INVOCATION

 

To begin, Poetry, I call upon you to help,

as this is your domain, aerial kingdom of poem,

heart of sensitive men,

flourished field of the thousand perfect moments,

in the dazzled look of the children,

in the highest hope of the good men

that, clear in their innocence,

find you and live with you.

 

In your name I start the journey

of this frozen moor, this empty and silent desert

that only you can to fill,

dream of love and unity amongst men,

sacred illusion of freedom.

 

You are the wealth of the travellers:

you give them all the land to walk on

and the whole firmament to dream

and the living word to love

melted in a hug like brothers.

 

Yours is the desert and its entourage of stars,

yours the steppe that beat the april’s snows.

In the depth of your loneliness rise the pure spring

that waters the dreamt of garden,

the eternal springtime

where the lonely traveller

quenches his thirst.

 

In you finds the star

the man misplaced in the night of times,

oh, beautiful and deep, strong and free,

intimate and generous Poetry!

 

For you shines deeply the look of lovers

and comes the artist’s feeling of precious inspiration,

the music that comes from afar and sounds deep

like a song from within.

 

For you the eagle rises its flight

to the ethereal regions of the kingdom of light

and gloriously crossing the ocean of the centuries

takes your word to the grey day of the troubled man:

that one that was once a child,

that one that once looked at the world as if it were new

and he wanted to stay.

 

If barren the paper appears before my eyes

and the frozen length of the leaves

looks like a north wind and snow beaten moor

you will know to take me to the heart of the poem,

to the hearth where the hot flame is generous

and friendly hands fill my glass with red wine.

 

If the paper is a burning desert,

ah, mute skeletons burnt by the sun,

deaf wildernesses blinded by thirst!,

by your hand I will get to the fresh oasis

where my brother awaits:

that of noble stock

you were always distinguished, Poetry.

 

 

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