Lucilla Trapazzo (Switzerland – Italy)

Lucilla Trapazzo (Switzerland – Italy)
Lucilla Trapazzo is an award-winning, internationally recognized poet, translator, book editor, artist and performer.
Poetry editor of MockUp Magazine (Italy) and editorial Board member of INNSAEI Journal, India, juror of poetry competitions, moderator and co-organizer of international festivals and art exhibitions, her works have been translated into 14 languages, published in international anthologies and literary magazines (including Atunis Galaxy Anthology 2021).
Guest of International Festivals – North Macedonia (including Struga Poetry Evenings), Tunisia, Albania, Serbia, Italy, Argentina, Columbia, Croatia, India, Crimea, China, her poems have been awarded numerous prizes (the last ones: first prize Civil and Philosophical Poems, XI Checkhov’s Autumn International Festival, Crimea 2021; Gold medal for “Outstanding Poet Award” on the 2021 Yan’an Award, People Republic of China, Creativity Award Naji Naaman, Lebanon 2021).
“Ossidiana”, poetry book, September 2018, Volturnia Edizioni, Isernia, Italy.
“Dei Piccoli Mondi”, poetry book, April 2019, Il Leggio Edizioni, Chioggia, Venezia.
“Trentagiorni”, Haiku Lucilla Trapazzo, photographs Alfio Sacco, September 2019, Il Sextante, Roma.
“Ruscellante”, poetry, April 2019, Volturnia Edizioni, Cerro al Volturno, IS, Italy.
CD –featured in Marco Di Stefano’s CD, Multiverse, Blue Spiral Records, composed on six of her poems, 2021.
Mother, do not stop the absence
instead, let life happen
from meadow to meadow to surprise you
daughter, let the morning be
a wonder maybe
even in the void
wear your white teeth
and all your August’s Sundays
Woman open wide your bountiful thighs
full of fruits
if in the time of boundless sea
the blushing of poppies no longer sings
for you, if it does not inflame you
uproot the scream
from Earth with your naked
The blood overflowing from your pockets
is still alive
remember – one day only one
it was for you flame
of eternity the breath
Non fermare la mancanza madre
lascia invece che la vita accada
di prato in prato ti sorprenda
lascia figlia che il mattino sia
stupore chissà
anche nel vuoto
indossa denti bianchi
e domeniche di agosto
donna spalanca le tue cosce cariche
di frutti
e se nel tempo del mare sconfinato
più non canta il rosseggiare
dei papaveri non t’infiamma
strappa dalla terra con le unghie
Ancora vivo è il sangue che
straripi dalle tasche
un giorno solo uno
ti fu fiamma di eternità
When the sky fell down
the gesture remained fixed in that second
instead all around it was the sudden and vast
murmur of the world
of rustling trees and benches
rubbed with jars of sauce
tinkling of rusty metal panes
of salt and sugar poured
in perfect disharmonic assonance
The instant was magnificent
Pinned to the backdrop with pins
You and I looking at it from opposite shores
trying to understand sense
and geometries
of promises shouted in the intercoms
and then left to the wind
There is latency in the signals in the
voices. The sound always arrives after
the spark. I stay – listening
to its echo.
Quando crollò il cielo
restò fermo nell’istante il gesto
e fu tutto l’improvviso e vasto
mormorio del mondo
di alberi fruscianti e di panchine
strofinate di barattoli di sugo
tintinnanti di lamiere arrugginite
di sale e zucchero versati
in perfetta disarmonica assonanza

L’istante fu magnifico
Appuntato sul fondale con gli spilli

Tu e io a guardarlo dalle rive opposte
cercando di capire senso
e geometrie
promesse urlate nei citofoni
e poi lasciate al vento
C’è latenza nei segnali nelle
voci. Arriva il suono sempre dopo
il lampo. Io resto ad ascoltarne
On the other side of the river
the bird of the night is weeping.
Weeping and dusting the forest with seeds.
In the primary gesture of a performing god
fractures of stars and blushing reflections disclose
(when from the whole he cracked faulty multitudes).
Crave hides us with purple
It lives and moves us with hunger and thirst.
And we are all and we are nothing, every
beginning every end. The absence
of all absences. The lack of every lack.
How many times again we’ll count
fragments of sky in between the branches?
How many times still
his shining laughter will be
my river?
Sull’altra sponda del fiume
di nuovo piange stanotte l’uccello della notte.
Piange e cosparge di semi il bosco.
Fratture di stelle lucenti riflessi
nel gesto primario di un dio performante
-dal tutto indiviso incompiute moltitudini. –
Ci veste di viola l’assenza.
Ci vive e ci smuove di fame e di sete.
E noi siamo tutto e nessuno, ogni inizio
ogni fine. L’assenza di tutte le assenze.
Mancanza di ogni mancanza.
Quante volte ancora conteremo
il cielo a pezzetti tra i rami? Quante volte
ancora le tue risa splendenti saranno
il mio fiume?

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