SurVision Magazine
An
international online magazine that
publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
Issue
Nine
DANTE MAFFIA
The Trees' Compassion
The
voluptuous sky
gets ruffled, stretches out.
The flowers yawn
distracted from their repose.
The horizon encompasses
spacious transparencies.
The evening crosses the boundaries,
and the mild light
thins down the cavities,
the spurious rainbows.
Then the trees' compassion displays itself
in the words of an ancient confidence.
gets ruffled, stretches out.
The flowers yawn
distracted from their repose.
The horizon encompasses
spacious transparencies.
The evening crosses the boundaries,
and the mild light
thins down the cavities,
the spurious rainbows.
Then the trees' compassion displays itself
in the words of an ancient confidence.
Stretch Marks
The
creeping sunset,
the brooding clouds: a kingdom
of glittering outlines of knots
in the vacuity of a flash.
But how many deserts were there;
how many more will there be?
A clandestine ruination of leaves
doesn't know how to curdle
sense; it drags
into lunar stuttering, and swollen toads
emerge from a distant well.
Queen bees, without their following,
bend a branch until it breaks.
I call for you; running after you hurts, as I'm
surrounded by disused washing machines,
abandoned TV sets.
the brooding clouds: a kingdom
of glittering outlines of knots
in the vacuity of a flash.
But how many deserts were there;
how many more will there be?
A clandestine ruination of leaves
doesn't know how to curdle
sense; it drags
into lunar stuttering, and swollen toads
emerge from a distant well.
Queen bees, without their following,
bend a branch until it breaks.
I call for you; running after you hurts, as I'm
surrounded by disused washing machines,
abandoned TV sets.
Excluded
The
oaks tell of dwarfs
who undermine the stars at night.
You try to pull my hands
to snatch me back from the spell;
you'll see disenchantment on my face,
but you'll know nothing of my death,
and the dull murmur of pain will reveal to you
the secrets of the singing stone
called the fear of love.
who undermine the stars at night.
You try to pull my hands
to snatch me back from the spell;
you'll see disenchantment on my face,
but you'll know nothing of my death,
and the dull murmur of pain will reveal to you
the secrets of the singing stone
called the fear of love.
Translated from Italian by Tony Kitt
Dante Maffia was born in 1946 in Roseto Capo Spulico (Cosenza, Calabria), and has been living in Rome for many years. His first poetry collection was The Lion Doesn't Eat Grass (Rome, 1974). Since then, multiple collections of his poetry have been published in Italy and in translation to many languages. His poems have been anthologised on many occasions. The critic Marco Onofrio called him "the Surrealist of the Mediterranean." In 2004, he was awarded the Presidential Gold Medal for his contribution to Italian culture.
