this poem wants to say
enough is enough
but it doesn’t
know the language
it only knows wind
and the dust it carries
that settles everywhere
and is there
in the morning
it wants to say
no more
but it can only
shuffle leaves and
throw little sticks to the ground
this poem takes a breath
turns around and
doesn’t say anything
there’s no escaping
Christmas Eve
it follows on the heels of
innocuous events like
autumn equinox
Halloween
you can hide
under the bed,
swim through crocodiles
across the estuary,
climb a tree and
not come down
but Christmas Eve can
hear you breathing
it will trail you
like a tiger
it will catch you
in its claws
Il sabato 9 novembre ho fatto una piccola presentazione del mio nuovo libro di poesia e ho letto 5 poesie primo in inglese, poi in italiano. Il libro, CERTAIN AS AFTERNOON / CERTA COME IL POMERIGGIO e una raccolta di poesie sull’amore, la vita, e la morte.
Un mio amico ha fatto dei video della presentazione e oggi, qui, condivido con voi le 5 poesie lette in italiano.
Non ridete. L’accento Americano l’avrò per vita.
1 di 5: Una poesia che descrive il mondo di “prima,” e finisce con un avvertimento
2 di 5: Sul momento in cui la malatia è scoperta
3 di 5: Una poesia che parla della morte e il primo momento (di momenti infiniti) di silenzio
4 di 5: Contemplando cos’è che si deve fare quando hai gia fatto tutto quello che potevi fare
5 di 5: Una poesia riguardo i cenere, promesse, e il mare
Namaste
On Saturday, November 9 at Tamarindo’s one and only bookstore, I held a small launch party for and reading of my new poetry collection, CERTAIN AS AFTERNOON. I think I had realistic expectations regarding how much of a crowd a poetry book about death might draw, so I was pleasantly surprised by how many people showed up. Thirty is the number I heard: old friends, new friends, strangers, other widows. I sold all the books I have.
I made a lot of cookies and bought some wine for the occasion. Even if you don’t love poetry (not the biggest draw in a surf town), you can always come for the cookies. I’m good with that.
A dear friend of mine videoed my presentation in short segments, which, today I am sharing with you. Following, is the introduction to CERTAIN AS AFTERNOON, and each of the 5 poems in English.
A neighbor who is also a poet made this comment to me after reading CERTAIN AS AFTERNOON:
“You say it’s a book about death, but it isn’t. It’s a book about life. You use shades of black to show us all the other colors.”
INTRO 1: HOW THE BOOK CAME TO BE, AND HOW IT CAME TO BE IN TWO LANGUAGES
INTRO 2: WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS BOOK?
POEM 1 OF 5: A poem that paints a picture of “before” and ends with a warning
POEM 2 OF 5: About discovering sickness
POEM 3 OF 5: A poem about death and the first (of an infinate number) moment of silence
POEM 4 OF 5: On what you must do after you’ve done everything
POEM 5 OF 5: Later, contemplating ashes, the ocean, the idea of going home
Namaste
this poem
opens its mouth
to ask for something it wants but
then there are no words
the hole in its heart
is perhaps too deep to fill
too strange
a cave with too many chambers
it’s a poem that has learned
to adapt to anything
it can become a cricket
or a whale
it can vanish completely
but when asked what it wants
it only echos
* * * * *
questa poesia
apre la bocca
per chiedere quello che vuole, ma
non le vengono parole
il buco nel suo cuore
è forse troppo profondo per riempire
troppo strano
una grotta con troppe camere
è una poesia che ha imparato
adattarsi a qualsiasi cosa
può diventare un grillo
o una balena
può svanire completamente
ma quando gli viene chiesto cosa vuole
fa solo eco
spit out the seed
the bone of the fruit
you have eaten
that has become you
open your mouth
lift your tongue and
drop the nut
no secrets
are allowed here
no pieces carried
from the past
spit the seed
onto the soil
breathe a new
mouthful of air
roots will come to
the piece of bone
that has given you
its flesh
that you have
carried to
this place
you should know by now
that the smoke from
Amazonia
will change the world,
that all of us will breathe
the trees instead of
their green breath.
all that cannot run
sacrifices its body to the flames.
you should know by now
that the world is round.
what you throw into the
air today
lands in your lap
tomorrow.
you should know by now
about the moon and the tides.
you should know better than
to take your eyes off the
horizon while you wait.
you should have learned to
sense the movement,
change in color,
before you see the swells
and you should know
to paddle out
before you see what
you know is coming.
you should know by now
winds will come in december
crocodiles can swim in saltwater
that life and love are
happy accidents.
you should know by now
when to turn off the lights
the wifi, and
just
stop.
if you don’t,
who can teach you?
on the screen are only
patterns of dark and light–
constellations.
you should know by now
that sugar will kill you
faster than salt,
but what comes out of your mouth
matters as much as
what goes in.
you are what you eat;
you are what you say.
no matter how much you talk
every time you inhale
there is silence.
That’s what I think of the poem “Certain as Afternoon,” the title poem of my new book.
The poem is about the beginning of the end–about death, but not about the moment of dying. The poem is about the moment death is born and no one knows it. Like quiet rain in the night, and you wake up and look out the window and say, “Hey look! It rained in the night. I wonder when? I didn’t hear anything.”
In the poem, there is a “we.” The “we” is me and Pio, of coruse, but it is also any other “we” in the world. In the night while we are sleeping in our room, something else enters the room quietly like rain in the night. No one knows the moment it comes. But when we awaken in the morning it is there in the room with us, certain as afternoon.
Because the one thing you can be sure of in the morning, on any morning, is that the next thing to arrive is afternoon. And when the end has begun, it’s arrival follows as naturally as afternoon follows morning.
death came quietly
like rain in the night
no one knew the
moment it began
there was no thunder
no lightening
when the sick cells
began to divide then
send out seeds
when we woke in the
morning
it stood in the
room with us
certain as afternoon
la morte cominciò a formarsi
silenziosamente
come pioggia nella notte
nessuno sapeva il momento
del suo inizio
non c‘erano tuoni
nè lampi
quando le cellule malate
cominciarono a separarsi
ed a disseminarsi
quando ci siamo svegliati
al mattino
era lì in piedi
nella stanza con noi
certa come il pomeriggio
A poem from Certain asAfternoon/Certa Come il Pomeriggio. First in English, following in Italian. The sample copy of the book is here and is being edited now. Watch for a live link this month.
The Dying Man Refuses Clothes
in this poem
the dying man
refuses clothes
we try to cover him
with a towel
a cloth
he pushes it
away
he wants
nothing
he is not ashamed
of dying
or being naked
the sisters-in-law
in the poem
turn away
the doctor comes
into the poem
to reason with him
the dying man
asks for
lemon ice cream
smiles with his
teeth and
deep dark eyes
L’uomo In Fin Di Vita Rifiuta i Vestiti
in questa poesia
l’uomo in fin di vita
rifiuta i vestiti
cerchiamo di coprirlo
primo con un asciugamano
poi con un lenzuolo
lui lo respinge
non vuole
niente
non si vergogna
né di morire
né di essere nudo
le cognate
nella poesia
voltano le loro facce
arriva il dottore
nella poesia per
ragionare con lui
l’uomo in fin di vita
chiede
gelato al limone
sorride con i suoi
denti e i suoi
occhi scuri profondi
Certain as Afternoon / Certa Come il Pomeriggio
coming without a doubt
in arrivo senza dubbio
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
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
succumb for a second
hook my head
in your arm and
crush it against
your heart.
it’s 3 AM and
we are here
trying
to hold it together
to keep a safe distance
to make it to morning
in this life
