Poems by Caterina Davinio

14 April 2019
Author :  

Caterina Davinio (b. Maria Caterina Invidia, Italy, 1957) Graduated in Italian Literature at the University I of Rome “Sapienza”. She has published four novels, several award-winning books of poems, and non-fiction. She writes in Italian and English. She has edited some multilingual anthologies of international poets. Her poetry has been presented in international literary festivals, such as The International Poetry Festival of Medellín (Colombia), Oslopoesi (Norway), The International Poetry Festival Poetry Nights (Curtea de Argeș, Romania), VeneziaPoesia (Italy), E-Poetry (Buffalo, New York, and Barcelona, Spain), Polyphonix (Barcelona, and Paris), International Writer's Festival - Indore (India), and others. She has been one of the pioneers of digital poetry in the 90s, with hundreds of exhibitions in many countries, among them are several editions of the Venice Biennial, where she has collaborated also as a curator, the Biennials of Sydney, of Athens and the New Media Art Biennial of Mèrida (Mexico).

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caterina_Davinio

https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caterina_Davinio

https://www.youtube.com/user/CaterinaDav

 

 

 

From: Serial Phenomenologies

 

*

and so it was going,

a little wind of senseless joy and of

heartfelt future past.

 

But finally our

creature of air was

dead

Our perfect happiness was

cold

And I said (it was for not saying)

I hoped.

And I viewed it livid at last

like the end of the world

like the forgiveness of all sins

and the tremendous certainty of being cowards.

 

*

like a

rosary I pronounce you, long prayer

I recite death

in the crystal clear soul

like a cold diamond

that sings,

lark voice, girl shout.

 

From: Waiting for the End of the World

 

*

Destiny was superb

it spoke among mountains and gray cumuli

like castles in the sky,

swollen with heat,

with rain,

with harvests,

with infinite richness.

The valley and flourishing hills with hope

gave me life in the continuous death.

There were titillating notes of nostalgias and rivers,

we learned the past and the future

the night and its awakenings,

we were possessed

like Rimbaud in Hell.

We ask for mercy and gratitude.

 

*

Give me your expert hand of brother

and reverent knight,

render to me the services of occurrence,

Hell sweeps across the sky

and I am not afraid

of your tyrannies:

I am a hero too

as the clouds dull the air

and jeer the desert from above,

they are signs from above

disquieting the trembling earth

and extending below the horizon,

like a flattened land stuck in the vastness

for further incursions,

frowning triumphs, masks, abuses;

extinguish me, oh my fire,

I am your chosen one

the perfect sphere,

the unknown,

the crazy horse at full gallop,

the destiny, the wild beast.

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