Envelops that strange joy

That, prepared to glow, draws in and interferes.

Antonio Spagnuolo, a renowned poet from Naples, Italy, shares his poetry

Antonio Spagnuolo was born in Naples, Italy on 21 July 1931. In the 1980s he founded and directed the magazine “Prospettive Culturali”, to which distinguished authors and scholars collaborated. He was a member of the editorial staff of the magazine “Realtà” in the same period of other well-known authors such as Aldo Capasso and Lionello Fiumi. Later, he founded and directed the magazine ‘Iride’. He is the founder of the series of books ‘L’assedio della poesia’, which he directed from 1991 to 2006. He published nationally known poets and writers such as Gilberto Finzi, Gio Ferri, Giorgio Bàrberi Squarotti, Massimo Pamio, Ettore Bonessio di Terzet, Giuliano Manacorda, Alberto Cappi, Dante Maffia and others. He attends numerous national and international exhibitions of visual poetry, and his works have been included in many anthologies. He collaborates with cultural journals and magazines. He currently directs the book series “Le parole della Sybilla” for Kairòs editore and the online magazine “poetrydream”). He chairs “L’assedio della poesia 2020” award. His works have been translated into French, English, Modern Greek, Yugoslavian, Spanish, Romanian, Arabic, and Turkish. Antonio Spagnuolo has published several books. He lives in Naples. He is a retired doctor, and many times awarded for his long experience in poetry.

Moments

A moment of light behind my back

Envelops that strange joy

That, prepared to glow, draws in and interferes.

Truth has a tiny lantern frowning

In the silence of sudden occasions,

And I do not locate your smile among the motives

That as a sharp refrain knew the recitation.

I no longer believe that the counting of time

Will occur and only the uncertain reflection

Will force my madness again.

***

Turtle

The turtle counts my steps

As if it wished to prevent in the path

The sweet tangle of extravagance.

But fate never gives up and it surprised us

With hands that knew the drops of magic

Where enchantment changed our caresses

Into the sublime touch of the eternal.

***

Last Report

I can trace memories among the shadows

Sticking figures out of perfection

To revive alchemies

While playing the strange cards of fate.

I have to compile the last report

And bargain with death

A disquieting awaiting for the unknown.

***

Dream

Perhaps the mind has endless discords

Torn as it is by promises

That threaten scriptures

Achieved every day at the highest price.

Filling the walls you give life to sudden

Bounces in the severe replication of

The industry of the sublime,

When you stop here you get the extreme throb.

Until long draws dissolve

In the arcane complaint of the dream.

___________________ 

Read: Antonio Spagnuolo – The traveler of the soul

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