“Milano ” and “Rome in November” – two contemporary poems

Rome in November
Massimiliano Giannocco  

translated by Stefania Lucchetti

from the poetry collection Quando il mare è mosso 

How beautiful is Rome in November,
its limbs suspended between the morning haze
and the dim autumn sun,
the sky’s shifting expressions impressed
in patches of tears still half-asleep,
upon the veined benches of the gardens.
The foliage is a carpet of apparent death,
God converses with the world
filtering through the ridges of the pines
white words of light,
above tawny blades fallen in the night.
How sorrowful is Rome at daybreak,
only decadent tears remaining
of the rain lashing against the windows,
the Tiber flows slowly, cloaked
in solitude, and the echo of traffic
climbs up the hills
panting beneath the sheets of dense trees,
and the bells of praying churches
crown the kiss of a young couple
on the terrace of the Orange Garden.
How tender is Rome in autumn,
the memory of childhood lost, at dusk,
the hand protected by a mother’s love, the strolls
in Prati among the cheerful voices
of Romans. The elegant shop windows
are constellations of toys, the cafés
the fair world where one survives,
awaiting a tomorrow I now discover
without you, today’s melancholy
which consumes me in November,
in the memory of your gentle, certain embrace,
your smile impressed upon the slumbering leaves
at the twilight of yet another common day.
And same will be tomorrow and the day after,
until at the doors of the heart
the cold winter of life will knock.