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Episode 3: ep. 3 - a reading from Maresciàra - la salle rouge
- 2021/08/26
- 再生時間： 19 分
- ポッドキャスト
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サマリー
あらすじ・解説
eucalyptus camaldulensis trunk and branches unclothe, bark sheets do roll seeming flutes from super-green nymphs or severe scrolls; these fall slowly with rain inside, scars inside, cliff’s odors and landscapes, cliff’s fires / leaving place to a fully new preserved body pearl colored, marine childhood colored. _________________________6 ( sardines and Cassiopea, or a series before a good short poem) cells water cells liquid crystal cells screen cells if only time wasn’t a pale tool if I only wasn’t 22 cuspid scorpion in scorpion sun Venus in scorpion rising sign in monarchy childhood in bourgeoisie sky in anarchy it could be possible to go out and keep experiencing drugs -synthetic or not, sharp or not-/ -I’m immobile lava still- let’s enjoy then citrus and fish to eat, let’s enjoy Autumn then, let’s enjoy sacred figs, then treasure chest chestnut fruits, sea salt in the air and fire / I do have less bile and it’s quite useless for the verse to wear laurel or olive crowns it’s useless for the verse to spy Artemis nymphs hidden in a trunk, Nature considers us poorly. With short trousers I used to say: “The most appropriate similarity for earth and its humans is a piece of cheese on which mould starts to grow, in the silence of a fridge, in the cold light, surely bachelor’s fridge spinster’s fridge, maybe at night”. Then there is the verse rhythm -punctuation is a bustier- and there’s the saliva I’d like to drink the blood I would sleep in, sperm or humor, needless to say, their warmth is nice- (the gesture of Colombo’s hands to Damiel, even if Cassiel’s the realest) I wouldn’t stop anyway, being moss or Orwell gear even, even if I could not imagine that emptiness would have taken the place of delirium- No one should be one only, anyone should be wind/. Since Giovanni the Poet, Trezza’s boatman, will die I will write about when he attacked Liuni with an axe, that story will be free from respect and modesty/ the fact that magnificent Verga Verga was been doesn’t mean no one can write about trezzoti. It should be remembered that Sicilians are quite far from abandon themselves to southerner emotionality and effusions -I mean, we are not Napolitans- (with the immense De Curtis respect to them reserved) We, crazy men and women from Trinacria, do wear death on us and inside us the way lemon flowers are sieged by aphids, like green-blue garfish and its fishbone/. Anything is a prickly pear, that must be swallowed without chewing -teeth cannot win against seeds so bitterly is swallowed sweet mouthful of stones and sugar- and it grows without being planted, is enough to throw it on the hard soil or on hard soil shall it fall/ this chaos has inside the rules of the whole galaxy. But cells were being discussed -this world gets us used to skip from simple boat builders to software, from sardines to Cassiopea trajectories. Keeping up with times is needed, reaching the meteor of progress until it’s so fast to invert its tendency and die in itself. You should see me now, you should want to see me now. I shall. Nothing. I shall do nothing. I have a new pair of British shoes that smell of feudalism an fox hunting and a new skin, a thinner one; sleeping earlier at night, always having mad sea on the forehead, but before that boredom and cave, and snake is still the best creature: II. slow fingers in warm flower, we are amphibians, bites, sighthounds and nights fearing dawn; those copper-surge hair, my only sight, that white ass, my face dwelling _______________________storm faced North are your scapula and nervous ribs abode for my palms the same monsoon wet us, cut us to those rains those winds -may they come back- I would ask how have you been ________________Etna, October 2 wild dogs cut the curves they do know paths between dead rocks and I come back to you, the firsts of October, I was born next to you, next to your eternal vibration of darkness and magma -fox sneer and black-cerulean grasshopper hum-, have you inside me. those else gorses something else’s daughters, appeared between nothing and sharp stones; that hump in the high winds, rusty colored, fox pattern and mighty fire, standing out in light light blue sky , those scented chestnut trees to whom I come tired, who’s sight is always guidance; that naked still sciara that looks like our inner I adore. ____________________still dreaming (onirica) series of bloody dreams waking up like a shattered arthropod ; mind is plankton, lion herd facing hyenas, scum and corrupted sorcerer still I do adore the vegetation oasis on the slopes/ those eternal lichens on late fire,...