Pollution
Poems 1
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Against environment degradation
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HAVEN
The black smoke of bitumen grows, gigantic, from the blue of the ancient sea. A dense gloomy signal of the next tragic global wreck.
An evil inflamed success grows, in the mist of the Riviera sky, triumphant, behind the flames of coal tar.
The fatal allegory of the human insanity |
HAVEN
Sale, nell’azzurro dell’antico mare, altissimo, il fumo nero di bitume denso, lugubre presagio del prossimo naufragio.
Sale, nel cielo di Riviera, sfumato di foschia, trionfante, il fuoco di catrame: funesta allegoria dell' umana follia. |
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M. Ivana Trevisani Bach |
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Dawn
Icy January night: pins of limpid chill stars are glittering, far, screeching in the dark.
Then, from the sea blackboard a faint veil of dim glacial light slowly rises.
Over there, Eastwards, just over the horizon line, a red hot coal burns and with flashes of dazzling light turns on the world’s colour maxi-screen.
Everywhere, of a sudden, life wakes up.
Immediately the charm breaks: snarling engines, jarring noises, deafening hooters, stinking smokes. Millions of men in haste go to tear the Earth apart, and, like greedy black ants, they strip off its flesh leaving deserts of fiery sands and walls of grey cements.
Putrescent dirts rise in impressive disgusting mountains among the shrill cries of greedy gulls.
Filthy flowers of plastic bags bloom on the dirty river sides.
The sea waves vomit viscous bitumen on beaches already dirty of sewages and scum.
Chimneys and smokestacks puff away black smoke clouds saturating with fetid hazes the stinky, polluted air.
A day of ordinary violence again begins. A day of violated Nature again begins. |
Alba
Gelida notte di Gennaio:
Poi,
lentamente,
appena
sopra all’orizzonte. un rosso tizzone che accende, con
flash di luce abbagliante,
Ovunque, di colpo, si risveglia la Vita.
Si rompe, di colpo, l’incanto : Miliardi
di uomini, in corsa,
Lievitano,
Sbocciano,
Vomitano
Sbuffano
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M. Ivana Trevisani Bach |
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Arson
Slender trunks, burned to ashes, dead stumps of cut off arms yell to the sky the lost green.
Black skeletons, ghostly platforms against red backcloths where the sunset burns with frenetic fury of tongues of flame.
Groan, crackle, yell the burning coals from the still living branches of holms, of myrtle, and laurel.
They grieve for the death of the wood and I, silently, cry with them.
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Incendio doloso
Esili tronchi carbonizzati, morti monconi di braccia mozzate gridano al cielo il verde perduto.
Scheletri neri, palchi spettrali contro rossi fondali dove brucia il tramonto con frenetica furia di lingue di fuoco.
Gemono, crepitano, gridano gli ardenti tizzoni de’ rami ancor vivi di leccio, di mirto e di alloro.
Piangono la morte del bosco ed io, muta, piango con loro.
M. Ivana Trevisani Bach
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New Carnival’s mask.
It’s made of glass it’s got thousands of colours. It’s the vogue everybody’s got it.
It’s got no holes for the eyes but makes you see the world, it’s got no hole for the mouth ‘cause you mustn’t speak, it’s got no cracks for the ears ‘cause it tells you what you need to know.
It’s the vogue everybody’s got it. It isolates, it separates, it detaches it hides; it’s a perfect mask.
All in mask, all alike we dance this absurd Carnival. We don’t care of cinders and garbage And we stuff ourselves of virtual realities. Blind of future, drunk of present we splash about in these unbridled Bacchanalia.
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La maschera del nuovo Carnevale
E’ di vetro, ha migliaia di colori. Va di moda ce l’hanno tutti.
Non ha buchi per guardare ma ti fa vedere il mondo, non ha un foro per la bocca perché non devi parlare, non ha fessure per gli orecchi perché ti dice quello che devi sapere.
Va di moda ce l’hanno tutti isola, separa, distacca, nasconde; è una maschera perfetta.
Tutti in maschera, tutti uguali, balliamo questo assurdo carnevale. Senza curarci delle scorie e dei rifiuti ci ingozziamo di virtuale. Ciechi di futuro, ubriachi di presente sguazziamo in questo sfrenato baccanale.
M. Ivana Trevisani Bach
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Ivana
