Anti-poet, victim of my anti-poetry,
All I could do is dedicate to you an anti-promise of love…
Ivan Pozzoni, a renowned poet and writer from Italy, shares his poetry
Ivan Pozzoni was born in Monza city of Italy in 1976. He introduced Law and Literature in Italy and the publication of essays on Italian philosophers and on the ethics and juridical theory of the ancient world. He collaborated with several Italian and international magazines. Between 2007 and 2018, different versions of the books were published. He was the founder and director of some literary magazines. He is included in the Atlas of contemporary Italian poets of the University of Bologne and figures in the great international literature review of Gradiva. His verses are translated into French, English and Spanish. In 2024.
THE ANTI-PROMISE TO LOVE
Anti-poet, victim of my anti-poetry,
All I could do is dedicate to you an anti-promise of love,
My anti-promise of love would have the features of a synesthesia,
The Stalinist hardness of steel and the softness of color,
The finesse of friendship and the consistency of love,
Your white eyes turn me into a hydrophobic cynic,
And there’s no doctor for rage, my love.
An anti-promise of love to be read before a registrar,
As to convince a tecno-trivial world,
I’ve loved you since June 1976, perhaps, in truth, since April,
I was an embryo and you were still immersed in the aurora borealis,
For six years you would have been an angel, a ghost, the inessential of a fractal,
Without batting an eyelid waiting for you, six years, thirty-six years, with nothing to say,
The sheep of Panurge’s contemporaries would condemn me to total silence.
You are my anti-promise of love, and the idea may seem imperceptible to you,
i observe you sleeping, serene, like a crumb abandoned in a toaster,
My love I am stripped of the role of ‘sapper’ – it is abyssal like a submarine,
Condemned to scatter torpedoes under the (false) guise of a dogfish.
***
I DON’T FIT IN
I don’t fit in, I have a borderline personality disorder
I give out elbows like Greg ‘The Hammer’ Valentine,
If I don’t apply myself I’ll never be able to aspire to the Nobel Prize
Irreducible deutoplasma among Hegel’s black cows.
I don’t fit in, i have a schizophrenic delusion
I hate the people and dip my pen in arsenic,
I sing, outside the choir, like an X Factor mythomaniac
Defusing bombs and dealing with a metal detector.
I don’t fit in, i’ve got a killer’s disposition,
i wander between the zombies, style King of Pop in Thriller,
Flying at low altitude I quote quotes of quotients,
Forced to pack subtitles for non-users.
I don’t fit in, i have all sorts of phobias,
In the queue i crave the green, like a virtuous dendrophile,
Setting the world on fire, blurring time with the zoom,
I surrender myself to the obsolescence of consecutio temporum.
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🙏🙏🙏