Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Roberto Baronti Marchiò

For a Dying Poet

I have glimpsed her at times in the shrouds
in the shock videos of the news
in the line of relatives at the funerals.
But it was too close,
to make out its borders.

Death instead has a precise size
that can be measured with a ruler.

She is circular
one meter in radius
and thin walls.

She was here at the Festival
for a dying poet
who tired, emaciated
read one more time his poems,
listened for the last time
to his voice vibrating
and the final applause
that would lengthen his life.

Then the circle closed
shut down the border
going further was prevented.

In that circle now and then
an arm reaches out
quickly shakes the hand
and then goes back.
Even the gazes
are poured inside
and the lamented smiles
to caress that flesh
now touched already dead.

And you Kees
who are there in the center
crashed out on the violet armchair
dispensing words and smiles
the lost gaze
of the hunted down animal
who closed in the circle
has no way out.

Per un poeta che muore

Per un poeta che muore

A volte l\'ho intravista nei sudari
nei video shock dei telegiornali
nella fila dei parenti ai funerali.
Ma era troppo vicina,
per vederne i confini.

Invece la morte ha una sua dimensione precisa
che si può misurare col metro.

È circolare
ha un metro di raggio
e le pareti sottili.

Era qui al Festival
per un poeta che muore
che stanco, emaciato
ha ancora letto poesie,
ascoltato per l\'ultima volta
la sua voce vibrare
e l\'applauso finale
che vorrebbe allungargli la vita.

Poi il cerchio si è chiuso
serrato il confine
impedito il procedere oltre.

In quel cerchio ogni tanto
un braccio si allunga
stringe veloce la mano
e poi si ritira.
Anche gli sguardi
vi si versano dentro
e i sorrisi compianti
a sfiorare quella carne
che ora si tocca già morta.

E tu Kees
che stai lì nel centro
schiantato nella poltrona viola
dispendi parole e sorrisi,
lo sguardo sperduto
dell\'animale braccato
che chiuso nel cerchio
non ha vie d\'uscita.
Close

For a Dying Poet

I have glimpsed her at times in the shrouds
in the shock videos of the news
in the line of relatives at the funerals.
But it was too close,
to make out its borders.

Death instead has a precise size
that can be measured with a ruler.

She is circular
one meter in radius
and thin walls.

She was here at the Festival
for a dying poet
who tired, emaciated
read one more time his poems,
listened for the last time
to his voice vibrating
and the final applause
that would lengthen his life.

Then the circle closed
shut down the border
going further was prevented.

In that circle now and then
an arm reaches out
quickly shakes the hand
and then goes back.
Even the gazes
are poured inside
and the lamented smiles
to caress that flesh
now touched already dead.

And you Kees
who are there in the center
crashed out on the violet armchair
dispensing words and smiles
the lost gaze
of the hunted down animal
who closed in the circle
has no way out.

For a Dying Poet

I have glimpsed her at times in the shrouds
in the shock videos of the news
in the line of relatives at the funerals.
But it was too close,
to make out its borders.

Death instead has a precise size
that can be measured with a ruler.

She is circular
one meter in radius
and thin walls.

She was here at the Festival
for a dying poet
who tired, emaciated
read one more time his poems,
listened for the last time
to his voice vibrating
and the final applause
that would lengthen his life.

Then the circle closed
shut down the border
going further was prevented.

In that circle now and then
an arm reaches out
quickly shakes the hand
and then goes back.
Even the gazes
are poured inside
and the lamented smiles
to caress that flesh
now touched already dead.

And you Kees
who are there in the center
crashed out on the violet armchair
dispensing words and smiles
the lost gaze
of the hunted down animal
who closed in the circle
has no way out.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère