Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Lucilla Trapazzo: Swiss/Italian poet, translator, artist and performer. After years spent abroad, (DDR, Brussels, Washington DC, New York City) she lives in Zurich, Switzerland. Convinced supporter of human rights and the planet, her social and feminine point of view is reflected in many her writings. Guest of International Festivals (among which Struga Poetry Evenings), her poems, translated into 18 languages, are published in international anthologies and literary magazines and awarded numerous prizes.
Five her books of poetry.
La resilienza del seme
Con la linea d’ombra sopra la collina
ritorna l’urlo soffocato
nei sottili sibili dei treni. Il vuoto
-a rendere o a perdere, non so-
di polvere leggera.
Nel punto di domanda tra cuffie e cellulare
latra la parola in fuga
(senza un indirizzo sulla busta)
Stanotte invece dalla luna piena
si riversa nel fiume candido lucore.
A diciassette piani di distanza
lo specchio quasi
si rischiara.
The Resilience of the Seed
With the shadow line over the hill
that suffocated scream returns
in the subtle whispers of the trains. The void
-to recycle or to lose, I’m not sure-
of light dust.
In the question mark between headphones and cell phone
the flying word barks
(without an address on the envelope)
Tonight from the full moon
white glow pours into the river.
Seventeen stories away
the mirror almost
brightens up.
Eravamo impreparati
alle morti senza volto
-discrepanza tollerata-
eravamo impreparati fragili
esposti al destino
noi che ancora siamo noi
quelli che restano
non comportiamo lontananze
dobbiamo -e allora andiamo-
dai numeri sottrarre i nomi
la presenza illuminare ricordare
e poi esistere di nuovo
avere coraggio arare seminare
piantare un ulivo.
We were unprepared
for the faceless deaths
-tolerated discrepancy-
we were unprepared fragile
exposed to fate
we – who are still us –
those who remain
we do comprise distances
we must -and thence let’s go-
from numbers subtract names
the presence illuminate, remember
and then exist again
have the courage to plow to sow
to plant an olive tree.
Anthozoa
Ci vuole la grazia luminosa del corallo
nell’arte del distacco.
Si chiudono gli occhi e poi si apre la mano
nella resa
finché non cade il seme
subendo metamorfosi simbiotica:
dall’animale al fiore
incastonato.
Poi in dissolvenza si svanisce.
Ci vuole della fede il timbro
chiaro. Ci vuole in fondo solo
amore.
Anthozoa
It takes the luminous grace of the coral
in the art of letting go.
You close your eyes and then open your hand
in the surrender
until the seed falls down
undergoing symbiotic metamorphosis:
from animal to flower
embedded.
Then we fade away.
It takes of faith the bright
sound. After all, it only takes
love.
