Towards Better Democracy

Good words, well written, better the world. Good literature betters the world immeasurably.

Ashes (Ceneri; Umberto Saba, Italian)


Ashes
of dead things, of lost evils,
ineffable contacts, mute
sighing;

vivid
flames assault and cause in me
anxiety upon anxiety I approach the threshold
of sleep;

and sleep
with those passionate and tender ties
that year the baby and mother, and to you, ashes,
I merge.

Anguish
trapped in the passageway, I disarm it. Like
a blessed path to heaven,
I climb a stairway, stopped at a door
where I played in another era. Time
has surrendered in shock.

I feel myself
in tatters and with the soul then,
in a flash of lightning; to the heart
a joy batters whirling
as at the end.

But I don’t cry out.
Mute
I’m leaving the shadows for the vast empire.

Umberto Saba

Worked from the Italian Ceneri, 1933
Malcolm D B Munro
Sunday 10 April, 2016

Copyright of the original is retained by the Copyright owner. The Copyright of this Translation is vested with the Author. The original, from which this translation is made, is used under the provisions of Section 107 of the US Copyright Act 1976, which allows for fair use of the original for translation purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research.

Filed under: poetry

Thank you again


A note of appreciation to those who have visited the blog
and have liked the poetry, and especially to those who are following the blog.

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Malcolm D B Munro
8.07 am CST Monday 11 April, 2016

 

 

Filed under: poetry

Nor Sleeps the Torture


The pain never relents
The mind a prisoner
To these unordered thoughts

No coherence
Others look at you funny
And wonder what is wrong with you
And why you act so strange.

But you cannot tell them
You are unable to describe
This terrible thing that grips you
In your head.

Activity and effort
You are unable to make
Lethargy permeates
The body whole
No part exempt.

Every day a struggle
To maintain a face
To show to the world
To even those you love
Which you are unable to display
And from whom you feel
Indifferent
Your condition
Has you estranged.

Detached you are, no inclination
To communicate
Besides, the difficulty
Of gathering you thoughts
To put in words
Impossible.

The electric cattle prod
You carry within you
Each minutes causes
Pain
You cannot describe to others
Rendering you helpless
In its iron-like grip.

You wake up in the morning
As if from too much drink
And try to face the world
This happens every day
If, indeed, you can raise
Even from your bed
The invisible ropes
That bind you
No effort can break.

This suffering seems
To never end
No relief in sight
You may even considerTaking your own life.

But a moment’s respite
Allows you to think
“I’ll do my best to carry on”
Any resolutions made
Cannot be kept
Your life is led in disarray
But you hang on hoping
That the pain will one day lift
But you do know when.

Malcolm D B Munro
Monday 11 April, 2016

Filed under: poetry

Behind Closed Doors


Behind closed doors
In camera
Decisions made
That affect the lives of others.

The numbers present
Restricted
Only to those absolutely necessary
To make decisions weighty
Each sworn not to tell
Even in their lifetimes.

No minutes kept
No communiqués
No press conferences
Instructions given to those
To carry out their orders
Their instructions

Clandestinely.

The content not recorded
Cannot enter history
Even that the event took place
May never be known
Nothing public
No one held accountable
Culpable
The enemy of Democracy.

Malcolm D B Munro
Monday 11 April, 2016

Filed under: poetry

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