And there you are. Rain digs them
and follows steep paths in rivulets,
deer trails slope across. If lost, let
the curving ones lead you, the unseen, stemmed
by years of undergrowth. Tread them.
Listen, your steps spell syllables,
taste them they are brief, berries,
nouns. Shout if haunted by a name.
Over your shibboleths, lichens grow
and turn them into REM
but don’t be afraid, it’s only them,
the Unspeakable remains so
(yet if It stirs within the rock, timbers
screech, the pasture strips bare).
By Vanni Bianconi
Translated by the author
Vanni Bianconi was born in Locarno and now lives in London. He has published four poetry collections in Italian and one prose book in English, London as a Second Language. He’s the founder and artistic director of Babel, festival of literature and translation, and of the multilingual web-magazine (www.specimen.press).
From Il passo dell’uomo (Edizioni Casagrande, 2012)
Photo of Vanni Bianconi © From the Author;s Archive