Talk of your cold! He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare, There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear.
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He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse, Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house. His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of daze, Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze. The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the stool, So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like a fool.
In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway; Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands — my God! Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear, And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could hear; With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold, A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold; While high overhead, green, yellow and red, the North Lights swept in bars?
Sei chiamato dagli spazi caldi, un manovale sudato che sorride del suo lavoro che crolla. Sorridi, ricomincia il tempo. Una tunica tiepida ti avvolge fino alle tempie, ti riporta in cucina, nella tinozza sul tavolo. Ti bagna i capelli, tra le mani grandi di tua madre. But you bring clay. You add more clay from the beginning of the world. You go to the broken, empty places. You are beckoned by warm places, a sweaty manual worker who smiles when what he built collapses. You smile, time begins again. A warm robe envelops you up to your forehead, brings you back to the kitchen, into the vat on the table.
It bathes your air, in your mother's large hands. Oltre i gesti che tagliano, dosano, portano a cottura. Sospese dalla terra, cadono cose in bilico nella maturazione. Risplendono nel corpo come stelle morenti. I raggi vibrano, trovano la via degli occhi. Da ogni giuntura, anche tu puoi levare il tuo volo. You bear me to safety by raising the most fragile part of yourself.
You resist amidst the tumult.
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And here you are at the threshold, clear light flashing through you. Only clear light. Resisti nel tumulto. Ed eccoti al varco, attraversato da scariche di luce chiara. Soltanto luce chiara. There is a small fault line in your chest. When I hug your chest or place my head on it there is this puff of air.
It has a woodsy moistness and an earthy smell to it. The nearby mountains with their frozen torrents. Ever since I have heard it, I cannot help but recognize it. Even when high-soaring birds fly one after the other through your voice, marking out a route in the clear sky. The fault line is inside you, it is widening. A chilly gust of wind blows through your ribs and is decomposing you. You no longer have an ear. Your neck has vanished. Between one shoulder and the other a darkness opens peopled with shivers, with voices calling out from branch to branch, on a sheer slope uncrossed by human steps.
Le montagne vicine con i loro torrenti gelati. Un soffio di freddo ti attraversa le costole e ti sta scomponendo. Ti chini verso una pozza di fango. Porti le mani sul viso e lo fai scuro. Dalla punta delle dita alle spalle ti accarezza la terra. Il bianco dei denti chiama le ossa sommerse. Un grande animale marino dorme sotto la sabbia.
You're making the buds break out. The bark is splitting apart, no longer resisting. With closed eyes, you keep fighting. The earth is a rock, crumbling into tiny pieces of gravel. It is a wall and a door. Keep sleeping. The leaves are speaking to each other like brothers. From the heart to the crown of the tree, the leaves are thinking up a sentence for you. Sei stanca. Stai facendo spuntare le gemme. Con gli occhi chiusi continui a lottare. Continua a dormire.
Le foglie si parlano fraterne. Dal cuore alla cima della chioma, stanno iniziando una frase per te. Its roots rise out of the ground.
poesia trovata su mammaebambini | Italiano | Learning italian, Spring poem, Italian language
It made them grow like branches. It did not protect them in the dark. And how many it has that sink deep down, invisible. But those exposed to dying, the surfacing hardened veins show us its strength more than the foliage that rises to the sky. Ha le radici fuori della terra. Le ha cresciute come rami.
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