Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Monica Martinelli

55

You cleave your way through the fabrics of the night
with what is separate but still a part of you
and beats like a heart, in her,
she who opens like rose petals,
who smells of sadness and wisteria
and sees her own life parade
along in a mirror without images.

You belong to him and he does not want to leave you,
flesh tight and tense
to feel the warmth and the rush
of blood that a few tears
attempt to dilute.

The skin becomes dirt that crumbles
and slides on the feeling of being there
to remember that a body
is not a surface that breathes and sighs
but instead a fallen star of the universe,
a quasar smiling crazy with light.

While the trade winds blow in the distance
along our timeless path.

55

55

Ti vai varco fra i tessuti della notte
con cio che è separato ma è parte di te
e pulsa come un cuore, in lei
che si schiude come petali di rosa,
lei che profuma di glicine e tristezza
e vede sfilare la sua vita
in uno specchio senza immagine.
 
Gli appartieni e non vuole lasciarti,
la carne contratta e tesa
per sentire il calore e lo scroscio
del sangue che qualche lacrima
prova a diluire.
 
La pelle diventa terra che si sgrana
e scivola sull’emozione di esserci
per rammentare che un corpo
non è una superficie che respira e geme
ma una stella dell’universo caduta giù,
un quasar che sorride impazzito di luce.
 
Mentre alisei soffiano a distanza
sul nostro percorso senza tempo.
Close

55

You cleave your way through the fabrics of the night
with what is separate but still a part of you
and beats like a heart, in her,
she who opens like rose petals,
who smells of sadness and wisteria
and sees her own life parade
along in a mirror without images.

You belong to him and he does not want to leave you,
flesh tight and tense
to feel the warmth and the rush
of blood that a few tears
attempt to dilute.

The skin becomes dirt that crumbles
and slides on the feeling of being there
to remember that a body
is not a surface that breathes and sighs
but instead a fallen star of the universe,
a quasar smiling crazy with light.

While the trade winds blow in the distance
along our timeless path.

55

You cleave your way through the fabrics of the night
with what is separate but still a part of you
and beats like a heart, in her,
she who opens like rose petals,
who smells of sadness and wisteria
and sees her own life parade
along in a mirror without images.

You belong to him and he does not want to leave you,
flesh tight and tense
to feel the warmth and the rush
of blood that a few tears
attempt to dilute.

The skin becomes dirt that crumbles
and slides on the feeling of being there
to remember that a body
is not a surface that breathes and sighs
but instead a fallen star of the universe,
a quasar smiling crazy with light.

While the trade winds blow in the distance
along our timeless path.
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