Le poesie dei mesi precedenti

The poetries of the preceding months

 

Leggi in:

Napoletano

Greco

Latino

Emiliano

Sardo

Siciliano

Tedesco

Calabrese

Leggi in:

Francese

Romeno

Cilentano

Milanese

Piemontese

Inglese

Genovese

Romanesco

 

The spirit level

Every year on the 2nd of November,
it is usual for the dead care, to go to the Cemetery.
Everyone should do this present;
Everyone should have this thought.
While I was daydreaming to this situation,
It was nearby midnight,
And I was left closed and prisoner,
Dead and scared in front of the candles.
If I were live I would make you happy,
I'd get my box with my four bones
and now, you know, just in this moment,
I'd go inside another grave."
Every year, exactly on this day,
Of this sad and unhappy happening,
I go there too, and with some flowers I garnish
the grave stone of Auntie "Vincenza".
Suddenly what did I see in the distance?
Two shadows coming to me ...
I thought: "This seems to be very strange ...
Am I awake, sleeping or is it fantasy?"
"So what are you waiting, filthy badly created?
Do you want that my wrath reachs overflow?
If I hadn't been a titled man,
I'd already get angry!"
This year an adventure has happened to me ...
After completed the sad homage,
My God! I am still scared (if I think at it)
But then I got braveness.
It was not fantasy ... he was the marquis:
With the walking stick, the monocle and the greatcoat;
Following him, you can see, the ugly badly dressed,
Stinker and with a broom in his hand.
"OK, I want to see ... let's take this violence...
You know, marquis, I am annoyed to listen to you
And if I lose my patience
I forget that I am dead and I'll beat you!
The fact is the following, listen to me:
We were next to the closing time
When slowly slowly I was going out
Having a look at some graves.
"Yes, he is for sure Mr Gennaro."
"The dead poor man ... the dustman".
"This situation is very unclear: they are dead
and they come back at this time?"
Who do you think you are? A Lord?
Do you know that in this place we are all the same?
Dead are you and dead I am;
Everyone is equal to the others."
"Here sleeps in peace the nobleman marquis,
lord of Rovigo and Belluno,
brave hero of 1000 enterprises,
dead on 11th of May 1931"
They were about a palm away from me,
When suddenly the marquis stopped,
He turned and slowly slowly quite quite,
Told to Mr Gennaro: "Hey mate ...
"Bloody pig! How do you allow
to compare yourself with me that
had as my ancestors very revered, very nobles
and perfect to make regal princes envious?"
A Logo with a crown at the very top ...
Below a cross made of bulbs;
Three bunch of roses with a mourning list ...
Candles, Big candles and six little candles.
I want to know from a so low swine like you
With what such a dare you have allowed
To bury your body, with my shame,
next a such titled like me!"
"But what Christmas, Easter and Epiphany!!!!
Do you want finally understand inside you brain
That you are still sick of fantasy?
Do you know what is dead? It's a spirit level ...
Very Next to the grave of this lord
There was another very little grave,
It was abandoned without any flower;
As a sign only a little cross,
"Caste is caste and it should be respected!
You lost the sense and moderation;
Ok, your corpse had to be buried but
I think inside the garbage!"
A King, a Magistrate, A great man
that coming through this gate has understood
that he has lost everything, life and the name also:
Hadn't you already considered this?
And on the cross it was very difficult to read:
"Esposito Gennaro - Dustman"
I felt pain, looking at him ...
This dead man without any candle.
"I cannot suffer
your stinky presence anymore
So it is necessary that you will find another grave
among your dear, among your similar"
So, listen to me ... don't be reluctant.
Suffer my presence close to you? Don't you care about it!
This are jokes of alive people: We are more serious...
We belong to the death
"That's life" - I thought in my mind. -
"Who has had a lot and who hasn't had anything!"
"Was this poor man aware
that he was beggar at the other world too?"
" Mister marquis, It's not my fault,
I had never made this wrong to you,
My wife made this foolish think,
What could I do if I was dead?

Antonio De Curtis

GO UP