-AUTHOR-
TANYA BIONDI
Poetry Excerpts
1920 in Hyde Park
I was
Protected by falling branches
The park before me,
As a damned Crepuscular
Taking refuge under a tent of sticks
And the chestnut creaking of leaves.
Wintery breeze
A limpid sun
That fades the grass
And shines into my eyes -
Trees
Scattered
Standing against the celestial vastness
The purity of cold seeps through
Memory -
Only a warm ray
Gilds all in gold
In plays of light
Among the branches
Could be destroyed in an instant
You killed me in 30 seconds
With a plastic blade
My boots in the white snow
Were really beautiful
And attractive
Like a charming warrior
I looked at you
You looked at me
And you smiled – you didn’t know
It was death
How beautiful – the boots
And charming was
Death
Externalisation on the edge
In this city, nobody can cry
Nothing is left in this city
To writhe complying with the principle
Of perpetual anguish
Piles of still matter
Twisted on themselves
Ready to explode
At the first twitch
Expressionless faces
Stare into the void
In opposite reactions
Without tears, you cannot cry
In this city
Suspended
To lose myself in your eyes
As deep as nocturnal
Lakes.
The bewildering silence
Of those eyes of yours
Captures me enraptured —
Am I safe or astray
My love?!
You only
In infinite and eternal,
In a moment gone-by,
In the relativity of what’s important
Within the whole and the unique,
You only, Love
May
Pronounce my destiny.
The faraway heavens
Shadows
Reflecting infinity
On the magical water mirror,
Vague image of smoky mist
And low.
From the tunnel,
On boats and grim clouds,
Linger the ghosts of the past
Imprisoned
Within their charmed castles
Far away
In the valleys of enchantment.
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Always filled with wonder
The coalescence of light
In white forenoon
Mist
Among the trees
Only carefully
Outlines of undergrowth
Show through
Among herbs and barks
Rain still effuses its scent
A vacant gaze
Set into infinity
Drifts
Along the rivers of thought
Beyond the wet curtain of the morning
Afternoon in Romagna
Snap the wheels
Along the white little stony roads
Unwinding
In the rural sun,
Only birds and leaves
Are the balladeers
Of the struggle of the traveller
Against the wind.
Struggle repaid
By the intense colours
Of summer,
The tips of tall poplars
Like brushes
On a solid sky,
And the red poppies
Scattered among the brambles of a moat.
An isolated farmhouse
In the quiet of the countryside,
And surrendering to the senses
To consummate
A forbidden love.
Romantic longing, in the mellow light of late afternoon
Evening never comes,
shut behind these panes
from which not even a breath
of your blond light leaks.
Nonetheless, dancing wisps of bristly pines
rouse the soul to the desire
of a utopian peace,
cantillated in old tunes, hailing from East.
It dies every evening,
bathed in sunset blood,
but always revives,
fiery phoenix,
to torment the heart
Idyll is an instant
Your warm hand in the cold of winter
Is the only guide I need
To enter the dimension of delight
Dive with me into a soft carpet of colours
Where your smile is sweet wine for my soul
I sip it up, golden, and drunk of you
My love, I know
It is already ecstasy
Romantic summer
Nothing my love I could suffer to miss
Of your existence.
Not the most fleeting of instants
Nor a sigh
Confused with the immensity of the air.
Nothing would I remove
From this gentle landscape
Surrounding your life,
Not even the dark storms
Sometimes disturbing
My idyllic
Contemplation