Cycling towards the grey rooms and grey tables
and thinking about the final questions I am going to ask you
in a morning that’s going to be full of words and silences
and those same crumbs of knowledge woven with tension,
I skirt along a meadow of tall trees:
the early morning is cool like no rule after the night’s storm
and I am breathing the mountains and something farther, farther off and here,
the most open sky, the most sincere...
and yes ( I think- my soul wheeling with the wheels) I know, I know, I know well,
it can’t have anything to do with anything anybody today must tell
although it’s the only Whole on which now and ever I would like to dwell.
This is an old poem I have translated, or rather rewritten, in Italian, along with two others, for a colleague, about school. Working on it in Italian, as it had already happened with others, led me to produce some consistent changes in the original English version. So I can almost say I've got a new poem now. Maybe more "Alexandrine"...but never mind!