Parole dal mondo

The Night Low, Lonely, Composed

9 Marzo 2014

di Patrick White

1 minuti

Scrivi un commento

The night low, lonely, composed.
The soft snow. Hush and slush. Footprints
Filling in with the silence of funeral ghosts
who don’t know who to mourn. Darkness abounds.
A distant woman’s voice. Incense to the mystery.
The fragrance of a bell. The smoke of a harp.
The whole night swallowed in a single gulp of peace.

First snow. Cat at the window. Where
do they all come from? The downing of the flakes.
Endlessly out of the sky for anyone’s sake.
The drifting down to kiss the evening on the eyelids
and melt as if all the tears were on the outside.

L'autore

Patrick White

Patrick White, già poeta laureato di Ottawa, ha all’attivo otto libri di poesia: Poems (Soft Press), God in the Rafters (Borealis) , Stations (Commoner’s Books ), Homage to Victor Jara (Steel Rail Press) , Seventeen Odes (Fiddlehead Books) , Orpheus on Highbeam (Anthos Books), Habitable Planets, New and Selected Poems (Cormorant Books) e The Benjamin Chee Chee Elegies, (General Store Publishing). La sua opera è tradotta in cinque lingue e appare in centinaia di riviste e antologie nazionali e internazionali, tra cui Poetry (Chicago), Dalhouse Review, Texas Quarterly, the Fiddlehead, Georgia Review, ecc. Vincitore dell’ Archibald Lampman Award, Canadian Literature Award, Benny Nicholas Award for Creative Writing, era finalista per il Milton Acorn People’s Poet Award. Fondatore, redattore ed editore di Anthos, a Journal of the Arts, Anthos Books, produttore-conduttore di Radio Anthos, popolare show radiofonico letterario. George Woodcock ha scritto delle sue poesie selezionate per l’ Ottawa Citizen: “Promette di essere uno dei nostri poeti migliori e più ragguardevoli.” Sharon Drache, nel Kingston Whig Standard: “Potrebbe persino vincere il Premio Nobel un giorno col suo stile inimitabile”. E Orbis, (Londra, Inghilterra), ha detto della sua opera: “Le sue immagini sono forti, liriche , commoventi. Egli osa e conquista”.

Vedi gli articoli

First snow. Cat at the window. Where do they all come from? The downing of the flakes. Endlessly out of the sky for anyone’s sake. The drifting down to kiss the evening on the eyelids and melt as if all the tears were on the outside.

L'autore

Patrick White

Articoli consigliati

Lascia un commento X

First snow. Cat at the window. Where
do they all come from? The downing of the flakes.
Endlessly out of the sky for anyone’s sake.
The drifting down to kiss the evening on the eyelids
and melt as if all the tears were on the outside.