Bologna in Lettere 2023
International Poetry Review
Maria McManus
Cura e Traduzione Viviana Fiorentino
Première video Mercoledì 3 maggio ore 20.30
sul canale youtube di Bologna in Lettere
Maria McManus’ poetry collections are Available Light, (Arlen House), We are Bone, The Cello Suites and Reading the Dog (all Lagan Press). Ellipses, is published as a limited-edition hand-made pamphlet. (Coast to Coast to Coast, 2021). Collaborations for choral, wind and string ensembles include ELLIPSES and WRETCHES with Keith Acheson and Tierra Sallada with Martin Devek.
Dance theatre and film collaboration include BIND, EPILOGUE, DUST and TURF with Eileen McClory and Conan McIvor.Non- fiction essays have appeared in Fly By Those Nets, The Irish Times, The New Frontier (New Island) Maria is a founding Artistic Director of Quotidian – Word on the Street, which includes the Poetry Jukebox.
The House that Stood for Happiness
(from Available Light, Arlen House, 2018)
1
Where among these feathered paths is rest?
Where the sweet spot,
in half-light, dappled, flickering,
green and airy,
is that sure instict?
How can we know at last
the place called home?
The blackbird fled her shelter:
her confidence, her trust
in the world came to nothing in the end.
The nest she fashioned, pressed out
With urgent tender heartbeats,
lies abondoned.
The setting bird took flight,
her memories, dreams
of the home of ‘then’.
2
I palmed her cold blue eggs,
her latent intimacy:
here, a childhood unlived,
here, a childhood lost.
La Casa che rappresentava la Felicità
(da Available Light, Arlen House, 2018)
1
Dove tra questi sentieri piumati è il riposo?
Dove è quel posto giusto,
di penombra, di luce a chiazze, tremolante,
verde e arioso,
istinto sicuro?
Come sapere infine
il posto chiamato casa?
Il merlo fuggì dal suo rifugio:
la sua sicurezza, la sua fiducia
nel mondo alla fine non le è servita a nulla.
Il nido che ha preparato, modellato
con battiti del cuore teneri e urgenti,
giace abbandonato.
L’uccello prese il volo,
così i suoi ricordi, i sogni
di una casa del “dopo”.
2
Sfiorai le sue uova blu, fredde,
la sua intimità latente:
qui, infanzia non vissuta,
qui, infanzia perduta.