Network Poetry

Image

Crisscross by Androwilli (on flickr)

I have often Imagined that glances

survive the act of seeing

as if they were poles,

measuring rods, lances

thrown in a battle.

Then I think that in a room

one has just left

those same lines must stay behind

sometimes suspended there and crisscrossed

untouched and overlaid like the wooden pieces

in a game of pick-up-sticks.

(by Valierio Magrelli, translated from the Italian by Dana Gioia)

 (the heading is mine, not the poem’s)

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