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Articles by Antonia Pozzi
RDS ti porta al concerto di Lewis Capaldi per l'unica data italiana del suo tour
RDS 100% Grandi Successi ti porta al concerto di Lewis Capaldi per l’unica data italiana del suo tour, che si terrà a Fiera Milano Live mercoledì 17 giugno. RDS è la radio ufficiale dell’esclusivo evento. Dal 9 al 15 febbraio si potrà partecipare, ascoltando la radio, a “Effetto Domino” e vivere in esclusiva il live dell’artista.
Seven Poems by Antonia Pozzi | Exchanges: Journal of Literary Translation
Sultriness Today my sadness demanding fluttering in my soul heavily like a sirocco soaked with salt Milan, 25 April 1929 Innocence Under so much sun in a narrow boat the thrill to feel against my knees the sheer nakedness of a young boy and the drunken torment secretly brooding in the blood what he doesn’t know. Santa Margherita, 28 June 1929 Delirium for A.M.C. I saw it, at that moment. You were playing your violin, with your head down: your eyelashes marking on your face two streaks of shadow.
"Creatures" and Other Poems
CREATURES I. Nothing more fragile, nothing more simple: time gets lost if I believe we’ll have time to count all the forms of happiness. On the screen I follow pictures of the ocean: it divides us, it’s cold, at every veering of birds your body and mine might be transformed. Tonight the ocean touched your belly because you dreamed it, a strange Europe caressed my back. I press my face, the shape of your face two hemispheres. II. Creatures, traces of fire. On the wall you made the first marks.
"Planets in Their Tracks" and Other Poems
PLANETS IN THEIR TRACKS a breath without another comes back to silence and rooms have room again but when the nightly hues shift to dark plum, treacherously kind, then pain clears away all other feelings and that opening shrinks rain succumbing in warm waves against the window you have to press your face against the glass to see its obvious definition: easily broken planets move along their tracks in wet-looking clumps like stupid girls stupid girls the order of things is too far to be...
The White Party - The Offing
It’s not fair. That we, as women, cannot pee anytime, anywhere, and any which way. Why is it that we’re forced to miss out on thousands of important moments, just because we’re searching for a place to urinate? My favorite song comes on, the girl I like shows up, someone in heels slips on the stairs, and where am I? Standing in line at the bathroom. But these moments cannot be recreated. The Killers play “Read my Mind” at a concert, and where the hell am I?
"Necklace of Days" and Other Poems
Photo by Calvin Chai on Unsplash Necklace of Days for A. M. C. Maybe there were days like these, all fair, that seem like grains of amber shot through with blue. You came among us, your torment closed in your eyes: you had a pure, laughing face like a child. You called us brothers, but no one knew your sorrow; You spoke to us of light, but no one grew pale. You came to us when we were still dark, shapeless gems, doggedly closed.
A Poem of Solitude by Antonia Pozzi
A Poem of Solitude by Antonia Pozzi SOLITUDE By Antonia Pozzi I have aching arms weakened by an insipid desire to seize something alive, that feels smaller than me.
Thirst by Antonia Pozzi
Now you want me to tell you a history of fish while the lake clouds over? But don’t you see how thirst beats in the throat of the lizards on the crushed leaves? On the ground autumn’s dead hedgehogs have plunged through the periwinkles. And you chew the parched stalks: already the corner of your lip is bleeding a bit. And now you want me to tell you the history of birds? But in the heat of noon, the wild cuckoo flies alone.
Bad Weather by Antonia Pozzi
In watery nets the convent of childhood was reborn to me. Where are you, white stair? I descended you among the locust trees and the earth had no trenches. Now on distant paths a companion staggers, carrying a dead man. On his face his eyelids fall like lifeless violets. Where are you white stair? A scream slips from me: the ground is gone. Flames of perfumed smoke along the way no longer give shelter in this rain.
Desperation by Antonia Pozzi
I am the flower of who knows what buried log that to be alive creates children up from the dark womb of the earth— I am an icy flower— estranged from every human mercy or prayer and the air around me is empty— breathless— shaded by mournful cypresses— O who will give to the flower to its painful corolla the final strength to bury the self?
Boek | Poems - Antonia Pozzi
Acclaimed for the terseness and simplicity of her language, her poems show an acute power of observation and deep psychological introspection, revealing a mind akin to Emily Dickinson's and Sylvia Plath's, but also a unique and unmistakeably original voice.
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