{"id":5086,"date":"2025-10-06T14:49:25","date_gmt":"2025-10-06T14:49:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/stefanialucchetti.it\/?p=5086"},"modified":"2025-10-06T14:52:59","modified_gmt":"2025-10-06T14:52:59","slug":"milano-rome-poems","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stefanialucchetti.it\/en\/milano-rome-poems\/","title":{"rendered":"“Milano ” and “Rome in November” – two contemporary poems"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Rome in November<\/strong>
Massimiliano Giannocco\u00a0<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong><\/h3>
translated by Stefania Lucchetti<\/strong><\/em><\/h5>

\"\"<\/p>

from the poetry collection Quando il mare \u00e8 mosso\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>

How beautiful is Rome in November,
its limbs suspended between the morning haze
and the dim autumn sun,
the sky\u2019s 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\u2019s love, the strolls
in Prati among the cheerful voices
of Romans. The elegant shop windows
are constellations of toys, the caf\u00e9s
the fair world where one survives,
awaiting a tomorrow I now discover
without you, today\u2019s 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.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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Milano<\/strong>
Stefania Lucchetti<\/strong><\/a><\/h2>

\"\"from the poetry collection Coffee Stains On My Books<\/strong><\/a><\/p>

The thought of you haunted me over the years,
I lost you then found you many times,
not always with open arms,
not always with a smile.<\/p>


You welcome me with icy expression and cold shoulders,
as if you did not care
and often you let me
drown in my insignificance,
while I choose to stay and live you,
to uncover layers of you
like the mysterious curtains of a theatre.<\/p>


You allow many lives,
you grant the freedom to choose who to be,
you have a complex soul
I did not find in any other place,
You do not claim to be only one thing
and you do not demand total devotion.
There is sophistication and depth in your complexity
and I breathe them in as I let go of the need to be light.<\/p>


I let myself fall into you and I find everything
like the bustling market of a lively port:
where everything is possible
and everything can be found.
Milano, I loved you and loathed you
and resented you when
you did not welcome me
with open arms,
not once but twice.<\/p>


But then, as I leafed through more closely,
I removed your initial pages
and you turned towards me and whispered:
\u201cLook closer,<\/em>
step through the looking glas<\/em>s.\u201d<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t

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