The word

Poem By Paolo Ruffilli

The word, for me,
came from far away.
I felt it to be almost
an a priori. A stimulant.
By a process in
some way inverse.
In giving it by comparison
a reality that, instead,
the more it was touched and grasped,
the more it fled
from the five senses.
With the effect of being
hurled against a body,
pronounced, and then,
in the pronouncing, suddenly
grasped again.

Translation:James Laughlin

Comments about The word

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of RUFFILLI


Thus, I suddenly
catch myself in the mirror
in a stifling embrace
while I project myself


I know what I have felt
again and again
and never has it been
something abstract


And all at once
deep in the tunnel
that goes on and on,
in the dead air

Whenever I Go

Then, at last
I get moving
the urge to stay


How many times
have I left
before daybreak or
at dead of night


I think of myself
whose hand caresses
the willing body
lying open to any assault