvidi,
tonfi di gocce pesanti.
Sono il vento che scrolla pioggia dale nuvole
denuda, squalcisce e riannoda anime.
Sono la terra bagnata dalla pioggia
dove zolla dopo zolla
posi i tuoi passi stanchi e sparigliati.
 
Mi congedo in silenzio, senza lacrime
mentre giunge l’alito del biancospino.
E lascio fare.
Non puoi sapere quanto gelo
soffierà sulla tua fossa.
Io ti proteggerò,
per non affondare nel fango
perché da dove tutto viene tutto torna.
Cardi solitari di un sottosuolo in evoluzione
si tramutano in altro.
Rinnovarsi e persistere,
vorticarti di atomi indefiniti.
 
Sono il sangue, marionetta osmotica,
fluido viscoso
ascensore di metabolismi
che scorre nel carosello della chimica.
Anche la luna perde sangue
se morsa dal sole.
Ma non è una ferita d’odio.
Ho una costellazione di riserva.
Close

34

I am the rain that quenches the earth’s thirst,
a pregnant gift, no parturition.
The sound of happiness on rough stones,
the patter of heavy rain drops.
I am the wind that shakes the rain from the clouds
undressing, crumpling, knotting up souls.
I am the earth soaked with rain
where, clod after clump,
you place your tired, uneven steps.

I take leave in silence, without tears
while the breath of the hawthorn nears.
I let it be.
You cannot know how much frost
will blow across your grave.
I will protect you,
from sinking in the mud
because everything returns to where it came from.
Lone thistles in an evolving underground
turn into something else.
To renew oneself means to persist,
a vortex of indefinite atoms.

I am the blood, osmotic puppet,
viscous fluid
elevator of metabolisms
that flows in the carousel of chemistry.
The moon too bleeds
if the sun bites her.
But it is not a wound of hate.
I have a backup constellation.

34

I am the rain that quenches the earth’s thirst,
a pregnant gift, no parturition.
The sound of happiness on rough stones,
the patter of heavy rain drops.
I am the wind that shakes the rain from the clouds
undressing, crumpling, knotting up souls.
I am the earth soaked with rain
where, clod after clump,
you place your tired, uneven steps.

I take leave in silence, without tears
while the breath of the hawthorn nears.
I let it be.
You cannot know how much frost
will blow across your grave.
I will protect you,
from sinking in the mud
because everything returns to where it came from.
Lone thistles in an evolving underground
turn into something else.
To renew oneself means to persist,
a vortex of indefinite atoms.

I am the blood, osmotic puppet,
viscous fluid
elevator of metabolisms
that flows in the carousel of chemistry.
The moon too bleeds
if the sun bites her.
But it is not a wound of hate.
I have a backup constellation.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère