
Yannis Stavrou, Pine Trees in Attica, oil on canvas
But well lonesome and well naked
without mirage
I carry my soul...
Giuseppe Ungaretti
San Martino del Carso
Little Valley of the Solitary Tree
Of these houses
remained
but some
tattered wall
Of many
that connected with me
remained but
not even that much
Yet in the heart
no cross goes missing
It is my heart
the most wrecked village

Giuseppe Ungaretti (1888-1970)
Drowsing
Little Valley of Peak Four
I attend the raped night
The air is riddled
like a lace
by the gunshots
of the men
portrayed
in the trenches
like slugs in their shells
It seems to me
like if a panting
swarm of stonecutters
was beating the pavement
of lava stones
of my streets
and I was listening to it
without seeing it
drowsing
Weight
Mariano
That farm worker
relies on the medal
of St. Anthony
and goes lightly
But well lonesome and well naked
without mirage
I carry my soul
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The poems are translated by Dennis Cooper
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