from Mariagrazia and Stefano

Not so many days ago we exchanged mail with Jim concerning a poem he wrote last time he was here at our place and in Pescara, at the university where he had a meeting with students of English language and literature. The poem has to be published in "Traduttologia", in next issue.

We are also moved by the title you chose for the collection of his poetry, since Stefano made it a song. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MzsnMa5Q_I

And he played it many times with Jim, he worked with him on the song...

That's all for tonight, We will write again.

We are glad Jim has a large and beautiful family and is now well cared at the hospital.

Hugs

Mariagrazia and Stefano

 

 

***

 

 

DALL’HOTEL ALBA, PESCARA

Jim Koller

Traduzione di Mariagrazia Pelaia

Persi fra strade in cui passiamo e ripassiamo

sapendo solamente che ci siamo già stati.

Preso il treno da Tivoli, dal finestrino abbiamo

guardato quella pioggia giù sui colli abruzzesi.

Ritrovata la strada torniamo alle stanze.

Mi vedo lì da solo, con lo sguardo sospeso…

Ignaro delle foto ancora da venire,

non dove le avrei viste, lungi da questa stanza.

Ora, dici, riprendi quel treno, non più insieme…

andrai fin sulla spiaggia? Non sarà come allora.

Lungo la riva, onde al crepuscolo, infrante

prima di incontrare la nostra sabbia pesta.

Rimettiamo in piedi una sedia di vimini

lì trovata, un relitto dalla costa croata?

Proseguire? La sedia invita a riposare,

rivolta alla sua patria, che altro si può guardare?

Le onde sempre più bianche in un foscheggiante mare,

prima di incontrare la nostra sabbia pesta…

Ostico ipotizzare che prepara la notte,

non vedendo nemmeno cosa abbiamo davanti

a una certa distanza… resti di nave estinta?

con alberi distesi su nell’oscurità.

Invece non son alberi, sono travi di un ponte

su cui salire: un ponte per il futuro, udite!

Giriamo e torniamo per la strada già fatta.

Tu indichi i lucchetti, i vincoli di Venere

appesi al ponte, ora moda in Italia, dici,

uso iniziato altrove, non qui. Un altro ponte.

Ho visto poi le foto e mi sono sorpreso

di trovarti e vederti qui accanto a me.

5-19 dicembre 2010

Per Mgp

  

***

 

FROM THE HOTEL ALBA, PESCARA

James Koller

We were lost walking those streets, passing again

through them, knew only we'd been there before.

We'd taken the train from Tivoli, watched the rain

out our window, falling on those Abruzzi hills.

We did find our way, made it back, up to our rooms.

I see myself sitting alone, staring at my wall.

I hadn't yet seen the pictures, they were still ahead,

not where I'd soon see them, far from that room.

You say now you'll return, ride that train again.

Will you walk the beach, too? Won't be like it was.

All along the shore, the waves at dusk, broke

before they reached us, where we walked, in sand.

When we found a wicker chair, we stood it on its legs.

Wreckage. Washed up from the Croat coast?

Did we keep walking? With the chair to rest in, with its view

back to where it came from? What else could we see?

Waves, breaking white, in a darkening sea,

before they reached us, where we walked, in sand.

Hard to see what's ahead with night coming on,

couldn't see what was there, before us, in the distance.

Looked to be what was left of some near gone ship,

its masts reaching out into the darkness.

But they weren't masts, were the supports of a bridge,

& we walked up onto it. A bridge to tomorrow, I said.

We turned around, went back, the way we'd come.

You pointed out the locks, locked lovers' locks,

hung from the  bridge, The custom now in Italia, you said,

begun, somewhere else, another, bridge. Not this one.

When I did see the photos, I was surprised

to find you, see you, standing beside me.

5-19 Dec 2010  for MGP