This site is intended to be viewed with javascript enabled; please upgrade or reset your browser.

See here for more details.

Literature and Ideas

The Fog

The traffic swings,
and time suspends,
in the calming light
of the signalbox.

I hang around
where the city inflames
and is stolen by sighs
blown from the furnaces.

I ask my heart
for a voice of iron,
as the constant noise
of industry hangs

all around me. And in
the background repeat
the sounds of hammering.
Time bends to winter.

I tread the streets,
pounding the purpled boulevards
as the rain dies down —
die the days when elegant foxes
walked on green felt
and autumn was blooming.

Footsteps fly
through first light,
and the year slows down
and bears down
on these streets.

Sun, although slipping
away, through the chalk-white mist,
brightens a patch of mimosa.
Qui il traffico oscilla
sospeso alla luce
dei semafori quieti.
Io vengo in parte
ove s’infolta la città
e un fiato d’alti forni la trafuga.
Chiedo al cuore una voce, mi sovrasta
un assiduo rumore
di fabbriche fonde, di magli.

E il tempo piega all’inverno.
Io batto le strade
che ai giorni delle volpi gentili
autunno di feltri verdi fioriva,
i viali celesti al dopopioggia.
Al segno di luce si libera il passo
e indugia l’anno, su queste contrade.
S’illumina a uno svolto un effimero sole,
un cespo di mimose
nella bianchissima nebbia.

Vittorio Sereni

No comments — you could leave the first.

Please login or register to leave a comment.