seated at her computer like a Mena or Penelope at her loom, weaving a tender and amazing story about the seventeenth-century young and beautiful Francisca who, left a widow, dresses up as a man, transforms herself into farm-hand to work with the men in the countryside....(pp. 69-70)The snippets sounds even more majestic in the original Italian. But back to her poetry, where her attentiveness to language is on full display. Enjoy.
sentivo ogni giorno ...
Sentivo ogni giorno un indice destro
digitarmi ma no riuscii a decifrare
il tocco a spirale che accese
la dialettica dell'onda e del veliero
le ombre degli alberi contro il cielo di notte.
Fu sete guerra nucleo radioattivo
passando come un ruore d'acqua persa
tra gli strati di buio e di chiarore
la forma oscura che me dorme accanto
--ferita mai riscattata dalla storia. Un virus
risalì i circuiti cancellò la schermata.
I felt each day ...
I felt each day an index of the right hand
digitize me but I could not decipher
the spiral touch that turned on
the dialectic of wave and mast
the shadows of the trees against the night sky.
It was silk war radioactive nucleus
passing by like a noise of water lost
between layers of darkness and glimmering
the obscure form that sleeps next to me
--wound never redeemed by history. A virus
reclimbed the circuits erased the screen.
Translated by Carla Billitteri.
Copyright © Maria Attanasio, Litmus Press, from Aufgabe Number 7, 2008. All rights, reserved.
You can see Maria Attanasio, Jennifer, and a host of other Italian poets at two different events sponsored by Poets House in NYC this May.