Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Andrea Raos

WATER CAROL

***
othersea


***
three leaves, a brief wave
against the drowning.


***
two baby turtles, one of which miniscule.


***
should be called a plover, flown as soon as seen.
a cat and a crow.


***
three crows. take a fluttering
bath in the soaked leaves.
farther off who knows how many sparrows.


***
there are pumpkin caps of reinforced concrete
concealing the water purifiers.
sliced in half
floating against the sun.


***
a leap, but behind me.
i know they’re there, you see them just under the surface always.


***
in an old photograph
the frozen snow  
bent the trees at the edge.


***
when in winter the wisps of clouds
and the paper disk sun – the sky
transmuted to a silver leaf –
jingles on the water
you imagine a fresh frost.


***
two leaps nearby, heard from behind.


***
a little heron?


***
covered with flowers,
not cleaned for awhile.


***
still rains,
with thousands of hairs
and needles.


***
while watching the trees,
a nearby leap, almost splashed under my feet.
another from the opposite side
when bending over to look.


***
there are three, perched on a pumpkin farther away.
one has red legs.  who notices.


***
this time i felt it close to me
not a leap but a rabid cascade
of glass.
but after only the reeds and the water
were there.


***
with the wind so strong
the water crazed.


***
even as i tried to look away,
that pigeon already half-decomposed,
it really looked at me.


***
in two long minutes three leaps
but i did not look behind.


***
they are so strong but so stretched
in their force the spiders – have counted four –
the earth and the parapet together.


***
seems immobile forever. a leg
dove in the mud
vanishing slightly.
cannot try again another heron.


***
do not say you watched the one weaving
fall, what matter.


***
why do you call me giorgio,
don’t you know that grandpa giorgio is dead?


***
a beautiful, up-turned, real
caròla, a silver dive
in the wind and another right after,
at the same point, more measured,
equilibrious, staring at me.
but first there was a hummingbird from above
– must have been, yes, a bird-fly – emerald above
and light red on the breast, nearly fine,
diving to claim it.

Caròla d’acqua

Caròla d’acqua

***
oltremire


***
tre foglie, un’onda breve
contro lo scarico.


***
due testuggini di cui una minuscola.


***
dovrebbe chiamarsi piviere, volato appena visto.
un gatto e un corvo.


***
tre corvi. fanno il bagno
frullando tra le foglie fradice.
più lontano chissà quanti passeri.


***
ci sono delle zucche di cemento armato,
servono a nascondere i depuratori.
tagliate a metà
che controsole galleggiano.


***
un guizzo, ma ero voltato.
so che ci sono, le vedi a filo d’acqua sempre.


***
in una vecchia fotografia
era tutto ghiacciato la neve
chinava gli alberi ai bordi.


***
quando in inverno sono fini le nuvole
e il sole sembra un disco di carta il cielo
tramutato in un foglio d’argento
tintinna sull’acqua
credi il gelo di nuovo.


***
due guizzi vicini, uditi di spalle.


***
un piccolo airone?


***
coperto di fiori,
per un po’ non lo puliscono.


***
sta piovendo,
con migliaia di capelli
e di puntini.


***
un guizzo vicinissimo, quasi sotto i miei piedi
mentre guardavo gli alberi.
un altro dalla parte opposta
quando poi mi chino a spiare.


***
sono tre, posate su una zucca più lontana.
una ha le zampe rosse. chi fa caso.


***
stavolta l’ho sentito vicinissimo,
non guizzo ma rabbiosa cascata
di vetri.
ma dopo i giunchi e dopo l’acqua
è tutto ciò che ancora c’era.


***
con il vento così forte
l’acqua impazzisce.


***
per quanto mi spostassi,
quel piccione già a metà scomposto
lui sì che mi guardava.


***
in due lunghissimi minuti tre guizzi
ma non volevo voltarmi.


***
sono così forti ma così distesi
nella loro forza i ragni – ne ho contati quattro –
insieme il parapetto e il suolo.


***
sembra immobile per sempre. una zampa
tuffata nel fango
esile scompare.
non può essere di nuovo un altro airone.


***
non dire che uno l’hai guardato tessendo
cadere, cosa importa.


***
perché mi chiami giorgio,
non lo sai che il nonno giorgio è morto?


***
una bellissima, cabrata, vera
caròla, tuffo d’argento
nel vento e poi un’altra subito dopo,
nell’identico punto, più calibrata,
in equilibrio a guardarmi.
ma prima si era dall’alto un colibrì
– doveva essere, sì, un uccello-mosca – sopra smeraldo
e rosso chiaro sul petto, sottile quasi,
tuffato a chiederle.
Close

WATER CAROL

***
othersea


***
three leaves, a brief wave
against the drowning.


***
two baby turtles, one of which miniscule.


***
should be called a plover, flown as soon as seen.
a cat and a crow.


***
three crows. take a fluttering
bath in the soaked leaves.
farther off who knows how many sparrows.


***
there are pumpkin caps of reinforced concrete
concealing the water purifiers.
sliced in half
floating against the sun.


***
a leap, but behind me.
i know they’re there, you see them just under the surface always.


***
in an old photograph
the frozen snow  
bent the trees at the edge.


***
when in winter the wisps of clouds
and the paper disk sun – the sky
transmuted to a silver leaf –
jingles on the water
you imagine a fresh frost.


***
two leaps nearby, heard from behind.


***
a little heron?


***
covered with flowers,
not cleaned for awhile.


***
still rains,
with thousands of hairs
and needles.


***
while watching the trees,
a nearby leap, almost splashed under my feet.
another from the opposite side
when bending over to look.


***
there are three, perched on a pumpkin farther away.
one has red legs.  who notices.


***
this time i felt it close to me
not a leap but a rabid cascade
of glass.
but after only the reeds and the water
were there.


***
with the wind so strong
the water crazed.


***
even as i tried to look away,
that pigeon already half-decomposed,
it really looked at me.


***
in two long minutes three leaps
but i did not look behind.


***
they are so strong but so stretched
in their force the spiders – have counted four –
the earth and the parapet together.


***
seems immobile forever. a leg
dove in the mud
vanishing slightly.
cannot try again another heron.


***
do not say you watched the one weaving
fall, what matter.


***
why do you call me giorgio,
don’t you know that grandpa giorgio is dead?


***
a beautiful, up-turned, real
caròla, a silver dive
in the wind and another right after,
at the same point, more measured,
equilibrious, staring at me.
but first there was a hummingbird from above
– must have been, yes, a bird-fly – emerald above
and light red on the breast, nearly fine,
diving to claim it.

WATER CAROL

***
othersea


***
three leaves, a brief wave
against the drowning.


***
two baby turtles, one of which miniscule.


***
should be called a plover, flown as soon as seen.
a cat and a crow.


***
three crows. take a fluttering
bath in the soaked leaves.
farther off who knows how many sparrows.


***
there are pumpkin caps of reinforced concrete
concealing the water purifiers.
sliced in half
floating against the sun.


***
a leap, but behind me.
i know they’re there, you see them just under the surface always.


***
in an old photograph
the frozen snow  
bent the trees at the edge.


***
when in winter the wisps of clouds
and the paper disk sun – the sky
transmuted to a silver leaf –
jingles on the water
you imagine a fresh frost.


***
two leaps nearby, heard from behind.


***
a little heron?


***
covered with flowers,
not cleaned for awhile.


***
still rains,
with thousands of hairs
and needles.


***
while watching the trees,
a nearby leap, almost splashed under my feet.
another from the opposite side
when bending over to look.


***
there are three, perched on a pumpkin farther away.
one has red legs.  who notices.


***
this time i felt it close to me
not a leap but a rabid cascade
of glass.
but after only the reeds and the water
were there.


***
with the wind so strong
the water crazed.


***
even as i tried to look away,
that pigeon already half-decomposed,
it really looked at me.


***
in two long minutes three leaps
but i did not look behind.


***
they are so strong but so stretched
in their force the spiders – have counted four –
the earth and the parapet together.


***
seems immobile forever. a leg
dove in the mud
vanishing slightly.
cannot try again another heron.


***
do not say you watched the one weaving
fall, what matter.


***
why do you call me giorgio,
don’t you know that grandpa giorgio is dead?


***
a beautiful, up-turned, real
caròla, a silver dive
in the wind and another right after,
at the same point, more measured,
equilibrious, staring at me.
but first there was a hummingbird from above
– must have been, yes, a bird-fly – emerald above
and light red on the breast, nearly fine,
diving to claim it.
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