by Alex Valente
Original Italian by Roberta Dapunt (1970-), from ‘Le beatitudini della malattia’.
So I want to be like the rowan among the larch and the firs
covered by infinite snow. Layered by white
embraces, irreparable sluice of cold reason.
Open my lips and let it snow
to the back of my mouth, unhappy meeting
and let it melt flake after flake until it freezes
and finally collects, filling me up.
I want to be veiled, I want to quieten softly. Subtract
candidly to the complicated use of my voice.
To grow, my insides snowed under be like outside
I want to be immaculate. Silence forever,
interrupted and quietened. Bury myself inside
and numb forever the simple ability to speak.