laura_pugno_BNLaura Pugno was born in 1970 in Rome, Italy. Her publications include four novels, “La caccia” (Ponte alle Gra­­zie 2012), “Antartide“ (Minimum Fax 2011), Quando verrai” (Minimum Fax 2009) and “Sirene” (Einaudi 2007); a short story collection, “Sleepwalking. Tredici racconti visionari”, Sironi 2002; and five poetry collections, “La mente paesaggio” (Perrone, Innumeri, 2010), “gilgames’” (Transeuropa 2009), “DNAct”,  (Zona 2008) “Il colore oro” (Le Lettere 2007), and “Tennis” (Nuova Editrice Magenta 2001). Her website is www.laurapugno.it


vedi il suo corpo che tira di scherma

vedi il suo corpo che tira di scherma,

è nel fiume:

 

è in apnea e c’è una vegetazione rossa,

ora che rallenta

ogni parola e ogni lingua

 

tutto si muoverà allo stesso modo

 

hai una tuta addosso, bianca

luminescente, fa di te

qualcosa di compatto: sei un corpo

adesso più di ogni altro corpo,

 

hai il viso velato e le labbra perfette

 

e sono di nylon le pareti,

i pavimenti della stanza, ci sono

cavi per terra a forma serpentina: ci sei,

completamente c’è la tua presenza,

 

un corpo che si lava in una vasca rotonda, e con acqua di fiume

 

ripeti che la vegetazione è rossa,

che corre lungo gli argini e le pareti:

qui nel bosco,

o dominio delle piccole statue

 

ti metterai in ginocchio,

stella bianca,

affiora il muschio dai tagli della luce

 

vedi il suo corpo, lo stesso

adesso è disarmato: il muschio è azzurro muta

tu sei pelle contro le vetrate:

qualcosa che ti copre come acqua,

 

visitatore,

se il tronco degli alberi ha il colore

blu delle macchine,

sei giunto

 

si stanno rovesciando

sott’acqua,

vasi d’elezione,

corpi di giovinezza estrema: inarca

schiena, dorso, spalle,

bianco degli occhi: si stanno

sottraendo

a questa scherma, a questa

perfezione

 

see the body that fences

see the body that fences,

it’s in the river:

 

it’s in apnea and there’s red vegetation

now that it slows down

every word and every language

 

all will move in the same way

 

you’re wearing overalls, white

luminescent, you make yourself

compact:  you are a body

more now than any other body,

 

your face veiled and your perfect lips

 

and the walls are nylon,

the floors of the room, there are

serpentine cables on the ground:  you’re there,

your presence is completely there

 

a body washing itself in a round tub, with river water

 

repeat that the vegetation’s red,

that runs along the banks and walls:

here in the woods,

or the domain of little statutes

 

you will get down on your knees,

white star,

moss emerges from the cuts of light

 

 

see the body, the same one

now disarmed:  the moss is wetsuit blue

you are skin against the plate glass:

something that covers you like water,

 

visitor,

if the trunk of the trees is the color

of blue cars,

you’ve arrived

 

if they are tumbling

underwater,

chosen vessels,

bodies extremely youthful:  arch

your back, your spine, your shoulders,

the white of the eyes:  if they are

removing themselves

from this fencing, this

perfection

 


 

serie con kayak

kayak, è

una parola, muovi

il torso la schiena i muscoli: fai taglio

sulla superficie,

ecco, si rompe come latte

 

è una ragazza con la schiena dritta

orecchie piccole e bianche con orecchini di perle

non vedi le gambe –

capelli rossi incollati sulla schiena –

non vedi la sua forma di sirena,

l’acqua è immobile sotto

 

il kayak porta il suo corpo,

e tutto come olio

 

hai un salvagente sul seno e sulla schiena

tutto il tuo corpo è protetto e legato

mangi cracker

e alghe,

denti bianchissimi, non puoi fermarti:

o questo corpo muore

 

esci dall’acqua

tira il corpo in secca: è calda,

carne e sale,

il corpo ripete il suo cerchio

la nuca e le ginocchia,

ossa e uova

 

prendi un pezzo di pane come piatto

ti pulisci la bocca con mollica di pane

 

torni a casa,

pane e latte, ora scrivi

la parola kayak perfettamente,

non vedi,

pane, latte e alghe

 

con la neve, si scioglierà come neve

 

kayak series

kayak, is

a word, move

the torso the back the muscles:  make a cut

on the surface,

there, it breaks like milk

 

is a girl with a straight back

small white ears with pearl earrings

you don’t see her legs—

red hair glued to her back—

you don’t see her mermaid shape,

the water is motionless beneath

 

the kayak carries her body,

it’s all like oil

 

you have a life racket over breast and back

all your body is protected and fastened

you eat crackers

and algae,

the whitest teeth, you can’t stop:

or this body will die

 

get out of the water

dry your body off:  it’s warm,

meat and salt,

the body repeats its rounds,

nape and knees,

bones and eggs

 

take a piece of bread like a plate

wipe off your mouth with breadcrumbs

 

you go home,

bread and milk, now write

the word kayak perfectly,

don’t you see,

bread, milk and algae

 

with the snow, it will melt like snow


non è la stessa lingua che parli

non è la stessa lingua che parli

se il tuo corpo è il sole,

 

viene perimetrato sempre lo stesso terreno,

pochi metri di ghiaccio con oasi,

una stoffa arancio

intenso su un tappeto:

 

una lingua, se verrà inventata

 

oppure, un asciugamano rosso

cupo, che ti copre la testa:

questa è la metratura

del deserto:

 

di notte sogni di percorrere un territorio al buio,

con una benda azzurra

intorno ai polsi, e sale

azzurro sulla bocca e sulla schiena

 

più avanti, se la lingua è condivisa

 

più avanti, se la lingua è condivisa, quella

che è sul tappeto,

la luce intermittente:

 

entra nel leopardo, metti

le mani dentro la scultura – sabbia

di questo giardino,

sassi bianchi,

 

che hanno un numero o un nome

 

mettiti una pelliccia di plastica,

i tuoi occhi color leopardo,

gli stessi

di ieri notte, vedranno al buio

 

oppure entra nel lupo,

il verde che gli si fa intorno

sempre più stringendosi, il punto

esatto dove la luce filtra sul lago

 

apri la scatola nera

 

 

apri la scatola nera,

contiene carne

proibita, di tartaruga, di delfino:

è questo che mangiano da quando

è venuto il regno,

da questa luminescenza è invaso il reef:

 

se ora è l’ora della luce,

splenderai,

 

copriti i muscoli d’olio

davanti a te per terra

c’è una stoffa leggera come l’oro

te la potresti gettare sulle spalle

 

it’s not the same language that you speak

it’s not the same language that you speak

if your body is the sun,

 

always the same terrain is bounded,

a few meters of ice with an oasis,

orange cloth

bright on a carpet:

 

a language, if it gets invented

 

or rather, a dark red

towel that covers your head:

this is the measurement

of the desert:

 

at night you dream of covering territory in the dark

with a blue bandage

around your wrists, and blue

salt on your mouth and on your back

 

further on, if the language is shared

 

further on, if the language is shared, that

which is on the carpet,

the intermittent light:

 

enter the leopard, put

your hands inside the sculpture—sand

from this garden,

white stones,

 

that have a number or a name

 

put on a plastic pelt,

your leopard-colored eyes,

the same

as last night, will see in the dark

 

or else enter the wolf,

the green that surrounds it

drawing ever tighter, the exact

point where the light filters over the lake

 

open the black box

 

open the black box,

it contains forbidden

meat, turtle, dolphin:

this is what they eat since

the kingdom came,

the reef was invaded by this luminescence

 

if now is the hour of light,

you will shine,

 

cover your muscles with oil

in front of you on the ground

there’s a cloth light like gold

you could throw over your shoulders

The Letters from The Color Gold: Translated by Craig Arnold

About author

Craig Arnold
Craig Arnold 1 posts

Craig Arnold (November 16, 1967 – c. April 27, 2009) was an American poet and professor. His first book of poems, Shells (1999), was selected by W. S. Merwin for the Yale Series of Younger Poets. His many honors include the 2005 Joseph Brodsky Rome Prize Fellowship in literature, The Amy Lowell Poetry Traveling Fellowship, an Alfred Hodder Fellowship, a Fulbright Fellowship, an NEA fellowship, and a MacDowell Fellowship. Arnold taught poetry at the University of Wyoming. On April 27, 2009, Arnold went missing on the small volcanic island of Kuchinoerabujima, Japan, where he went for a solo hike to explore an active volcano. He was not found, but his trail was found near a high cliff, and he was presumed to have died from a fatal fall near the date of his disappearance. (Wikipedia)

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