Words

source

Words

if awaken

refuse to seat

in their favorite place, the paper,

the Chinese ink, the leather

or velvet folder,

where they can be a secret;

words

when they wake up

rest on the back

of invoices, on margins

of Bingo bullettins,

on wedding or funeral invitations;

words

don't ask anything better than

a confusing typing on a laptop,

the dark pockets of a coat,

the base bin,

where they end in chopped pieces;

words

are not happy

to be thrown out

and accepted

with the fury of applause

and disgrace;

words

prefer to sleep

in a bottle,

to be read, sold,

embalmed, hibernated;

words

belong to everyone

and they don't hide in dictionaries,

because there is always someone who

finds the most smelling 

and rarest truffles;

words

after an eternal wait

abandon hope

to be spoken

once and for all

and then die

with those who possessed them.

My humble attempt at translating one of my favorite poems of Eugenio Montale, called Le Parole. He's a darkly resonant and introspective poet, therefore difficult to interpreter. For more poems, explore his style here.