Guccini Francesco
Parnassius Guccinii
F.Guccini
The water that passes through the mud of certain canals
between wise rats, tires and rust and glass
who knows if it is It's the same one shining with sun or headlights that looks oily as it passes enclosed within three metres. You can spend hours looking to see if there is that water in some ditch that you drank out of thirst or that washes yourself
or if there is in its running a sign of its red thread
that ties something to something, a thought to a reflection.
But the water turns and it passes and can't tell me anything
about people and me or about this low air.
Dull and indifferent it walks and runs away
leaves a trail and doesn't give a damn.
And it falls on me who take it and feel it seep
lightly, it felts the clothes, saddens the gardens
bringing me the smell of ozone, playing and dancing
projects exhausted memories of old children.
/>Relentlessly hitting the roofs of long carriages
arousing bored interest in the eyes of a cat
covering with its roar the crack of thunder
which hangs for a moment in the distracted sky.
And the water passes and turns and the color then fades
What is it that repels me and attracts me?
Water like sweat, fetid and clear water
Bitter, without taste or © color.
But the water turns and passes and can't tell me anything
about people and me or about this low air.
Dull and indifferent it walks and runs away
leaves a trail and it doesn't give a damn.
And it murmurs, screams, whispers, speaks to you, crashes into you
evaporates in dark clouds swollen with black
and falls, bounces and changes into a person or another plant
becomes of earth, of wind, of blood and thought.
But sometimes you would like to eat it, feel inside it
a stone that opens it sinks, disappears and does not feel
you would like dig it, grasp it, you feel that it is the centre
of this continuous, confused and living mechanism.
Waters of the world around, of puddles and tears
of me singing at the edge of the day
br/>between the darkness and the fear of time and destiny
cold killer of the dark night.
But the water turns and passes and can't tell me anything
about people and me or about this low air.
Dull and indifferent, it walks and runs away
leaves a trail and doesn't care.

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