to my grandmother
I miss your apartment and that elevator
which now (it’s been decreed)
I’ll never take again: we sold the place
this morning (but that,
thank God, you’ll never know).
Remember all the verbs we used to study
(last year of high school, spirit of sacrifice)
for hour after hour?
Aorist without an augment, verbs with reduplication, circumstantial participles
from the first conjugation to the fifth
λύω λύεις λύει
memory sloughs off and melts away
I miss you and I wish I had told you
(that frail excuse when the time is right)
and not because you didn’t know I was
a fag, but because I never told you
that (honest to God) I was happy, that we
were happy and his name was shining in my breast.
I mustered the courage and kissed him
(honest to God once again)
and it was in Piazza Pitti, and in April.
But out of these and all the other
things you must already know, just this:
his name is an Archangel’s
(my very own annunciation:
what ears will it reach?)
Aorist without an augment, verbs with reduplication, circumstantial participles
from the first conjugation to the fifth
λύομεν λύετε λύουσιν
Now I’m wearing the gold band with your name inside
I never take it off even to sleep
to wash the dishes take a bath make love
now with the hands of a statue, your hands,
I write this final
(never-to-be final) letter
in part for me who never got to say it
in part for you who have always known.
a mia nonna
Mi manca casa tua e quell’ascensore
che adesso (è sentenziato)
non salirò più: abbiamo venduto
proprio oggi (ma questo,
grazie a Dio, lo ignori).
Ricordi i verbi che ripetevamo
(quinta ginnasio e spirito di sacrificio)
per ore e ore?
Aoristo senza aumento, verbi con raddoppiamento, participi congiunti
la prima fino alla quinta coniugazione
λύω λύεις λύει
si scioglie la memoria a scaglie
mi manchi e vorrei avertelo detto
(codarda scusa verrà il tempo)
e non perché ignorassi che sono
frocio, ma perché non te l’ho detto mai
che (giuro) sono stato felice, siamo
stati felici e il suo nome mi risplendeva in petto.
Ho avuto il coraggio di baciarlo
(giuro per la seconda volta)
ed era in piazza Pitti, ed era aprile.
Ma tra questi diecimila e altri dettagli
che certamente già sai, uno soltanto:
lui ha il nome dell’Arcangelo
(questa mia personalissima annunciazione
a quali orecchie arriverà?)
Aoristo senza aumento, verbi con raddoppiamento, participi congiunti
la prima fino alla quinta coniugazione
λύομεν λύετε λύουσιν
Oggi porto al dito la fede col tuo nome
non la tolgo nemmeno per dormire
lavare i piatti fare il bagno l’amore
oggi con mani di statua, le tue,
scrivo quest’ultima
(che-non-sarà-mai-ultima) lettera
un po’ per me che non ho detto mai
un po’ per te che, da sempre, sai.
as merited
The ladder is not the climber or descender.
This is the due weight, the ancient strip of scalp
initialed as if in the register.
You will pass the test under the sign of redemption,
of sacrifice,
sacred
sweat,
you will wonder if the verdict is real
as absolution is still late in coming
and you hope this is the last corolla
to unfurl
in the rose garden deep into May.
meritatamente
la scala non è chi sale o chi scende.
È questo il peso dovuto, l’antico scalpo
siglato in calce come nel registro.
Passerai la prova sotto il segno della redenzione,
del sacrificio,
sacro
sforzo,
ti chiederai se è vera la condanna
mentre l’assoluzione ancora tarda
e speri sia l’ultima corolla
che si apre
a maggio inoltrato nel roseto.
Never did Aphrodite shed tears of love,
not a drop ever rolled down Ares’ cheek,
his tunic, his armor,
nor is it sung that Poseidon
mixed the salt of his waters
with the salt of his lashes
But you and I Achilles are mourning rose-cheeked Patroclus,
I and you father Priam a son who won’t return
so when you find me lying in my bed
face turned to the wall,
arms round my head,
I know that this is what the gods can’t have
the moment, just one breath,
between the abyss and your shoulder.
mai Afrodite versò lacrime d’amore,
non una goccia rigò di Ares la guancia,
la tunica, le armi,
né si cantò che Poseidone
mischiasse il sale delle proprie acque
a quello delle ciglia
ma tu io Achille piangiamo oggi Patroclo gote-di-rosa,
io tu padre Priamo un figlio che non tornerà
così quando mi trovi nel mio letto
girato contro il muro,
stretto stretto,
capisco che agli dei questo è negato
quell’attimo, un respiro,
tra il baratro e la tua spalla.
The seed of the world is rock
beyond control.
Stalactites crash down on your
path on mine
as you go along head high
singing out the name
… could have tried harder / if I’d
only / maybe next time…
no formula or calculation will hold up
just a slight breeze, early in the morning
as you lie asleep and the bulb
you planted pushes through the soil.
di roccia è il seme del mondo
incontrollabile.
Stalattiti franano sul tuo
sul mio sentiero
mentre a testa alta
vai cantando il nome
… si poteva fare di più / se solo
avessi / la prossima volta…
non c’è formula o calcolo che tenga
solo una brezza, la mattina presto
mentre dormi e il bulbo
che piantasti buca il terriccio.
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Giovanni Lovisetto is an Italian poet and archeologist. His first collection of poems, Scavi Urbani, was published in Italy in June 2021 by Transeuropa Editore, and his work has appeared in Italian and American journals such as Italian Poetry Review. Giovanni is founder and president of Multiverse: Poetry Beyond Borders, the first poetry club at Columbia University open to graduate students who write or translate poetry in/to any language. He is currently working on his second book of poetry and on a series of Italian translations of poems by contemporary young American authors. Giovanni is a PhD candidate in the Classical Studies program at Columbia University in the City of New York, where he focuses on body modifications in the ancient world and teaches in the Classics and Art History departments.
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Johanna Bishop is a translator from Italian with a particular interest in the overlap between literature and the visual arts. Her work appears regularly in the bilingual Florence Review and has been published in many other journals and anthologies (most recently, Bennington Review and Tempo: Excursions in 21st Century Italian Poetry). Recent books include Tamam Shud by Alex Cecchetti, Oh mio cagnetto by Diego Marcon, and Fossils by Maria Grazia Calandrone. She lives in Tuscany.
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Mario Loprete reports that in 2020 “I worked exclusively on concrete sculptures. I take my own clothes, and use plaster, resin, and cement to transform them into artworks. My DNA and my memories remain cemented inside. These pieces transform the viewer into a postmodern archeologist who looks at them as if they were urban artifacts. I like to think that anyone who sees my sculptures will perceive the anguish, the vulnerability, and the fear that each of us has felt while facing the global problem of COVID-19. A layer of cement contains the clothes I wore during this grim period. Garments that survive COVID-19 are not unlike those that survived the catastrophic eruption of Pompeii two thousand years ago. They recount humankind’s encounter with the tragedy of broken lives and destroyed economies.”
Another Chicago Magazine 