Dr. Claudia Piccinno (Italy)

Dr. Claudia Piccinno (Italy)

 
 
Claudia Piccinno was born in the south of Italy, but she lives and teaches in the north of Italy . Operating in more than 100 anthologies, she’s a former member of the jury in many national and international literary prizes. She is the Continental Director for Europe in the World Festival Poetry, she represents Istanbul culture in Italy as Ambassador of Ist Sanat Art Association.She has published 34 poetry books, among his own poetry collections and other poets’ translation into italian language. She was conferred with the most prestigious award “Stele of Rosetta” in Istanbul in 2016, “World icon for peace” for Wip in Ondo city, Nigeria, on April 2017 ; Najiman prize in Liban on July 2018 and almost 250 prize in Italy for cultural merits. Her poem “In Blue” is played on a majolica stele posted on the seafront in Santa Caterina di Nardo (Le).
She is european editor for the international literary magazine Papirus in Turkey and for Atunis Magazine international. She is responsible for poetry in the italian magazine called Gazzetta di Istanbul, printed in Turkey by Italian community
 
 
I
 
We are not told
why every meeting has its reason.
We are not told.
why a storm pushed us into the same shelter
on an ordinary day.
I questioned myself by rejecting
unusual feeling
but the thought of you returned intermittently.
There is -I know – an ethical diaphragm
that isolates us
in the movement of a luminous mind
and a soul suffering for old disillusionments.
For that thin membrane
I silenced the ink
but – overbearing – his disruptive strength returns
to sow hope before apathy
drag us into the dark.
 
 
 
II
 
I got lost in fear
not a milestone
to give me the direction of travel.
I waited at the crossroads
that you go back
candidly
with your doubts
and your reasons.
I looked to the sides
of the roadway
looking for a path
or a shortcut.
Nothing led me
at the arrival point,
nobody took me
by hand,
each of mine steps
follow the rules
of the good way,
make arrangements
to the others
like violin’s horsehair
and wait for the right vibration
the sound of a beat
that will take me home.
 
 
 
III
 
My say on this obituary
is no needed
better would express a stone
rolled
in the pit.
Each stone a thought
Each thought a name
Each name a cross.
Leaf, stone, scissors
To tell, to do, to kiss
Look at me father.
Do not call me.
Let me live
again seasons of joy.
May I live blue mornings
and pick a poppy to
lay at your feet.
Let the bells ring
in celebration,
may I sing the song
of cicadas
may I come back
as a seagull on the Bosporus
as a swallow in the sun.
Look at me, don’t pronounce
for now my name.

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