Love Song. Elio Pagliarani (trans. Luca Paci)


You had the legs of a pregnant mare
and straw hair, your shapes
made by a carpenter I fought
sure to make them again, imagining
if I pulled your nipples with my teeth
a turgid richness. You looked good
dressed like a sailor, white and blue.

On the sand I fought to open you
and relieved you from a doubt, third class train
underwear.
God knows what
I thought to see in her mobile
eyes.
If this was shame! come
age of illusion which leaves the mark
is the lie: after declaring life
big, here I am twisting my back
to say: it’s odd it’s odd like a goose.

I acknowledge that instead of drowning
I used you as lifejacket.

Here, where the sea has broken, there is no
memory, and if treason strikes me
from the depth, it’s the night clarity
marriage sea moon in these low
lands, is Villa Serena so bare,
silence, bewilderment to the dawn’s
threats.

A chat with Pagliarani. Luca Paci


Elio Pagliarani lives in Rome, in an apartment block not far from the Vatican City, both a modern and a popular area.

He welcomes me in his sitting room, on our right a bookshelf which climbs up to the ceiling. After a long introduction on what I do, where I come from and so forth, Mr. Pagliarani begins speaking about himself, or rather about poetry. It is a strange interview, with few questions coming from me; the hoarse, lion-like voice of the poet and the smell of his pipe merge to create a unreal atmosphere, full of suspense. Outside the Roman traffic. Continue reading