Emanuele Martinuzzi (Poetic cycle)
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NOTE BIOGRAFICHE DI EMANUELE MARTINUZZI
Emanuele Martinuzzi, classe 1981, Pratese. Si laurea a Firenze in Filosofia. Alcune delle precedenti pubblicazioni poetiche: “L’oltre quotidiano – liriche d’amore” (Carmignani editrice, 2015) “Di grazia cronica – elegie sul tempo (Carmignani editrice, 2016) “Spiragli” (Ensemble, 2018) “Storie incompiute” (Porto Seguro editore, 2019) “Notturna gloria” (Robin edizioni, 2021) “L’idioma del sale” (Nulla Die edizioni, 2022). Ha ottenuto numerosi riconoscimenti nazionali e internazionali, tra cui Ambasciatore Letterario per la Società Dante Alighieri. Ha partecipato al progetto “Parole di pietra” che vede scolpita su pietra serena una sua poesia e affissa in mostra permanente nel territorio della Sambuca Pistoiese assieme a quelle di numerosi artisti e personaggi di cultura.
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES BY EMANUELE MARTINUZZI
Emanuele Martinuzzi, born in 1981, Prato. He graduated in Florence in Philosophy. Some of the previous poetic publications: "The beyond daily - lyrics of love" (Carmignani editrice, 2015) "Of chronic grace - elegies on time (Carmignani editrice, 2016)" Spiragli "(Ensemble, 2018)" Storie incompiute "(Porto Seguro publisher, 2019) "Nocturnal glory" (Robin editions, 2021), “The idiom of salt” (Nulla Die, 2022). He has obtained numerous national and international awards, including literary ambassador for the Dante Alighieri society.. He participated in the "Words of stone" project which sees one of his poems carved on pietra serena and posted on permanent display in the Sambuca Pistoiese area together with those of numerous artists and cultural figures.
FROM ONE SIDE TO THE OTHER
From one side of amnesia
to the other, the trees
in pilgrimage translate
their own unknown shadows
into the thaw of a name,
now made a leaf.
Intimate to the crevasses
of memory, all faces
fade into the hieroglyphics of expectation.
PERLA
If it were not for the absent architecture
of these stars, arriving in the dark like alms
of clouds, we would not be eclipsed, naked
prayer that burns, one in the other.
If it were not for the names of these stones,
martyrs that grope in our eyes
like dry whirlpools, we would not be
the bed of a river, one for the other.
Roots of empty hands the roof that guards us,
dust the simulacrum of our travel
calyx broken in the belly, the intoxication of our rest
sleepless and dying.
What we are looking for is the heat of getting lost,
a word in ruins that reels in feeling,
anger and flight, mosaic of lips, aurora
painted with what fades.
DECEMBER
December, always retraces
the incarnate sleeper of the streets
in search of something or someone.
Filled with sun, the scream returns
on the wind with its vocabulary
of father and absence.
Chimneys, comets and blues,
the unresolved arms
for a rainy day.
Escaping from a rough suburb,
where every grayness fades
with the serenity of pain.
Suddenly a body not yours
to be your skin in the frost that dares
and your heart in the quiet that breaks in.
Translation by Jessica Cerrato
