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"tranquilla" poems
San Lorenzo, io lo so perché tanto di stelle per l'aria tranquilla arde e cade, perché sì gran pianto nel concavo cielo favilla. Ritornava una rondine al tetto: l'uccisero: cadde tra spini: ella aveva nel becco un insetto: la cena dei suoi rondinini. Ora è là, come in croce, che tende quel verme a quel cielo lontano; e il suo nido è nell'ombra, che attende che pigola sempre più piano. Anche un uomo tornava al suo nido: l'uccisero: disse: Perdono; e restò negli aperti occhi un grido: portava due bambole in dono... Ora là, nella casa romita, lo aspettano, aspettano in vano: egli immobile, attonito, addita le bambole al cielo lontano. E tu, Cielo, dall'alto dei mondi sereni, infinito, immortale, oh! d'un pianto di stelle lo inondi quest'atomo opaco del Male!
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1.1k
10 agosto
Che hanno le campane, che squillano vicine, che ronzano lontane? È un inno senza fine, or d'oro, ora d'argento, nell'ombre mattutine. Con un dondolìo lento implori, o voce d'oro, nel cielo sonnolento. Tra il cantico sonoro il tuo tintinno squilla, voce argentina - Adoro, adoro - Dilla, dilla, la nota d'oro - L'onda pende dal ciel, tranquilla. Ma voce più profonda sotto l'amor rimbomba, par che al desìo risponda: la voce della tomba.
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661
Alba festiva
What God has put asunder, I have joined together. He chuckles at this somewhat self-consciously, His clientele comprised primarily of gentlemen of a certain age, Most of whom have stepped off to the altar Twice or thrice, some even more, Whose wives will be, at least pro tem, The mistresses of the Moorish bastardizations Being commissioned by their husbands, Vaguely Iberian grotesqueries Christened Sin Cuidado and Villa Tranquilla Festooned with cornucopias of cornices and cupolas, Featuring vaulted cathedral ceilings and open-prairie floor plans, Impossible to cool in the ninety-degree dawn of August Or heat during the all too frequent cold snaps, (Such being noted to him by a visitor From a staid Boston architectural firm, To which he replied, *Save that for the classrooms, pal. I give the people what they want, dad, And these folks are first, last, and forever All about the façade.*) It is not, however, his effort to turn Florida’s East Coast Into a giant movie set for the stories of Don Juan or El Cid Which inspires him to utter his inversion of the marital vow. He has moved beyond being a mere designer; He is a man of substance, a builder in the larger, cosmic sense, And so he is here, in this sticky, sweltering venue Which disappointed Spaniards named after a rat’s oral cavity, To make a new Venice, complete with electric gondolas, Cloisters which would put any in the Old World to shame, Gesturing, bellowing, and cajoling, A Prospero of sawhorses and steam shovels, As displaced Seminoles and colored laborers Sweat and swear and stumble As they dredge swamps and hack down stumpy mangroves In the service of his vision, the aggrandizement of his bottom line, Arm-twisting the caprices of drought and hurricane To serve the pricier whims Of a gaggle of DuPonts and Wanamakers. It’s not that I don’t believe in a higher power, he will demur, I’m simply not averse to some slight enhancement of His plans.
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Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 10:18 AM UTC
Addison Mizener In The Swamps
What God has put asunder, I have joined together. He chuckles at this somewhat self-consciously, His clientele comprised primarily of gentlemen of a certain age, Most of whom have stepped off to the altar Twice or thrice, some even more, Whose wives will be, at least pro tem, The mistresses of the Moorish bastardizations Being commissioned by their husbands, Vaguely Iberian grotesqueries Christened Sin Cuidado and Villa Tranquilla Festooned with cornucopias of cornices and cupolas, Featuring vaulted cathedral ceilings and open-prairie floor plans, Impossible to cool in the ninety-degree dawn of August Or heat during the all too frequent cold snaps, (Such being noted to him by a visitor From a staid Boston architectural firm, To which he replied, *Save that for the classrooms, pal. I give the people what they want, dad, And these folks are first, last, and forever All about the façade.*) It is not, however, his effort to turn Florida’s East Coast Into a giant movie set for the stories of Don Juan or El Cid Which inspires him to utter his inversion of the marital vow. He has moved beyond being a mere designer; He is a man of substance, a builder in the larger, cosmic sense, And so he is here, in this sticky, sweltering venue Which disappointed Spaniards named after a rat’s oral cavity, To make a new Venice, complete with electric gondolas, Cloisters which would put any in the Old World to shame, Gesturing, bellowing, and cajoling, A Prospero of sawhorses and steam shovels, As displaced Seminoles and colored laborers Sweat and swear and stumble As they dredge swamps and hack down stumpy mangroves In the service of his vision, the aggrandizement of his bottom line, Arm-twisting the caprices of drought and hurricane To serve the pricier whims Of a gaggle of DuPonts and Wanamakers. It’s not that I don’t believe in a higher power, he will demur, I’m simply not averse to some slight enhancement of His plans.
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