Journal of Italian Translation - Brooklyn College - Academic Home ...

D’agostino/Buzzati 187
the temptation to pick up and leave.
Even a nineteen-year-old boy
among its hordes of protectors.
Are we clear ? The evening stung me
seven fifteen about halfway along
Michelangelo Buonarroti Street. It was here
that she took off it was May it was June
damnation of my life
bought a foulard in a store
to shield herself from the rain
says the dry cleaner awaits me
I believed, sent to hell
the whole day the so-called dignity.
Day Will Come
With the progress of medicine
you’ll live another eighty years,
at the very least, my love.
And I, by that time, dust.
Dust, and a few bones, if anything.
But this that I write shall
not be dead : for the tears and the life
I put into it. And lightly
will it descend atop the roof
of the immense hospital
where she’ll be dying the old woman
who bears your dear name.
Within the body
in decay
a little girl will tremble with fear
sobbing : your soul,
still the same!
No more music then, no beauty
creams, chic outfits,
nor desirous glances,
nor awaiting fortune.
An abbandoned ruin
on bed number 15
second unit surgery.
To remember you
in all the world, only
these words of mine,