Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Silvia Bre

The moon too mirrors itself wretchedly

The moon too mirrors itself wretchedly
among the poor vegetation
and certain lands afloat on sand
 
beyond, beasts nurse litter within litter
in the middle of cities
in wild nocturnes
 
a whip hand from which nothing escapes
except the distorted chatter
of gulls and ravens.
 
Something sees everything
and the nerve of sight is the equator
the eye looks at itself in terror
 
the circle of a boundary does not save us.
Exposed by a single film to one another
– a ceaseless fluttering of the pupil –
 
we await the arrival of the good of a further synthesis
in the turmoil.

The moon too mirrors itself wretchedly

Anche la luna si specchia malamente
tra le vegetazioni povere
e certe lande a galla sulla sabbia
 
piú in là le bestie covano figli dentro i figli
in mezzo alle città
nei notturni selvaggi
 
un sopravvento da cui non sfugge nulla
se non il rumore distorto
di gabbiani e di corvi.
 
Qualcosa vede tutto
e il nervo della vista è l’equatore
l’occhio guarda sé stesso con terrore
 
il cerchio di un confine non ci salva.
Esposti da una pellicola sola gli uni agli altri
– un fremere continuo di pupilla –
 
aspettiamo l’arrivo del buono di una sintesi ulteriore
nella balía.
Close

The moon too mirrors itself wretchedly

The moon too mirrors itself wretchedly
among the poor vegetation
and certain lands afloat on sand
 
beyond, beasts nurse litter within litter
in the middle of cities
in wild nocturnes
 
a whip hand from which nothing escapes
except the distorted chatter
of gulls and ravens.
 
Something sees everything
and the nerve of sight is the equator
the eye looks at itself in terror
 
the circle of a boundary does not save us.
Exposed by a single film to one another
– a ceaseless fluttering of the pupil –
 
we await the arrival of the good of a further synthesis
in the turmoil.

The moon too mirrors itself wretchedly

The moon too mirrors itself wretchedly
among the poor vegetation
and certain lands afloat on sand
 
beyond, beasts nurse litter within litter
in the middle of cities
in wild nocturnes
 
a whip hand from which nothing escapes
except the distorted chatter
of gulls and ravens.
 
Something sees everything
and the nerve of sight is the equator
the eye looks at itself in terror
 
the circle of a boundary does not save us.
Exposed by a single film to one another
– a ceaseless fluttering of the pupil –
 
we await the arrival of the good of a further synthesis
in the turmoil.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère