The poetic penguin café (1.3)
At times, while I walk alone in the sun
and look with my clear eyes at the world
where everything seems to me like a brother,
the air, the light, the blade of grass, the insect,
a sudden chill grips my heart.
I seem to be a blind man, sitting
on the bank of an immense river.
The swirling waters flow beneath him,
but he does not see them: the little sun
he blissfully takes for himself. And if sometimes
a murmur of waters reaches him, he believes
it to be the buzzing of deceived ears.
For it seems to me, living this poor
life of mine, that another one brushes against
it like in sleep, and that this sleep is
my present life.
As a sense of loss then grips me,
a childlike dismay.
I sit
all alone on the edge of the road,
I look at my miserable narrow world
and I caress with trembling hands the grass.
Camillo Sbarbaro (1888 - 1967)
Zopf: In A Sydney Motel (2008 Digital Remaster)