DONATELLA NARDIN

 

At Five Years Old

 

There was a continuous work

around, like an imperfect

throbbing of swallows

in affection.

There was the mother

in the kitchen intent on chopping

with a sharp knife

the blue tears

that flowed copiously

on the floor.

There was the father who, nothing

being able, hunted exhausted

from the fields

the pale moons, crooked.

And then there was her

– in light gusts beyond December –

intent on holding on

to the innocent force that

stubbornly, rules the wounded

creatures, not so much however

as to prevent the impending

shadow to dig a crack

in helpless fervor.

 

 

Helplessness

 

Who can state that her recurring

silences

were not cries or little clues

without memory?

 

Unsafe is the child still

tied to that time, to the words

unleashed by the wickedness

of the things.

 

Migrated in you like a dark star

in the body,

that knotted dryness is

filled with reticence and modesty.

 

And it was not enough,

not enough even the mother who,

burning in the breath,

tried to eradicate fears

 

and tremors from the helplessness.

 

The Black Doll

 

Speak your mind again.

Never forget the bitter poison

that stripped the hands

and tender feathers.

 

Unearth from oblivion

the stone-eyed little girl

that reminds us of the harshness

of childish work.

 

Bring forth at last from

its shady house of mists

and dismay – smelling of dreams

and of betrayed hopes –

 

its unexpressed radiance

asking for a game,

a grace, a future, missed flights,

dressed as a bride,

 

a little black doll, profoundly

an illuminated sound

saying that she is verbena.

 

Violated Childhood

 

It was an outrageous crashing

of sinews and bones against

the innocent breath.

Move away – mother – the impudent

from my hips and take in the helpless

life the dark wound.

Do not let your gaze, weeping

in mine, disperse and dissipate me.

Choose for me of all possible

future seas the one of kisses left

to languish pitifully behind your lashes.

Embed in me – violated childhood –

a heart that has buds and roots

in other loving hearts, and

an impenetrable, crystalline voice

that can soothe pain with a red

immemorial flow of daffodils,

since forgetting and loving again

is the only, possible forgiveness

 

DONATELLA NARDIN

 

DONATELLA NARDIN: Donatella Nardin was born and lives in Cavallino Treporti-Venice, Italy. After completing her classical education, she worked in the tourism field with managerial positions.  Her poems and short stories, multi-awarded in numerous Literary Competitions, have been included in collective collections of several Publishing Houses, in anthologies of Literary Competitions, in foreign magazines, in literary websites and blogs. Some of her lyrics have been translated into English, French, Chinese, Spanish, Polish and Japanese. In poetry she has published the following collections: In attesa di cielo and Le ragioni dell’oro for Il Fiorino Editions, Terre d'acqua, Rosa del battito and L’occhio verde dei prati for Fara Editions. Her short poetry collections have also been selected for recent anthology volumes: L’altra metà del cielo Ibiskos Ulivieri Editions, for Distanze obliterate Puntoacapo Editions and for the Premio di Poesia Città di Mestre Mazzanti Editions. Her latest poetry collection Il dono e la cura Aletti Editions has been published with Arabic translation by Emeritus Professor Hafez Haidar.