*** My love for the countryside in the fall, The smell of the soil, Van Gogh of sea-buckthorns, Rodin of the sky, The air “of thoughts”, Unhurried walks towards the…
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*** I have attended the concert of your lips, I am sure I know of no agony comparable To sensing of this opera. The “bogatyrs” they are, Are chivalrous, Are…
*** I awaited a word from the water. It came not. Well, then what? I searched for a thought and asked fish; They knew no more than me. Well, then…
*** November day is Azo Orange, If you observe it Leaning on the windowsill Where ripe mandarins lie. A girl is passing to the skating ring – A clementine, So gorgeous…
Marching from sea to sea One with the body of a Roman, With the mind of a Greek, With the soul of the Orient, Through always the same labyrinth of…
*** You are my hometown of forgetfulness, of healing, Made for ЛЮБОВЬ [LUBOVJ – love], I woke to find you swathed in la nebbia, ТЫ НЕБО [TY NJEBO – you…
*** Woken up by the white the white, By impatience of heart to melt, The sky was empty this night, Without the stars has been left. The sky didn’t sleep…
*** It was an attic room, Too small For my unableness To keep emotion in control. It was under the attic dome, Where we felt the joys Of shared insomnia….
The poem “From Iberia to Siberia” accompanied by Sara Maino’s painting “Il Tempo e un clic. Van Gogha” is published in MAINTENANT 16: A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art,…
*** Can you stop the rose from withering, Sun from setting, Hands from getting unpassionate? All that remains is memories And the tyranny of ‘what-ifs’ – God, bless them! On…
