Roberto Piperno was born in Rome. First he was a foreign language teacher in London and in Rome. Then he spent many years as head of the Cultural Department of the Province of Rome and as national Expert on cultural politics of the Union of Provinces of Italy.
He is a poetry translator, a member of juries of poetry-prizes, an organizer of poetry events (e.g. a cycle of readings on “Poets in Rome, 1950-2000”), literary editor of poetry books (e.g. “Roma, patria comune” and “Sotto il cielo d Roma”) and radio-transmissions (e.g “Poets for peace”). He has also participated to international poetry festivals, e.g. in Jerusalem, Belgrade, Italy.
His previous book of poetry, ”Frattali”, has been described as “open, radiant with elements of life, daily experiences, with Eros and records of travels”. In his book “Al tempo stesso”, it appears that “loneliness can be interrupted...”I” and “you” can become “us”....prefiguration that human beings can live together”. In his last book (2006) “Sala d’attesa”, “waiting and time” are the result of many experiences and provide the occasions for complex reflections. The book has already won literary prizes in Italy.


Trails


Endless
Possibilities in
Life’s combinations
Each day’s micro-co-decisions
Springing from tangles of infinite instants
Past and future
And these shifting and made to shine by
Changing lights
Coral concretions on
Reefs and atolls

Thus our trail in life
Is chosen minute by minute
Through choice or necessity
And coercions unknown
Even to ourselves.


Each choice seeming as unavoidable
As a sudden jerk of fin or wing
Moving upstream or upwards
Through sudden obstructions
Predictable obstructions
Tangles of seaweeds
Or bright spring boughs
One’s entire life
Like a trail
Its turns carved in basalt
A maze of dark paths
Where Theseus’ thread
Could lead one backwards.

2

Did it
Occur to you
That we might
Some time
Have
Wanted
To decide
Differently
Perhaps
To proceed
By a side track
Towards our need for survival
Toward a consistency
Disguised as efficiency

That we might have caught ourselves
Mending our thread in unexpected
Roads?

Wouldn’t it have been better
- As I am doing now –
To write a poem
Rather than turning the gas stove on
Rewinding the answering service
Or turning off the tv
– More convenient and sure acts ?

Wouldn’t it have been better
To turn off dependence
Or counter-dependence
Try roads never taken before
And act our freedom?

Sometimes
It would appear at last possible
To melt the crust
That smothers roots

3

To opt for the responsibility
Of the unpredictable


Otherwise
Once outside the margins of the picture
We will find it hard to remember
If we left out
An intruder
Or the blinding ray of creativity.


Published in “FRATTALI” (Ed. Manni )
Translated by Alessandra Contenti
Professor of Culture of English Speaking Countries
 

Sharing


Although I told you so many times
that I love you
in this life of waiting and non stop running
meaning to make sense
in a shared human condition
now even the word is not enough
being only an instant of respite
a torn leaf in the wind
falling from my side to yours
while we reach new planets
and rivers hidden in the darkness
along the unknown race in the universe.

Although I told you so many times
that I had finally discovered
where the intersection was
to enter a new roadway
it is enough that television shows the shadow
of a millenary tree
sawn to be burnt to ashes
or what is left of a carbonized village
in the latest war
one of so many wars
wandering about in the continents
and we do not know anymore where
we are lead by this humanity
which was supposed to mean
celestial dignity and sanctity
forgetting its unending cruelty.

Although I told you so many times
- while I half-open you between my arms
just for a moment with tenderness
muttering syllables and soft caresses -
now we shall win the fight
for a less cowardly life
now we have left only this hope
yet time goes by
making us to fall in love again and again
with a certain voice calling from sunsets
for a renewed sharing.


(Translation of Roberto Piperno
and Alessandra Contenti, Professor of culture of English speaking countries)

Words


Do we devote ourselves to write verse
or to make rude noises?
As to myself I transfer bits of life as in frescoes
with pork bristles.
I spread whitener and colouring earth
and other badly mixed spices.
I do not linger over the white page
just for cooking
or for sketching with pen and Indian ink.
On the contrary I look for deeper meanings
and I assign to the poets – the real poets -
a skill for reconstructing communications
that lies hidden in the common speech
as dentists do with decayed teeth
by crowning them with gold
or an ability for clarifying
words from scholarly contexts
or words reserved to the few
who are dedicated to difficult plots.
So the poet purifies the language
as the aquarium filters
collect dirt and refuse
and the shit of fishes.

Nowadays the poet sees words beset
by the haughty negligence of most
or by queen mother TV
so much more eager than you and me
and we should free them
from the atrocious abuse
- oh that I could be silent -
of triglycerides and rheumatism which
attacking them and nearly
wounding them mortally.

Never loosing sight of the value
of this unequal fight
between man and the most secret meanings
don’t look - young poet in love
or you bard hardened by glorious maturity -
for everlasting height in your verse
unless you should become dizzy
and fall to the ground
flatten out as a roasted chicken.


(Translation of Roberto Piperno
and Alessandra Contenti, Professor of culture of English speaking countries )
 

Close to the wind


We furled the sail closet to the wind
and now the distance is blowing non-stop
the azure is pulling us along
beyond the thin sequence
while pushing us to do our best
directing us towards appointed goals
setting up gains and victories:
have we carried out our wishes
or have we accepted that value
which binds us by penetrating action
through daily cathodes tubes?

We are no longer surprised by
the expected path in the magnifying glass
pierced by the sunlight
which can set the straw on fire
dried by the long absences of water.
We are used to be fragrant gas
mobilized by different colours
surprised by diversified speeds
now we run across unexpected friends
companions or dangerous soldiers
fat women or slim fawns in heat
till a sudden immobility
which displaces us and makes crazy with anger
those who are going with us.

Shall we correct the direction of our behaviour
or the course of the boat pushing against the breeze?
It is impossible to know
how much is due to the sliding keel
or to the course of a shoal of sardines
or to the high flight of a sea bird
which overcomes us easily
riding the mad wind.


( Translation of Roberto Piperno
and Alessandra Contenti, Professor of culture of English speaking countries)