(cont.d)of churchbells seems a forger’s hammer
amidst the sparks of fire, and everywhere
the blackness of ravines appears to sling
a multitude of ghosts into the air
who lunge and push and press to be the first,
above all others there, to kill the mournful
thump of those who crash their heads against
the casket, and then claw at their faces,
and then tear out their hair.
Ah, anguish, anguish;
now you see everything white,
and no wind whispers
nor the sigh
of God.
(Translated by Luigi Bonaffini)