Dig and dig,
ah if in the end it digs
this square footage of fear
for how certain things come between your teeth.
Raised from torn depths
how could we know them so torn apart
so deeply they had buried us.
In this world that disturbs
in the last folds of the peace of the cypresses the dead are lined up,
only now, and with difficulty, can we close our eyes
to which it seems that no rest is due,
when far away in the flaring naming of bridges,
devoured by flaming tongues on the back
our legs tremble with a waking fear
and from there to around here,
inside insatiable bins lash
of incomparable dazzling lightning.
Francesco Giusti (Italy, 1952-), translation by Slow Words
This is an unpublished poem read by the author (pictured on the cover image) on December 18 2019 in Venice during a night mixing poetry and rebetiko at About warehouse organized by Inedito! a young collective of poets.
To learn more about the author and to buy a book (in Italian) of his recent writings: