logo


The poem in English is followed by its translation into Italian by Anny Ballardini and is taken from swimming through water, a booklength collection, which has been translated into Italian by Anny Ballardini, edited by Marco Albertazzi, 450 pages, from La Finestra.

_______

George is editor at www.poetrybay.com and his full biography, representative samples of his work, and method of ordering his new collection of poetry swimming through water or his cd northport celebrates kerouac are to be found there.

_______

For more poetry

George Wallace George Wallace


perhaps a man is not alone if

perhaps a man is not alone if he is walking through the night empty as a glass of air, and he is turning his thoughts on and off like a radio in a farmhouse so far from the world at this hour that the only sound is static, and he hears something behind him, over one of his shoulders, there, but when he turns to look it is only the country lane he walks on and it is quiet as a movie theater long after all the patrons have gone

and perhaps the man stops by a group of trees at the crossroads, where he think maybe a long time ago there was an encampment of hobos or homeless men, and he walks into a small clearing in those trees where there is enough moonlight for him to peer eyes down in the darkness to the ground

and perhaps he finds the remains of the hobo camp, a few rusted out tin cans, skeletal, ashes, ashes, a few blackened stickends, the crossed remains of an old campfire

and perhaps the man pushes the toe of his left foot gently into the remains, and he hears in the darkness two of the tin can skeletons rattle together, and he looks up at the moon, and the sound it makes is no sound at all;

what i mean is, perhaps a man is not alone in a grove of trees at the crossroads where the hobos used to camp if he kicks a can and there is an owl to hear it, and the owl makes a fluttering noise, which is no sound at all

if only there is an owl, flying away


Translated into Italian by Anny Ballardini

forse un uomo non Ŕ solo se

forse un uomo non Ŕ solo se cammina nella notte vuota come un bicchiere d'aria e accende e spegne i pensieri come una radio in una fattoria tanto distante dal mondo a quest'ora che il solo suono Ŕ statico.

e sente qualcosa dietro sÚ, al di sopra di una spalla, lý, ma quando si gira a guardare Ŕ solo il viottolo di campagna lungo il quale cammina ed Ŕ vuoto come la sala di un cinema ben dopo che i mecenati se ne sono andati

e forse l'uomo si ferma a un gruppo di alberi all'incrocio dove pensa che magari molto tempo fa ci fu un accampamento di vagabondi o senzatetto ed entra in una piccola radura tra quegli alberi dove c'Ŕ abbastanza luce lunare da permettergli di scrutare l'oscuritÓ del terreno

e forse riesce a vedere i resti del campo del vagabondo, alcune scatolette di stagno arrugginite, scheletriche, ceneri, ceneri, delle estremitÓ di bastoni anneriti, i resti incrociati di un vecchio fuoco

e forse l'uomo spinge con gentilezza la punta del piede sinistro nei resti e sente nel buio il rumore assordante di due degli scheletri delle scatolette di stagno e guarda su alla luna e il suono non fa alcun suono; forse un uomo non Ŕ solo in una macchia d'alberi all'incrocio mentre scalcia un barattolo se c'Ŕ una civetta ad ascoltarlo e la civetta che fa quel rumore di sbatter d'ali che non Ŕ affatto un suono

se solo c'Ŕ una civetta a volare via