Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Antonella Anedda

S

To those who asked him the difference between being sad and
being heart-broken, Nachman answered that being heart-broken
was not an obstacle to joy.
(Nachman of Breslaw)



                        

Is the letter of silence and serpents, of sage serenity, of the soft sounds
with which one asks people to be silent. The lips pout,
the tongue remains a prisoner of the ring of teeth.


Nocturnal silence. When you get up in the summer darkness
and trees are left without wind beyond the wide open door.
When the rooms breath softly and the sea joins the geraniums.
Red and cobalt and more red
in the lighthouses of the port
in the ferry-boats that glitter and wait.

Morning silence. A quality of the footsteps on the paving
of the voices. It is the sound of the shutters
that rise over the intact shops: a sign of peace
the announcement of the shofar within the day.

Silent sun over blankets, over pavements
over breakfast cups and the enamelling of the tray
Yes. Not blessed enough every silent and live awakening
not yet sick not yet slave.

S

S

A chi gli  chiedeva quale differenza ci fosse tra l’essere
tristi e  avere il cuore spezzato, Nachman rispose che avere
il cuore spezzato non impediva la gioia.
(Nachman di Breslaw)  



                                                

E’ la lettera del silenzio e dei serpenti, della serenità sapiente,
del sussurro con cui si chiede di tacere. Le labbra sporgono,
la lingua resta prigioniera oltre la ghiera dei denti.


Silenzio notturno. Quando ci si alza nel buio estivo
e gli alberi restano senza vento oltre la porta spalancata.
Quando le stanze respirano piano e il mare si unisce ai gerani.
Rosso e cobalto e ancora rosso
nei fari del porto
nei traghetti che sfavillano e aspettano.

Silenzio mattutino. Una qualità dei passi sul selciato
delle voci. E’ il suono delle saracinesche
che si sollevano sui negozi intatti: un segnale di pace
l’annuncio dello shofar nel giorno.

Sole silenzioso sulle coperte, sui pavimenti
sulle tazze della colazione e lo smalto del vassoio
Sì. Non benedetto abbastanza ogni risveglio silenzioso e vivo
non ancora malato non ancora schiavo.
Close

S

To those who asked him the difference between being sad and
being heart-broken, Nachman answered that being heart-broken
was not an obstacle to joy.
(Nachman of Breslaw)



                        

Is the letter of silence and serpents, of sage serenity, of the soft sounds
with which one asks people to be silent. The lips pout,
the tongue remains a prisoner of the ring of teeth.


Nocturnal silence. When you get up in the summer darkness
and trees are left without wind beyond the wide open door.
When the rooms breath softly and the sea joins the geraniums.
Red and cobalt and more red
in the lighthouses of the port
in the ferry-boats that glitter and wait.

Morning silence. A quality of the footsteps on the paving
of the voices. It is the sound of the shutters
that rise over the intact shops: a sign of peace
the announcement of the shofar within the day.

Silent sun over blankets, over pavements
over breakfast cups and the enamelling of the tray
Yes. Not blessed enough every silent and live awakening
not yet sick not yet slave.

S

To those who asked him the difference between being sad and
being heart-broken, Nachman answered that being heart-broken
was not an obstacle to joy.
(Nachman of Breslaw)



                        

Is the letter of silence and serpents, of sage serenity, of the soft sounds
with which one asks people to be silent. The lips pout,
the tongue remains a prisoner of the ring of teeth.


Nocturnal silence. When you get up in the summer darkness
and trees are left without wind beyond the wide open door.
When the rooms breath softly and the sea joins the geraniums.
Red and cobalt and more red
in the lighthouses of the port
in the ferry-boats that glitter and wait.

Morning silence. A quality of the footsteps on the paving
of the voices. It is the sound of the shutters
that rise over the intact shops: a sign of peace
the announcement of the shofar within the day.

Silent sun over blankets, over pavements
over breakfast cups and the enamelling of the tray
Yes. Not blessed enough every silent and live awakening
not yet sick not yet slave.
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