Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Davide Trame

A Cart Of Hay

Hear the hooves
and the rattling of the wheels,
the oxen laden with the yoke
dragging the cart of hay
with great strain.
A pair of hands,
at the very end of the day,
strong like those
who know they job well
could drive them back home.
Lost waswith so much work
the count of the hours.
The moon above
in the hush of its beam
was accompanying us
in the dark.Tired voices,
smell of hay,a slow going
of lullabies.On that cart
a small face
was looking at the stars.

Sparrow, with velvet down
and small legs frozen in the snow,
looking for breadcrumbs
to fill the empty belly.
Fly hither and thither, fly:
time passes
and on the snow your footprints last
as if to say -I too have livedd.

High Water

Lost in your thoughts
you turn into your calle
and are stopped by
a pool of water in the middle.
Another surfacing, among all things,
you must deal with now, sensing
the shifting foundations
in their inscrutable moods.
The trees swinging, the shutters
whining in the wind
surround you, you feel besieged
subtly, familiarly.The hazy sun lightens
the flooded stones of the bank
and heightens the water’s glare
on a row of unaware
silent thresholds
where a lace of lappings
is going to blur
all steps.

The Wheel Barrow

I had a wooden wheelbarrow
broken all over and full of holes,
with a crooked wheel.
We children played
at pushing it up and down
the paths of the field,
up and down the gravel road
and aunt Anne's kitchen garden.
One day, poor wheelbarrow,
it lost its patience
along with the wheel.


From the balcony of my home
you could see the sunset.That sun
warmed by dusk,
setting behind the hill,
carrying along
the dying of a flame.
In that sunset
dreams were mixed up
with the colors of life
I saw with my eyes as a child.

-all poems gathered from his blog, Tommaso Gervasutti

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