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

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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