Poetry

A portrayal of tribulation written by an Italian journalist who moved to America. I thought it would be nice to post both in Italian and English versions. We’ll add a little culture to the Pilkfiles! I also wonder if Megan can relate to any of it being a stranger in a foreign land. Well, it’s a little deep for that and Megan is not in Germany permanently, but (I’m sure) homesick at times.

Allessandro and Bruno, left to right.

Original Version… Hopefully I got most of it right. I am sure I have misspellings so if there are Italian readers out there: MY APOLOGIES!!!!!

Voi poriate negu occhi antichi isegni di strade sofferenti che I padri perconjero
Le vostre radici sono queue venute dau’altra parte de u’acqua
Voi siete le trace di quelli che muti dogenti sparivano inuhrouiti da nuove catacombe sconsacrate
Li il tempo non l’era sospesi e ivisibilli dentro il buio di cgole profonde come perite
Fuori era loro tutto ignaro
Intanoto la lund e len notti si inseguivano coneuse nel fumo sporco che fasuava la citta.
A tratti l’urvo isperato di vecchue sirene lontane irrompeva indifferente aue readue del cuone.
Poi il glorno nuovo vomitava new’arria ombre sianchi de umanita
Solo aurora si scorevano percetibili sorrisi di speranza



Your eyes carry ancient signs of gloomy roads your ancestors traveled on

Your roots are those sprouted on the other side of the waters

You are traces of those who ruefully and silently disappeared, swallowed by new desecrated catacombs

There time is absent, suspended, and invisible in dark crevices deep as wounds

Disconnected from all that was on the outside

Meanwhile the moon and the nights ensued, confused, in the dirty smoke that engulfed the city

At times indifferent to the rules of the heart the desperate sound of faraway old sirens broke through

Then the new day spewed in the air shadows of humanity

Only then smiles of hope were perceptible.

Written by Alessandro Scanavini and translated by Bruno DelSignore