Dialect Poetry of Southern Italy (Italian Poetry in Translation Book 2)

A Stroll in the City

Behind the doors there is no
broom, no seven beans,
no lock of hair
or the blessed olive branch.
Thought, desire for change
are dead. Not even a hole
for memories.
Some of them climb onto the rainbow;
ah, if they hoarded wind like Arnaldo!
Uncertainty illuminates the streets.
First editions
have turned to dust upon the shelves.
In supermarkets sleep
boxes of every size.
I want to eat many-colored bows
and baskets full of fake fruits.
I lose a page, an insert of the clamor,
who knows
if I’ll find a living word.
(Translated by Luigi Bonaffini)