Wave one
I’ll keep you forever
in the deep secret of my heart,
where the darkest passions rest and
are covered by silence
breath to breath.
My lover’s tongue is dry and,
like a bird-mother,
I’d like to wash your draught
with honey and light dew.
Words flow under the mind frame,
their unknown meaning
fly up the soul,
looking at clouds in blues.
Wave two
I’m like a gypsy glimpsing being
who doesn’t remember clearly
what happened in her life.
Only ballades and earth’s vibration
open her mind, but the throat is
silent.
The wandering being repeats her
exercises again
like an actor who fits the body and
refines her thought
warming the breath
brightening the voice
searching inexplicable words,
missing in the memory.
Take me still looking towards the
leaves
up in the sky
only one time
but suddenly, covering my body under
the turf,
the black Styx shall murmur around
me,
where the asphodels blossom over my
eyes.
“Lachrymose” in purple street
The young man was offering roses in
the dark eve.
Sad words he received,
but they were swallowed up
by the night.
Without an authentic question,
actions will be suspended, in reason
that
human beings call satisfaction
their realization.
There is hope even in
not realizing everything we make every day,
pace by pace.
A pale light dyed in blue,
the farewell smile;
the evening opened the heart to
remind and to meditate.
The King and Queen’s tent is ready.
Enter, midnight has arrived.
This changes Everything? *
Even Caesar** was tired of
slaughtering lambs,
even Caesar didn’t remember to make his sacrifice,
even Caesar didn’t have the courage
to be a dictator,
even I love you in my lonely way but, doing this thing,
I can’t love you as you would like.
Everything lives by its own feeling,
so humans aren’t able to maintain
honest relationships
with the Truth.
*Quotation from book by Naomi Klein published in 2014:“This changes Everything”.
**Caesar refers to Pontius Pilate
Roman procurator. Caesar was the appellation
given to him as an imperial representative.
To Miroslav *with love
Deserter
The deserter is one who leaves
power,
to follow an impulse stronger than
his own will.
The deserter doesn’t act on mere
instinct.
He isn’t a prisoner that is escaping
from justice.
The deserter lays down any kind of
arm, material or immaterial.
The deserter abandons the thought: “I
have to defend myself with arms
to save myself
and the community in which I belong.”
The deserter is calling for peace without the sound of this word.
He buried his arms in the moor.
He buried his sweetest friend.
He left his beloved woman.
The deserter is a flower in the
blinding desert of shame.
*Miroslav was the original name of my father: Federico Kovšca
Carla Maria Kovšca began writing while leading a research group in Structural
Engineering and Seismic Studied around the turn of the century.
In 2004 her research was awarded the
Angelini Prize by Athenaeum of Sciences Letters and Arts Bergamo.
Over the last twelve years Carla M.
has continued to explore and develop her artistic endeavors, becoming a dance
therapist specializing in the Fux Method.
This collection of poetry represents
her tribute to Feldenkrais Method in relationship with her own path in awareness
through movement.
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