07/11/13

Anthony Cristiano, DUE POESIE


1.

Look at This Man…

Look at this man, who sits here every night,
at the toes and leg of this building propped
to feed on human shades and blinking light —
no less a dog, whose eyes now raised then dropped
live on scraps, but on simulated life,
beneath the lavish mart’s parental glow,
of fabricated tears and laughter rife;
what sort of eyes to drown a hidden woe…
peering through a weary and worn-out crowd
of orphaned souls that wander with no master,
and will not rest till days are sung and soughed
thrown as muck to present-day’s disaster…
               nor will this voice, yours and mine, 
sound of horn
               grow any louder to let out fires still 
unworn.


2.

Le note della memoria

            Quelle cupide note degli anni ottanta,

cariche di giovinezza,
                                              che balzano tra i muri
    
       di quell’enorme casa di pietra,
                                                         affranta
                       da sacrifici in pegno

                                        a sventurati ardori;

            quella canzone strappalacrime,
                                                    serbata in sogno
            da generazioni di aspiranti
                                                    cultori del progresso
            che uno storico isolamento
                                                    colorò di fabbisogno,
            quelle spesse mura
                                                    d’un cuore inconfesso;

            s’impadronirono improvvisamente
                                                                della memoria
            spaurita,
                         raggelata nel pensiero di chi si è perso

                                                      tra sibili sconosciuti,
 
                                       tra pietre scolpite di perentoria

            logica moderna
                                               marmorea
                                                                         dell’umano universo;
            e, confuso, ne vomitai dall’animo
                                                                            
                                                             per un solo attimo
            i contorni arcani,                                                                        
                                                                      dei ritmi binari e sordi
            la vittima.