High-heels were struggling with a full-length dress
So that, between the wind and the terrain,
At times a shining stocking would be seen,
And gone too soon. We liked that foolishness.

Also, at times a jealous insect's dart
Bothered out beauties. Suddenly a white
Nape flashed beneath the branches, and this sight
Was a delicate feast for a young fool's heart.

Evening fell, equivocal, dissembling,
The women who hung dreaming on our arms
Spoke in low voices, words that had such charms
That ever since our stunned soul has been trembling.

Les Ingénus

Les hauts talons luttaient avec les longues jupes,
En sorte que, selon le terrain et le vent,
Parfois luisaient des bas de jambes, trop souvent
Interceptés--et nous aimions ce jeu de dupes.

Parfois aussi le dard d'un insecte jaloux
Inquiétait le col des belles sous les branches,
Et c'était des éclairs soudains de nuques blanches,
Et ce régal comblait nos jeunes yeux de fous.

Le soir tombait, un soir équivoque d'automne:
Les belles, se pendant rêveuses à nos bras,
Dirent alors des mots si spécieux, tout bas,
Que notre âme depuis ce temps tremble et s'étonne.

It shows up one summer in a greatcoat,
storms through the house confiscating,
says it must be paid and quickly,
says it must take everything.

Your children stare into their cornflakes,
your wife whispers only once to stop it,
because she loves you and she sees it
darken the room suddenly like a stain.

What did you do to deserve it,
ruining breakfast on a balmy day?
Kiss your loved ones. Night is coming.
There was no life without it anyway.

child sprung from
the two of us — showing
us our ideal, the way
— ours! father
and mother who
       sadly existing
survive him as
the two extremes —
badly coupled in him
and sundered
— from whence hi death — o-
bliterating this little child "self"

^{translated from the Italian by Gioia Guerzoni}

In the middle of a winter night 
my father who was not yet dead 
came to visit me in a dream as if dead. 
Wake me up I asked him but he hesitated 
and the terror that he liked death paralyzed me. 
Lift our eyelids—I said without a voice, 
let’s open our eyes wide on what is real. 
Tiredly—I knew he was struggling—I tightened his fingers 
around a dirty-green railing that needed repainting. 
Only then, I think he could feel my hands 
or maybe understand the work that remained: 
the iron to scrape the spatula the paint to choose 
he attempted his usual half smile. He let go 
and made me move on to another dream.

2022, gennaio

Nel mezzo di una notte d’inverno 
mio padre che non era ancora morto 
venne a trovarmi in sogno come morto. 
Svegliami gli chiesi ma esitava 
e il terrore che la morte gli piacesse mi paralizzava. 
Apriamo le palpebre—dissi senza voce, 
spalanchiamo gli occhi su quello che è reale. 
Con fatica—sapevo che faceva fatica—gli strinsi le dita 
intorno a una ringhiera verde-sporco da riverniciare. 
Solo allora credo sentendo le mie mani 
o piuttosto capendo il lavoro che restava: 
il ferro da scrostare la spatola la vernice da scegliere 
abbozzò il suo mezzo sorriso abituale. Lasciò la presa 
e mi fece passare a un altro sogno.