Rita Stanzione: Translated by Margaret Saine

 

Rita Stanzione for Life and Legends d 14

 

BIO

Rita Stanzione was born in the province of Salerno, Italy, and still lives there to date. After completing her studies in pedagogy, she has been teaching science. She discovered poetry relatively recently. Her poems are concerned with exploring inner worlds as well as external landscapes, and with nature as it shapes and penetrates us, especially in its fantastic, dream-like, and visionary aspects. She likes to experiment with new forms. Rita Stanzione writes haiku regularly, as well as aphorisms, and she is an accomplished translator of English language poetry into Italian. In 2012, Rita Stanzione published “L’inchiostro è un fermento di macchie in cerca d’asilo” [Ink is a spotty ferment looking for a home] with Libreria Editrice Urso; “Spazio del sognare liquido” [Space of liquid dreams] with Rupe Mutevole; and “Versi ri-versi” [Re-versed verses] with Carta e Penna Editore. In 2013, she published “E’ a chiazze la mia bella stagione” [What a spotty summer] Libreria Editrice Urso; and “Per non sentire freddo,” [How not to feel cold] as an e-book with Editrice GDS. Since 2011, she has also won numerous first and second prizes in poetry competitions throughout Italy.

 

 

Margret SaineBIO

Margaret Saine was born in Germany and lives in Southern California. She writes poetry, haiku, and short stories in five languages, also translating other poets in those languages. Her books are “Bodyscapes,” “Words of Art,” 5 haiku chapbooks, plus the mss. “Awkward Child” (in German, to be published), “The Five Senses,” “Lo efímero queda” and “Reading Your Lips” (tbp). Her poetry has also been published in Italy, Germany, and India, as well as on the internet.

 

(All poems written in the original Italian by Rita Stanzione and translated into English by Margaret Saine)

 

 

 

 

[SENZA TITOLO]

Diventerò ricordo
Le carte (dei sogni scritti)
gireranno davanti agli occhi
atterrando lente, come aeroplani
deragliati sulla sabbia asciutta
di un silenzio

Il silenzio non ha forma
A volte è l’unica sedia
messa – quando?- in un punto della stanza
Non si siede nessuno
Nessuno è stanco di sfuggire
L’altro non ha niente da aggiungere
l’uno niente da ascoltare

[NO TITLE]

I will become a memory
The papers (of written dreams)
will spin in front of my eyes
landing slowly, like airplanes
derailed on the dry sand
of a silence

Silence has no form
Sometimes it is the only chair
placed – when? – at one point of the room
Nobody sits down
No one is too tired to keep escaping
The other one has nothing to add
this one nothing to listen to

 

E IO CANTO UN’ECO DI CONFINE

Ti ho visto cambiare viso
cambiare voce
cambiare le note alla nostra canzone
Le mani, piacevole inganno
ora come argilla
macchiano le ore alla notte
E io canto, un’eco di confine
sulla carta geografica
Ho la bocca profumata di vento
e qualche ora di vuoto per te
ma l’acuto è tanto sottile
che l’assorbe uno sbaglio
-un miraggio?-
qualche cosa di fragile
e franto
non vorrei sbagliare
forse sei tu

AND I  SING THE ECHO OF A BORDER

I’ve seen your face change
your voice change
you’ve changed the notes of our song
Your hands, a pleasant deception
are now like clay
they stain the hours of the night
And I sing the echo of a border
on the geographic map
I have a mouth perfumed by the wind
and a few hours of emptiness for you
but acuteness is so subtle
that an error can absorb it
-a mirage?-
Something fragile
and shattered
I hope I’m not wrong
maybe it’s you

A TE POGGIATA

Poggiata al tuo petto
sto come infinita
in un ritmo circolare
Tu, sotto la coincidenza precisa
dei miei solchi profondi
I ritorni -del respiro- diventano uguali
E’ in questi momenti che sento
come si estende la pelle
conto i pori, conto quanto sei
C’è una vena lunghissima
da poter esondare
Alla testa arriva una bufera
e non capisco se sono in te
o sei tu entrato per primo
Non capisco
perché la neve è calda
e come facciamo a berci
se non siamo liquidi

LEANING AGAINST YOU

Leaning against your chest
I feel infinite
inside a circular rhythm
You under the precise coincidence
of my profound furrows
Our returns -of breath- become equal
In these moments I feel
how my skin stretches
I count the pores, count how much you are
There is a very long vein
that could overflow
A squall of air reaches my head
and I cannot understand if I am inside you
or if you have entered me first
I cannot understand
why the snow is warm
and how we can drink each other
if we are not liquid

 

*****

 

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