The Little Terrace
Was...
Where clivie
flourished
under the
pergola
grape leaves and
wisteria
the roof terrace
from the top of
the village.
In the evening
when the sun set
We dined
with the candles
lit
in a surreal air
of indefinable
color
between smoke
and beltade
An elegant mist
and the scent of
the heat.
Saliva
The chatter from
the balconies
The step from
the alleys
and dish noise
from the front.
The chimes
of the ninth
hour of dinner
They were
beating on the cathedral
The darkness did
not linger
And neither are
mosquitoes.
Those who were
ready
went out for a
stroll
bringing the
village
to life in a
festive mood
until late.
While on the
little terrace
rose petals
Awaited
the dawn of St.
John.
La terrazzina
Era…
Dove fiorivano le clivie
sotto la pergola
di foglie d’uva e glicine
la terrazza a
tetto
dall’alto del
paese.
La sera
a sole sceso
cenavamo
con le candele accese
in un’aria surreale
di colore indefinibile
fra fumo e beltade
una foschia elegante
e il profumo del caldo.
Saliva
il chiacchiericcio dai balconi
il passo dai vicoli
e rumor di
piatti
di rimpetto.
I rintocchi
dell’ora nona di cena
battevano sulla cattedrale
il buio non si attardava
e neanche le zanzare.
Chi già pronto
usciva a
passeggio
dando vita al
borgo
in un che di festa
sin a tardi.
Mentre sulla terrazzina
i petali delle rose
attendevano
l’alba di San
Giovanni.
While Flights...
From the
shoulders...
In a sweet
pattern
oboe
The crossroads
found
by -spent a day
recomposing
detail.
Mistakes grow
and now it is
ripe to rethink
it makes me
peace.
Unrolled
wire to bobbin
ruthlessly
Towards the
scissors
more pour.
A wrinkle
Hidden
where to lose
the weight of things.
High momentum
Towards travel
of wise geese
shifting
seasons.
Mentre i
voli…
Dalle spalle…
In un motivo
dolce
d’oboe
ritrovato il
bivio
by -passato un
giorno
ricomponendone dettaglio.
Gli sbagli ci crescono
ed adesso maturo
ripensare
mi rende pace.
Srotolato
filo alla bobina
spietatamente
verso la forbice
più versare.
Una ruga
nascosta
dove perdere il peso delle cose.
Slancio alto
verso i viaggi
delle oche sagge
spostando stagioni.
BARBARA DI SACCO
BARBARA DI SACCO is an Italian poet
and writer, born in Tuscany in 1964. She puts her own reflections on paper,
various torments of her soul singing about love romantically and perhaps with a
démodé heart, telling stories and languor. The dream is for her an arcane,
mystical place where her poetry came to light...This is also one of his
interesting stories.
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