1.

Io guardo spesso il cielo. Lo guardo di mattino nelle ore di luce
e tutto il cielo s’attacca agli occhi e viene a bere, e io a lui, mi attacco,
come un vegetale che si mangia la luce.

2.

Una volta ero piccola, ero senza parole. Ero piccola e
senza parole. Una volta ero molto leggera, pesavo
pochi chili. Una volta c’erano solo tre o quattro chili di me,
solo pochi chili di me, solo pochi chili avevano il mio nome.

6.

Sii dolce con me. Sii gentile.
È breve il tempo che resta. Poi
saremo scie luminosissime.
E quanta nostalgia avremo
dell’umano. Come ora ne
abbiamo dell’infinità.
Ma non avremo le mani. Non potremo
fare carezze con le mani.
E nemmeno guance da sfiorare
leggere.

Una nostalgia d’imperfetto
ci gonfierà i fotoni lucenti.
Sii dolce con me.
Maneggiami con cura.
Abbi la cautela dei cristalli
con me e anche con te.
Quello che siamo
è prezioso più dell’opera blindata nei sotterranei
e affettivo e fragile. La vita ha bisogno
di un corpo per essere e tu sii dolce
con ogni corpo. Tocca leggermente
leggermente poggia il tuo piede
e abbi cura
di ogni meccanismo di volo
di ogni guizzo e volteggio
e maturazione e radice
e scorrere d’acqua e scatto
e becchettio e schiudersi o
svanire di foglie
fino al fenomeno
dalla fioritura,
fino al pezzo di carne sulla tavola
che è corpo mangiabile
per il tuo mio ardore d’essere qui.
Ringraziamo. Ogni tanto.
Sia placido questo nostro esserci –
questo essere corpi scelti
per l’incastro dei compagni
d’amore.

9.

Se è ancora qui
è per tornare a casa
al punto giusto della luce, né dopo, né
prima. Se è qui in questa agonia di
piaghe da decubito, in questo tempo
sempre che non passa non
ti intrattiene, se chiama aiuto
e scambia vivi e morti
se il suo occhio è lontano
e la sua mano uno sterpo

quando sorride questa mia figlia vecchia
è un tale strepito assolato una immensa
festa di rami di ciliegio e penso che
è per me, anche, questo suo andare
al rallentatore dentro la morte,
suo lento scavalcare lo spavento
di tutto il buio.

10.

Che cosa sono i fiori?
non senti in loro come una vittoria –
la forza di chi torna
da un altro mondo e canta
la visione. L’aver visto qualcosa
che trasforma
per vicinanza, per adesione a una legge
che si impara cantando, si impara profumando.

Che cosa sono i fiori se non qualcosa d’amore
che da sotto la terra viene
fino alla mia mano
a fare la festa generosa.

Che cosa sono se non
leggere ombre a dire
che la bellezza non si incatena
ma viene gratis e poi scema, sfuma
e poi ritorna quando le pare.

Chi li ha pensati i fiori,
prima, prima dei fiori

1.

I often watch the sky. I watch it in the morning in the hours of light
and the whole sky latches onto my eyes and comes to drink, and I latch onto it,
like a plant that eats up the light.

2.

Once I was small, I was without words. I was small and
without words. Once I was very light, I weighed
but a few kilos. Once there were just three or four kilos of me,
just a very few kilos of me, just a very few kilos bearing my name.

6.

Be gentle with me. Be kind.
Little is the time we have left. Then
we will be trails of pure light.
And so nostalgic
of the human. The way we now
are of infinity.
But we will not have hands. No longer
will we caress with our hands.
Nor cheeks to stroke,
softly.

Nostalgia of the imperfect
will swell our glowing photons.
Be gentle with me.
Handle me with care.
Me, and you too, with the caution
reserved to crystals.
What we are is more precious
than the contents of an underground vault,
and made of fragile feeling. Life needs
a body to be and you be gentle
with every body. Touch lightly
and lightly plant your foot
and take good care
of every mechanism of flight
of every swish and spin
every ripeness and root
and rush of water, all dashing
and pecking and unfolding
or fading of leaves
right up to the formula
of the flower
to the piece of meat on the table
body become edible
for your, my, daring to be here.
Let us give thanks. Every now and then.
And may our being here be placid –
our being bodies chosen
partners in the fittings
of love.

9.

If she’s still here
it’s so that she can get back home
to the right point of light, not later
or earlier. If she’s here in this agony of
bed sores, in this ever
time that won’t pass and won’t
entertain, if she calls out for help
and takes the living for the dead
if her eye’s far away
and her hand a thorny stick

when she smiles this my old daughter
she’s such a sun-drenched riot, a measureless
feast of cherry branches. And I think it’s
for me, also for me, this way she has of going
slow motion into death,
her slow climbing over the fear
of all darkness.

10.

What are flowers?
Can’t you sense in them something like a victory-
The strength of one who returns
from another world and sings
vision. The having seen something
that can transform
by closeness, by adherence to a law
learnt by singing, learnt by spreading scent.

What are flowers if not something of love
that from under the ground comes as far
as my hand
to make the generous feast.

What are they if not
weightless shadows that say
beauty will not be shackled
but comes for free and then wanes, fades away
and then comes back when she pleases.

Who thought up the flowers,
before, before the flowers.

6.

മൃദുവാകണെ, എന്നില്‍ അലിവൂറണേ.
ഇല്ലിനിയേറെ നേരം നമുക്ക്,
പോകെ കാലം നമ്മള്‍ മാറിടുമല്ലോ തൂവെട്ട വഴികളായ്.
മര്‍ത്ത്യരെക്കുറിച്ചേറെ ഹൃദ്യമായ് ആലോചിക്കും,
ഇപ്പോള്‍ നാം അപാരതയെപ്പറ്റി പറയും പോല്‍.
നമുക്കുണ്ടാവില്ലല്ലോ കൈകള്‍ അന്നേരം.
പതുക്കെ താലോലിക്കാനിതുപോലാവില്ലല്ലോ,
തളിരായ് തലോടുവാന്‍ കവിളും ഉണ്ടാവില്ലാ.

നമ്മുടെ തിളങ്ങുന്ന വെളിച്ച കണങ്ങളില്‍
തിങ്ങിവീര്‍ത്തിടുമപ്പോളപൂര്‍ണ്ണത്തിനോടുള്ള ഗാര്‍ഹികാതുരത.
മൃദുവാകുകെന്നോട്,കരുതല്‍ വിടാതെ നീ കരത്തില്‍ എടുക്കുക.
സ്ഫടികം പോലെ തന്നെ കരുതാം പരസ്പരം.
ഒരട്ടി മണ്ണിന്നുള്ളില്‍ കിടക്കുന്നവയെക്കാള്‍
നശിക്കും വികാരങ്ങളാല്‍ മെനഞ്ഞവയേക്കാള്‍
ഇവിടെ, ഇപ്പോള്‍ നാം എന്താണതേ വിലക്കൊള്‍വൂ .
ഉണ്മക്കായ് ഉടല്‍ വേണം ജീവിതത്തിന്.
നമ്മള്‍ക്ക് മൃദുവാകാം സകലത്തോടും.
പതുക്കെ സ്പര്‍ശിക്കുക കനമില്ലാതേ കാലു വെയ്ക്കുക..
പറക്കല്‍,അതിന് വേഗച്ചുഴിപ്പും തിരിയലും,
അതിന്റെ യന്ത്രാവേഗം മുഴുവന്‍ കരുതുക.
പാകമായ്പ്പഴുക്കലും,വേരും ,വെള്ളത്തിന്‍ കുത്തിപ്പാച്ചിലും
കുതിക്കലും കൊത്തലും വിരിയലും;
ഇലകള്‍ മങ്ങുന്നതും പൂവിന്റെ പൊരുള്‍സൂത്രം തുടങ്ങി
ഒരു കഷ്ണം ഇറച്ചിയൂണ്‍മേശ മേല്‍ നമുക്ക്
ജീവിക്കാനായ് തീറ്റയായ് മാറുന്നതും വണങ്ങിക്കരുതുക..
നന്ദി ചൊല്ലുക,നമുക്കിപ്പോഴും പലപ്പോഴും.
നമ്മുടെ ഉണ്മക്കുള്ളില്‍ സ്വസ്ഥത നിറയട്ടെ.
നന്ദി, പ്രേമത്തിന്‍ ചേര്‍പ്പില്‍ പങ്കാളികളാക്കാനീ
ഉണ്മകള്‍ ഉടല്‍ പൂണ്ട നമ്മളെ എടുത്തല്ലോ
വി.എം.ഗിരിജ