lunedì 5 settembre 2011

from old poems: after medianoche


by guido monte

once terence’s chremes: humani nil
a me alienum puto
, 'all that’s human,
it isn’t far from me'
but hesiod’s visiting angels: idmen
pseýdea pollà léghein etýmoisin omoia
,
'ours are voices of credible lies'
at last pindar, dedaidalmenai pseydesi poikilois
ecsapatonti mýthoi
... 'miths, mixed
with credible lies, confuse us...'


wenn aus den weltenweiten
an ending voice says:
«es medianoche... midnight»,
je reçois the last black human clouds
d’un monde encore tout seul,
of wars that can’t be off

ting,
the melting pot:
_______
___ ___
_______
_______
_______
___ ___
linn the fire, sunn the wind
on this different way
où nous sommes des otages de l'obscurité,
where we’re hostages of darkness

sed ezra pound: «nor are here souls, nec personae...
nothing matters but the quality
of affections»

but the ancient mood caught life;
here are the lands, vastes mondes,
beithe luis nin
et dans un instant
you must decypher un long espoir,
time sweeping away the pale day;
dans une terre loin de la terre
and before chaos...

chaos, the only cosmos’ face:
nous ne sommes rien d’autre

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