I'm a Warrior

translating poetry and travels - traducendo viaggi e poesie

[warriorpoet2017]

Moving...

Moving…

I moved to  http://www.warriorpoetess.com  see you there! 

View On WordPress

[warriorpoet2017]

4 settembre 2017 (Death Valley)

4 settembre 2017 (Death Valley)

By Me   We cruise rattlesnake bends.   Once in, you find phantom lakes; I – a full moon over mountains of clay.   Sitting at the wooden table the sun rises to my right the mountains become blue under a grapefruit-shake sky.   My hands are dirty. My lips dry.   –   Navighiamo curve a sonagli.   Dentro, tu trovi laghi fantasma; Io – una luna piena su massicci di creta.   Seduta al tavolo di legno…

View On WordPress

[warriorpoet2017]

2-4 Settembre 2017 (Young Lakes & Mount Conness)

2-4 Settembre 2017 (Young Lakes & Mount Conness)

By Me   At the sight of the rocks I forget about bruised hips and heavy legs. I run.   The clusters of cold, granite teeth don’t shake with the approaching of thunder. Our thin ropes do, heavy on our waist, sixty metres at a time.   We try to move fast on the scarred ridge of the giant monster. His indifference to our suffering – frightening and alluring. His apparent death – the essence of life.…

View On WordPress

[warriorpoet2017]

1 Settembre 2017 (Tenaya Peak)

1 Settembre 2017 (Tenaya Peak)

  By Me   Lost on the dirty slabs of Tenaya Peak, we sang at bears in the moonlight. The prusik came in handy in the end, and the two sixty-metres ropes.   Then, the lake saved us, our lips too dry to smile.   –   Persi sulle placche sporche del Tenaya Peak, Cantavamo agli orsi al chiaro di luna. Il prusik è tornato comodo alla fine, e le due corde da sessanta metri.   Poi, il lago ci ha salvati,…

View On WordPress

[warriorpoet2017]

Yosemite Valley, 31 Agosto 2017

Yosemite Valley, 31 Agosto 2017

by Charles Weeden   There Is No We     There is no We, just us.   Us, in our Marmot sleeping bags, watching and shivering as the Sierran storm tears trees in half.   Where is the We in this wrath?   But even, whither the I? Whishing, only, amid the fury, there is a me.   –   Non c’è un Noi   Non c’è un Noi, solo noi.   Noi, nei nostri sacchi a pelo Marmot, che osserviamo tremanti mentre la…

View On WordPress

[warriorpoet2017]

29 Agosto 2017, Tuolumne Meadows

29 Agosto 2017, Tuolumne Meadows

By Barbara Meyer-Link So it begins at the night camp, the stars open the universe— pine trees point the way, the dark drapes blue taffeta, we sleep on the earth, above the sky turns like a planetarium ceiling, I hang on for the ride, the air lifts my fingers, no space between my skin and the sky, my bones full of amber light I leave the earth, touch the green fire of the northern lights. – Inizia…

View On WordPress

[warriorpoet2017]

29 Agosto 2017 (Tuolumne Meadows)

29 Agosto 2017 (Tuolumne Meadows)

By Me   The thin air of the alpine meadows shortens my breath; it deepens my mind.   I dreamt I was wide awake.   –   L’aria sottile delle praterie alpine accorcia il respiro; m’acuisce la mente.   Ho sognato d’esser sveglia.

View On WordPress

[warriorpoet2017]

Redwood City, 27 Agosto 2017

Redwood City, 27 Agosto 2017

by Joe Cottonwood (May 2015) Redwood Prayer Grant me deep roots. Solid branches. Let the fires pass me by. Let generations of squirrels and blue jays      hop on my limbs. Let me breathe fog, chew sunlight      and look down over centuries. - Preghiera d’una sequoia Concedimi radici profonde. Rami massicci. Lascia che i fuochi mi passino accanto. E che scoiattoli e ghiandaie balzino, per…

View On WordPress

[warriorpoet2017]

Freedom

"We are free, and in this lies our progress and our happiness. Any attachment to a school, to a theory, already means stagnation. The artist's vitality is determined by his search, and in searching lies perfection. [...] We are alive forever, young forever because we ignore the opinions of the idle mob." Alexandr Shevchenko, 'Neoprimitivism' Russian Avant-Garde 1913

[warriorpoet2017]

Sempre

La botte piena e la moglie ubriaca - 

vorrei essere un uomo per

ballare la Lezginka.

[warriorpoet2017]

Crisps.

In the library.

Silent area.

How can you even think about it?

Crunnnnch. 

[warriorpoet2017]

-Did you say something? -I heard a voice. -In your head? -No, in yours.

N. Royle

[warriorpoet2017]

Je suis Тriste

Burn their churches

And shoot their drawing hands?

-

Let’s all worship

The worst of creatures:

Man. 

[warriorpoet2017]

Baikal

Birch-tree, do teach me how to let things go.

I am covered in resin now

And stick to everything I touch.

  Melting ice, do tell me how to wait,

For my watch is fast

And gets faster every day.

  Mountain top, do show me how to love,

‘Cause all I do is falling

And fighting to hang on.

  Can I be good you ask -

I ask. And all of us -

in turn we know. The answer is just -

  But still my mind’s entangled with my hair,

And I do think ,to reason well,

I’ll shave my little head.

[warriorpoet2017]

Breakfast

A cup of skimmed tears,

Extra hot, please,

Take away.

Are you not eating anything today?

Already had toast with organic

twinge at home, thanks.

Ah, very well. Here you are.

Enjoy, today it’s on the house!

Wow thanks.

Free grief.

[warriorpoet2017]

Vedere

[warriorpoet2017]

Surrealist Bother

How to express one(‘s) thought –

barely –

in the length of an essay.

Breton.