The trees of his flooded fields
still require water
I have counted the dead of Europe
and have painted their likenesses
on the long walls
Cronaca Souversiva
I have a belief in the existence of God
Ci sono i fantasmi sopra i gigli bianchi
I will cover the martyrs of the great shame
On the days of Polish festivals, chairs are left vacant at the tables of families, in memory of those who have passed. I am the servant of these vacancies
Even the dead show compassion as I am always fed
As a child I was given a box of paper shapes. These were of many colours. In time I threw them into the skies expecting a mosaic of great beauty. Only chaos was delivered
This was my first lesson
Liberta Corrompe
When blind Japanese fishermen are rescued from violent storms they are always in possession of a black pearl
This was my second lesson
La richezza di perle corrompe il mare
I have attended the plague church carrying my parcel of cloth. I was not expelled
The fires should not have risen
In the worlds of music the Sarabande is a dance. It shares its triple metre with other formal dance styles. The Mazurka and the Waltz are examples
I do not dance and therefore have no use for this record.
I have decided to forgo walking
To walk is to dance
All dances are unclean
I am not unclean
Lo non sono un peccatore
I am to travel with Lalla Rookh
I am not of royal blood but each year I write verses on the first snowflakes of the winter. These melt in her hand. She admires me from afar
I have named my masters ship after her. It was built under the lights of heaven. But she does not travel under mast.
My pilgrimage is futile
In my resting room the sunlight and the shadows engage in an everlasting conflict
no victory is claimed
Lascio loro campi di battaglia
I have a brother named Martin of the Clouds
our father has died
this is his account
Why is this most tender of men
lying on the table in front of me ?
He may be cold but his noble features
have not sunk
Death has no democracy
I weep for my dead father
my father of faith
I am walking in the shadows
Panorama Jerusalem
I have been invited to eat at the table of friends
I cannot enter the city as the gates are closed to me
As I rest on the high ground
I note a tunnel deep in the hills
I enter the city by stealth
and am soon at the house of my friends
The food I am given tastes bitter
I do not complain
My bed is rough
I do not sleep
When I attempt to leave the city
the gates are still closed
The lizards speak to me
I hand them my pride
which they instantly bury
The gates are opened
My pockets are full of honeyed fruits
which I share with the beggars
Lascio la Terra Santa
I am of thirst
I drink from the luminous oceans
I sit on the earliest thrones
A Sallier papyrius contains a calendar of lucky and unlucky days
I am aware of the assassins that surround me
they do not strike
I have no signature
I am only the translator