"The Glory"

translated by Peter Robinson

in the wind they sowed their long phrases
– like scarves they'd wave in the wind – 
the wind ripped many scarves by chance
and carried them away in frayed cloud shapes –

the poet always scatters her words to the wind
– three thousand drones die for one to touch the queen –
they write they write and they'll know no more dying
if the page were marble, if it were water –

you who write uselessly question,
stare in the eyes of your horoscope or angel –
sometimes the water curdles into marble
and this is the heaven to which other names are given –

you thought you were a raft, you're a flagship,
you thought an umbrella, you're a beautiful kite,
you thought a heavy stone, incapable of shining
and you're silver, you're the pyramids' height –

and the most famed marble can suddenly reveal
flaws more slender than a hair,
then everything cracks, crumbles, and the vain menhirs
melt into wind-swirls, they suck away your name


Translation from the Italian
By Peter Robinson