Poems by Laura Garavaglia
It is useless to skin silence with dirty fingers
listening to words in and outside
crushed on the tracks of meaning.
We fill our absences
with other people’s emptiness.
The shadow was reflecting on the pavement
the shadow of your twenties
and you chased it, the shadow
but she fled
like an innocent childhood game
you were still looking for it, the shadow
and the sun set behind the roofs.
Who could care
about her, about a father
of the rhododendron that wept the flowers
of the caress that brushed the hair
from her forehead
and of her stubborn thinness?
If the bow shoots arrows now blunted
and the candles, if you turn around, are extinguished
who can care about her, about a father
and of a daughter who remained a daughter forever
like all daughters to their fathers.
For her, perhaps, a little less, yes, a little less
her so always alone
always waiting for something
the fragile breath of the soul.
Laura Garavaglia was born in Milan and lives in Como. She is a poet, a journalist, translator and the founder and president of La Casa della Poesia di Como ODV (www.lacasadellapoesiadicomo.com). She’s director of the International Poetry Festival "Europa in versi" (www.europainversi.org) which has been held for twelve years in Como (Italy) and hosted important poets from all over the world at each edition. She’s member of Jury of International Literary Award “Europa in versi e in prosa”, member of Italian PEN Club and Switzerland PEN Club. She published six poetry books. Her poems are translated in more than ten languages and published on anthology and literary magazine s and literary web site. He has won several poetry prizes and has received international recognition for his work in popularising poetry. For the publishing house 'I Quaderni del bardo' she edits a series of poetry by foreign authors entitled 'Altri incontri'
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