This time
I brought with me
the chill of the streets
in which we once walked.
Your breath and gaze will be filled with
shadows of the eaves falling upon us
and the smell of sweet basil outside the windows
if you hold my hand.
At this crossroads
where everything is lost
and found again
when we are face to face with all that crowd
you will realize
the further
time takes you away from me
the closer
it draws me to you.
translated by Zeyney Bağcı and Suat Karantay
“I never feel threatened by women. I have enormous respect for them. I would also usually rather be with them than with men. I’m not much of a male bonder. I have male friends, obviously, I belong to tennis clubs. But in a social situation, I’d generally rather talk to a woman because it’s like a play: you’re getting the opposite point of view. You talk to a man, you’re getting your own point of view. It becomes redundant. But when you’re with a woman, that’s when the sparks fly, that’s when it’s most interesting.”
there will be times
when all the words you said
all the acts you committed
will come crashing down around you
and at those times
in the dead of night
no one will be there
to save you
from your consequences
and in answer to your question
there will be no one
to forgive you
either
on this side of the world
we learned not to eat pizza
in restaurants run by Vietnamese
and buying by the slice
was the best
at that one place with the hot young guys
they called you lovely lady
and you were, are
charming them all
even me, still
as you separated the ham
from the carbonara sauce
and slid your plate over
and like me
relished spaghetti with black ink sauce
I drank white wine for you
old friend
and I hope you appreciate the sacrifice
but it was worth it
to have your company
once again
“. . . .You
put that much life in it, baby,
you know you can’t win.”
What’s in the body you’ve forgotten
and that you’ve left alone
and that you don’t want–
or what’s in the body that you want
and would die for–
and think it’s all of it–
if life’s a form to be forgotten
once you’re gone and no regrets,
no one left in what you want–
That empty place is all there is,
and/if the face’s remembered,
or dog barks, cat’s to be fed.
it was some fish restaurant on the coast
you knew the owner, I think
and a TV star was romancing some starlet
a few tables away
while you told me about the man
in your life
and I spoke of the woman
in mine
yours a success story
mine one of loss and pain
and we drank two bottles of wine
then I switched to bourbon
you to white russians
and it was close to dawn
when we weaved our way to our cars
you off to Venice Beach
me to Santa Monica
all the guys at I&L would fantasize about you
and ask my permission
to ask you out
Vimal said I was protective of you
and I suppose I was
you were always a bit vulnerable
and me, your protector
the long island kid
you still have my denim jacket
and high school letter
one day I’ll have to travel back in time
to retrieve them
and as you read your poetry to me
this summer in Dorsoduro
I couldn’t help wondering
what was wrong with those California boys
to let you go
your smile
dear friend
it is the same
a thousand years later
and sitting in a restaurant
that night in Moda
I saw the same beautiful girl
you always were, are
no matter how things change over time
some things
you old friend
stay the same
A quiet valley with no one’s footprints,
an empty garden lit by the moon.
Suddenly my dog barks and I know
a friend with a bottle is knocking at the gate.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
So I’m talking to Pasquale as he’s driving me to the village my great grandfather lived in and where my grandfather was born and we’re talking about driving and his sister Gilda who is a special person in my eyes. We both agree she terrifies us and I admit to holding on to the side of the car while my life flashed before me as she swerved in and out of NYC traffic cursing everyone else on the road.
Then the subject of her stubbornness came up and I said being stubborn was part of the Italian character. Pasquale objected to this and said no, it was just Gilda. Then I asked him if he was stubborn. He shrugged (another trademark of Italians) and said of course. So I said my point exactly. Then he countered with it’s a family trait. Then I said of my family, too, and of every Italian family I’ve ever known. Every Italian I know is stubborn which makes it a characteristic of Italian people.
A stereotype, I know, but one which bears fruit, as they say.
Another shrug, a smile on his face, and he concedes the point. Italians are a stubborn people. There may be other ethnic groups that share this trait with us, but no one is as proud of being stubborn as an Italian. It’s so ingrained in our character that we don’t even think we’re being stubborn when we’re being stubborn. We think the other person is just being unreasonable.
And, of course, they are. Right, Pasquale?
there is nothing worse
than a misunderstanding
hurt feelings result
a smile becomes one more frown
fondness goes backward again
Being Present for the Moment
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Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
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Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
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L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
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Leonard Durso 