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    Stella Errans
    Stella Errans
    Stella Errans
    Ebook185 pages56 minutes

    Stella Errans

    By Edda Tassi

    ()

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    About this ebook

    It's the latest collection of poems by the author Edda Tassi, the natural heir of the noble and unique tradition of the great Italian Fathers. From an enthusiast, precious, classic style of a really popular and loved poet known all over the world. STELLA ERRANS is a search full of hope, beyond the physical and historical death of love and human ideals. A continuous transformation ensures immortality of beauty and artistic creation, for a better world.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateJun 16, 2013
    ISBN9781483502595
    Stella Errans

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      Book preview

      Stella Errans - Edda Tassi

      Contents

      English version

      Originale versione in Italiano

      English version

      1

      The starched tie in the wind

      gave fake coins to the pigeons

      and burned much valuable paper

      the director of the World Bank

      bankrupt for bad loans

      to the war lords, to the idler

      leaders of starving Countries

      which have never seen roasted skewers

      rolling, ending in the same plate.

      It was born back then the legend

      of a new leading division

      entrusted to the wandering artists

      to some loyal squire

      capable to get out of trouble anywhere

      to challenge any misery

      so to discover the secrets

      of an uncontrollable planet.

      Musical enthusiasm

      in place of every scourge

      in world vision with rhythmical direction.

      Children, animals, precious stones

      in the year of the magnanimous Sire

      when no one knew any more

      what could have happened to them tomorrow.

      They said that all the saw in the mirror

      were just dark shadows, yellow glances

      from predators coming from the ocean

      keepers of the white meats

      trying to break free from cells.

      They put back some coins

      inside fresh safes

      and the roast meat started rolling again

      somehow on the rostra.

      Half the world smelling

      only the aroma from far away.

      2

      My country to black starvation

      rents canoes to go up the river

      and go back to the spring, to the mountain.

      I leave the sea, a straw bed downstream

      a sack full of stupid things

      the miracle of a basket

      on top of the fresh waterfall.

      I leave in silence, afoot

      because the trains are all occupied

      by suicidal railway men.

      The airplanes will arrive later

      when I will be on the high peak

      if they will have enough fuel.

      I think about a distant friend

      about his birthday present

      to be directly delivered.

      Pink ribbon and piece of string

      for a very special meeting.

      3

      We were playing with lunar rays

      smoking in secret, laughing

      of everything we glimpsed on power

      of every mask of papier-mâché.

      Until they closed the free squares

      they stole actors from theatres

      and amplifiers from those who played.

      And we were forced against our nature

      to be sixteen no more.

      I wore three sleeping gowns

      to be well clean

      but I never died

      because he came past four

      every time the imp of the wind

      pushing me a bit forward

      in Jack’s starless night

      which certainly didn’t scare

      the imp of four and a quarter.

      So I still have my sixteen years

      to trick merciless murderers.

      4

      Love comes back

      and makes you too go on.

      Now you want to go and see

      if there is the round table.

      Are you ready to do the jump

      from the upland of the distant ancestors

      splashing down in the ocean.

      A maudlin music

      greets those who didn’t want to

      sure to save their butt.

      But they made leather for drums

      out of the poor donkey friend.

      Move blindly, run

      from the stable of the hanged men

      and trust in the breathlessness due to bagpipes.

      A latent instinct so childish

      has guided purebred brothers.

      5

      I like eating in the morning

      and wash myself in the fountains of the pope

      dry out the feathers under the sun

      and fly on the stream of the sacred river.

      I don’t know if he has followed me

      or maybe it was I

      to follow the best journey

      migrating out of season.

      I am the pigeon Gallino.

      I stand on one foot only

      and two quite twisted fingers

      but I’m fine, I fly anyway

      I am good looking

      and I love life in the air.

      6

      Christmas is a white sky

      snow, fog that wets

      a nature without family.

      A cat getting bored

      next to the boiling pot.

      You greet relatives, wish them

      things in which you have never believed.

      There is an exaggerated Venus up there

      and you envy her soft light.

      If the clouds conceal her

      it is Christmas who polishes her

      like silverware for ceremony.

      7

      The boot has lost its shape

      from the top towards the bottom

      until the worn-out hill.

      Someone has run out of gasoline

      and is being carried by hand to the bridge.

      He has to decide, measure his strengths

      keep going or end up in the vortex.

      Actors are tidying their clothes

      and a monkey is passing with the plate

      while a mouse slips furtive

      to nibble the soft sock.

      The boot floats over the

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