Month: July 2019

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Whole Fennel/Finocchio Intero

This poem, from Certain as Afternoon, is a the story of a day.   I talk to myself in this poem, explaining to myself what happens on the day Pio is in the hospital for tests, and he calls me to tell me the bad news I have already intuited. Why must I tell myself about it? Because you have to explain things to yourself over and over as you try to understand, open, make room for everything.

In Certain as Afternoon, the voice in the poems moves around.  It switches between pages from first person to second and to third.  The voice speaks to me.  It speaks to you.  It speaks to the one who is dying.  Sometimes the voice speaks to the poem.  Sometimes the voice becomes the poem.  It sounds complicated, but really it isn’t.

First in English, dopo in Italiano.

 

Whole Fennel

when he calls you
on the phone
from the Policlinico to
tell you he is
dying, you say
alright
and
i’ll be there soon

then you go to the
park and walk,
order the trees
not to let you
cry. you don’t want
him to see you with
red eyes and
puffy lids

you stop at the
mercato for his favorites
prosciutto crudo and
whole fennel

it isn’t going to be today,
anyway

at the hospital you will
sit together at a
table in the sun
eat sandwiches

share fennel and
both wonder
if it is true

 

Finocchio Intero

quando lui ti chiama
al telefono
dal Policlinico per
dirti che sta
morendo, tu dici
va bene
e
arrivo subito

poi vai al
parco e cammini,
preghi agli alberi
di non farti
piangere. non vuoi che
lui ti veda con gli
occhi rossi e
gonfi

ti fermi al mercato a prendere
i suoi spuntini preferiti
prosciutto crudo e
finocchio intero

comunque
non sarà oggi

all’ospedale vi
siederete insieme ad un
tavolo al sole
mangerete dei panini

condividirete il finocchio e
vi chiederete
tutti e due
se è vero

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Certain as Afternoon / Certa Come Il Pomeriggio

I have a new book for you.  Look for it in September.  It’s my bravest book so far—about bravery and love.  The title is Certain as Afternoon / Certa Come Il Pomeriggio.

This is a duel-language book of poems in English and Italian that tell the story of death and love.  It’s not weepy and whiny, there are no flowers in it, and no rainbows.  There are doctors in it, ice cream, clocks that tick, and lots of sky.  There is rain, and there are ashes.  No one ever flinches.

Why would I write such a book?

To save my life.  To keep from going mad.  To bear witness.  To paint portraits and landscapes of things that cannot be photographed.   Because I don’t have a therapist.  Because someday you will lose someone you love–that it will come is as certain as afternoon—and this book of poems will hold your hand, then.  It will lie with you on your bed and it will sit with you at the table under the ticking clock. It will not try to make you feel better at the time when you’re supposed to feel bad.  You cannot possibly frighten or offend it by what you say, or by never speaking.  What can provide that type of company but a book of poems?

Of course, the original language of almost all the poems is English.  I do not consider myself competent to translate poetry into Italian, but it became present to my mind in the last half year that this book wants to be in Italian as well as English.  So many people who loved Pio will not be able to read it if I don’t do the work.  So, I conscripted the help of loving and patient friends who dug through the depths of this with me and went all the places nobody wants to go.  They have called the task an honor, but truly the honor is mine.  My language skills have grown, but not as much as my friendships.

I’ve prepared Certain as Afternoon using Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing service.  The publishing platform is free for me; the book will have a small cost.  My finger is poised above the “publish” button at which point there’s no going back.  This time, I’m not interested in years of trying to sell myself to publishers before I can give this book to the people I’ve intended it for, and make it available to anyone who may discover, want, or need it.

I’m fiercely proud of this project.  I can’t wait to share it with you.  Buckle up.


Possible cover if I like how it looks when I get the proof copy

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Pearls

i have thrown my
pearls to the pigs
you see
how they shimmer
gorgeously
in the snouts of slime?

i am not sad
or only a little

the oysters
i possess
are growing something
glorious