XIII

Antonella Anedda

Antonella Anedda

for Nathan Zach
Even these are lines of war
written while it rages, not far away, not close by
and we sit at an odd angle around a lamp-lit table
as they deck the doorways with palms
even this is a song unto God
that He may lower His gaze upon us worms and trample on us
loved and unloved ones alike.
Not a truce – a gift
for this lightning-struck land.
*
Sit in front of the window
look, but accept desperation:
there is truth in the moon that shines
though it does not rise shield-like against pain
it translates itself –
as I have just translated from the open facing the wall –
it simply links the desk to thought
in a wait that burns, but does not explain
and it torments every page in the air
with fir tree music, hostile lights.
( traduzione in tedesco di Irmela Heimbächer)
Winterresidenzen