By Marco Saya
Translated by Maria A. Burnett
Deception
It’s strange to realize you are alive
you wonder why you are here with all the others (who are they?)
Perhaps it’s the work of a deceitful, fugacious God
(captive in a watery body)
Even time, neuronic clown,
is the vision of a rotten fruit,
which splatters and converts to the humus of new soil…
Globalization
This morning I noticed a
lady from the Milan beau monde
arm-in-arm with an elegant lady in a burka
As they were crossing at the light,
people looked at the strange couple
bewildered and confused...
And I was thinking…
that the other side of the road was still far-away …
When the light turned green
restless motorcyclists took off
breathing a sigh of relief…
Tomorrow
Tomorrow I’ll be like today
The day after tomorrow I will joke with
The past in this game
Of seasons that don’t change
Reclining my head on one side
I will watch sleep enveloping me,
leading me into its time zone
There I will learn to watch my
Film backwards and the scissors will cut
the absence of memory of dead things and a needle
Will sew again the only living frame
In the prenatal limbo of a cord
that ties me to the concealed source
Among the Silence of the Olive Trees
Here, among the silence of the olive trees,
the blue of the sky embraces the valley
and a cowbell from goodness knows where
breaks the monotony of the rhythm
similar to the gait of that shepherd
and to a dog that usually barks
to say that it exists and that we exist
describing
the wisdom of nature
so good-natured in the humor
of one serene day
awaiting for that dark lightning bolt
that will deface the landscape in the new
order of the things
<Marco Saya's Bio> <Maria Burnett's Bio>
Programs
in Creative Writing and Translation ■ Department of English ■