Rainbow Tweets #22 – Collective Writing Challenge

🇬🇧 Each week a photo prompt will be provided for you to tell a story in 280 characters or less. Post your little story/entry inspired by the picture in the comments of this post, in the format you prefer (prose, poetry, picture, etc) and using the language of your choice. You can choose to add to an existing story or to start a new entry. This is an experiment around collective writing and micro fiction. Have fun with it!

🇮🇹 Ogni settimana verrà fornita una foto per raccontare una storia in 280 caratteri o meno. Pubblica la tua storia breve ispirata dall’immagine nei commenti di questo post, nel formato che preferisci (prosa, poesia, immagine, ecc.) e nella la lingua che preferisci. Puoi scegliere di aggiungere una storia esistente o iniziare con un nuovo commento. Questo è un esperimento di scrittura collettiva e micro fiction. Buon divertimento!

This week’s picture is:

Photo by Asad Photo Maldives on Pexels.com

Rainbow Tweets #1

Rainbow Tweets #2

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Not Heat Flames Up and Consumes, by Whitman

Walt WhitmanLeaves of Grass – Calamus – 1855 – translated from English into Italian by Enzo Martinelli

🇺🇸

Not Heat Flames Up and Consumes

  Not heat flames up and consumes,
  Not sea-waves hurry in and out,
  Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly
      along white down-balls of myriads of seeds,
  Waited, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may;
  Not these, O none of these more than the flames of me, consuming,
      burning for his love whom I love,
  O none more than I hurrying in and out;
  Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never give up? O I the same,
  O nor down-balls nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting clouds,
      are borne through the open air,
  Any more than my soul is borne through the open air,
  Wafted in all directions O love, for friendship, for you.

🇮🇹

Non calore che infiamma e consuma

Non calore che infiamma e consuma,
non le onde del mare che si affollano dentro e fuori,
non l'aria deliziosa e secca, l'aria dell'estate matura, che porta soavemente
   soffioni bianchi con miriadi di semi,
Aspettavano, navigando con grazia, di cadere dove potevano;
non questi, o nessuno di questi più delle mie fiamme, consumanti, 
ardenti per il suo amore che amo,
Oh nessuno più di quanto mi affollo dentro e fuori;
Sarà che la marea si affolla, cercando qualcosa e non si arrende mai? O io lo stesso
O né soffioni né profumi, né le alte nuvole che sprizzano pioggia,
sono portati dall'aria aperta,
Non più di quanto la mia anima sia trasportata dall'aria aperta,
diffusa in tutte le direzioni, oh amore, per amicizia, per te.
Photo by Erik Mclean on Pexels.com

Poesia in traduzione

Translated Poetry

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Thrown in the Throat, by Benjamin Garcia

Queso de Patas

from Thrown in the Throat

Benjamin Garcia

güera they called my mother,                    
        whitest of seven siblings,                                        
               though she was never white as snow

or milk—her skin tinged amber                                                                                                        
        like the Mexican cheese that smelled of feet       
              that I refused to eat as a child, convinced

the cheese was mixed                    
       by rancher’s bare toes, like grapes                                        
              mashed to make some tawny wine

and from brown and cracked soles                    
         acquired its yellow color, inherited                                        
               the yellow skin, odorous hard wheel

that did not melt, only crumbled when fresh                    
        or aged would shred upon metallic scales                                        
                to sawdust or confetti strands that,

when sprinkled, exhaled a pungent breath                    
         of naked feet that have kissed the earth,                                                              
               stroked bare cement floors, caressed the skin

of other feet, and from contact grown callused                    
        but beautiful, that if covered must breathe     
               through open-toed shoes—huaraches, that

was my mother, the güera needing air                    
        and when her flesh was tossed into the melting                                        
               pot, she resisted, the strength of callused soles,

hard, ungrated as she tread upon this foreign soil                    
        barefoot, an acquired taste that if you smelled                                        
                and did not eat, you could not understand.

From Thrown in the Throat by Benjamin Garcia (Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions, 2020)
Copyright © 2020 by Benjamin Garcia
Reprinted with permission from Milkweed Editions. (milkweed.org)
All rights reserved.

photo: Lynda Le

Benjamin Garcia’s first collection of poems, Thrown in the Throat, was selected for the 2019 National Poetry Series by Kazim Ali. He is a 2019 Lambda Literary Fellow, was the 2017 Latinx Scholar at the Frost Place, and was a 2018 CantoMundo Fellow at the Palm Beach Poetry Festival. His work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Best New Poets 2018, Crazyhorse, Kenyon Review, The Missouri Review, and New England Review. Garcia received his MFA from Cornell University and currently works as a sexual health and harm reduction educator in the Finger Lakes region of New York.

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Rainbow Tweets #21 – Collective Writing Challenge

🇬🇧 Each week a photo prompt will be provided for you to tell a story in 280 characters or less. Post your little story/entry inspired by the picture in the comments of this post, in the format you prefer (prose, poetry, picture, etc) and using the language of your choice. You can choose to add to an existing story or to start a new entry. This is an experiment around collective writing and micro fiction. Have fun with it!

🇮🇹 Ogni settimana verrà fornita una foto per raccontare una storia in 280 caratteri o meno. Pubblica la tua storia breve ispirata dall’immagine nei commenti di questo post, nel formato che preferisci (prosa, poesia, immagine, ecc.) e nella la lingua che preferisci. Puoi scegliere di aggiungere una storia esistente o iniziare con un nuovo commento. Questo è un esperimento di scrittura collettiva e micro fiction. Buon divertimento!

This week’s picture is:

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

Rainbow Tweets #1

Rainbow Tweets #2

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Enfance I, by Rimbaud

Arthur Rimbaud

Enfance I – Les illuminations – Arthur Rimbaud – 1886 – with translations from French into English and Italian by Enzo Martinelli 

🇫🇷  

Enfance

             Cette idole, yeux noirs et crin jaune, sans parents ni cour, plus noble que la fable, mexicaine et flamande; son domaine, azur et verdure insolents, court sur des plages nommées, par des vagues sans vaisseaux, de noms férocement grecs, slaves, celtiques.
            A la lisière de la forêt, — les fleurs de rêve tintent, éclatent, éclairent, — la fille à lèvre d'orange, les genoux croisés dans le clair déluge qui sourd des prés, nudité qu'ombrent, traversent et habillent les arcs-en-ciel, la flore, la mer.
            Dames qui tournoient sur les terrasses voisines de la mer; enfantes et géantes, superbes noires dans la mousse vert-de-gris, bijoux debout sur le sol gras des bosquets et des jardinets dégelés, — jeunes mères et grandes soeurs aux regards pleins de pèlerinages, sultanes, princesses de démarche et de costumes tyranniques, petites étrangères et personnes doucement malheureuses.
            Quel ennui, l'heure du "cher corps" et "cher coeur"!

🇬🇧

Childhood

This idol, black eyes and yellow horsehair, without parents or court, nobler than the fable, Mexican and Flemish; its domain, insolent azure and greenery, runs on beaches called, by waves without vessels, with fiercely Greek, Slavic, Celtic names.
At the edge of the forest - the dream flowers ring, burst, light up - the girl with the orange lip, her knees crossed in the clear deluge which rises from the meadows, nudity shadowed, cross and dress the rainbows, flora, sea.
Ladies spinning on the terraces near the sea; children and giants, superb black in the verdigris moss, jewels standing on the greasy soil of groves and thawed gardens, - young mothers and big sisters with eyes full of pilgrimages, sultanesses, princesses of walk and tyrannical costumes, little strangers and gently unhappy people.
What a bore, the hour of the "dear body" and "dear heart"!

🇮🇹

Infanzia

Questo idolo, occhi neri e crine giallo, senza genitori né corte, più nobile della favola, messicana e fiamminga; il suo dominio, insolente azzurro e verde, scorre su spiagge chiamate, da onde senza navi, dai nomi fieramente greci, slavi, celtici.
Ai margini del bosco - i fiori del sogno risuonano, sbocciano, si accendono - la ragazza dal labbro arancione, le ginocchia incrociate nel limpido diluvio che si alza dai prati, la nudità in ombra, attraversa e veste gli arcobaleni, la flora, il mare.
Signore che filano sulle terrazze vicino al mare; bambini e giganti, superbo nero nel muschio verderame, gioielli in piedi sul terreno unto di boschetti e giardini scongelati, - giovani madri e sorelle maggiori con gli occhi pieni di pellegrinaggi, sultane, principesse dal passo e costumi tirannici, piccoli estranei e persone delicatamente infelici.
Che noia, l'ora del "caro corpo" e del "caro cuore"!

Poèsie en traduction

Poesia in traduzione

Translated Poetry

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Forsythia — Original Poetry, Scribings and Photography

Perching between tangled trees,

Blue jay, guide the way

Home as chunks of kicked

Snow skid like Styrofoam.

Creator of Earth, to water

Added dirt, and delivered

Kindling to Hell. Where are we

Headed chattering passerine? 

Heaven? I cannot tell, forced

To dwell on the inconceivable;

Quarantined like vased clippings

Of Forsythia, forced to flower

Clusters of four yellow lobes 

Inside, away from the vibrant

Shining sunrays of early spring.

We repent our sins during Lent

Before reckoning blossoms.

Yet, not rising Easter Sunday

To witness another resurrection.

An invisible killer silently floating.

Forsythia — Original Poetry, Scribings and Photography
Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

Rainbow Tweets #20 – Collective Writing Challenge

🇬🇧 Each week a photo prompt will be provided for you to tell a story in 280 characters or less. Post your little story/entry inspired by the picture in the comments of this post, in the format you prefer (prose, poetry, picture, etc) and using the language of your choice. You can choose to add to an existing story or to start a new entry. This is an experiment around collective writing and micro fiction. Have fun with it!

🇮🇹 Ogni settimana verrà fornita una foto per raccontare una storia in 280 caratteri o meno. Pubblica la tua storia breve ispirata dall’immagine nei commenti di questo post, nel formato che preferisci (prosa, poesia, immagine, ecc.) e nella la lingua che preferisci. Puoi scegliere di aggiungere una storia esistente o iniziare con un nuovo commento. Questo è un esperimento di scrittura collettiva e micro fiction. Buon divertimento!

This week’s picture is:

Photo by Masha Raymers on Pexels.com

Rainbow Tweets #1

Rainbow Tweets #2

Like to a ship that storms urge on its course, by Pessoa

Fernando Pessoa

from «35 Sonnets». 1918, in Poemas Ingleses. by Fernando Pessoa – translated into Italian by Enzo Martinelli

🇬🇧

Like to a ship that storms urge on its course, 
By its own trials our soul is surer made. 
The very things that make the voyage worse 
Do make it better; its peril is its aid. 
And, as the storm drives from the storm, our heart 
Within the peril disimperilled grows; 
A port is near the more from port we part-- 
The port whereto our driven direction goes. 
If we reap knowledge to cross-profit, this 
From storms we learn, when the storm’s height doth drive-- 
That the black presence of its violence is 
The pushing promise of near far blue skies. 
Learn we but how to have the pilot-skill, 
And the storm’s very might shall mate our will.

🇮🇹

Come una nave che le tempeste spingono sulla sua rotta,
dalle sue stesse prove la nostra anima è resa più sicura.
Proprio le cose che peggiorano il viaggio
lo rendono migliore; il suo pericolo è il suo aiuto.
E, mentre la tempesta si allontana dalla tempestosità, il nostro cuore
dentro il pericolo cresce fuor di pericolo;
Un porto è più vicino quanto più dal porto ci separiamo …
il porto dove siamo diretti..
Se mettiamo a frutto la conoscenza guadagnata, questo
dalle tempeste apprendiamo, quando l'altezza della tempesta ci conduce …
che la presenza nera della sua violenza è
la promessa vigorosa di cieli azzurri vicini.
Impariamo ad avere l'abilità del pilota,
e la stessa potenza della tempesta si accoppierà con la nostra volontà.

Poesia in traduzione

Translated poetry

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Only for you — The Babbling of a Poet

I am only moving parts 
I am only a doll 
only for you
I will surrender my dignity
and body 
to enjoy a one night-stand that will indicate exactly 
how lonely I am 
only for you

Only you 
have come here lurking for sex,
that is much like candy 
Only you are sweet 
for a moment 
Then gone
Only you

Only with you
I am no person 
I am no human 
only with you 
I will put my life and needs aside 
to bow to your every lustrous need

Only you have come to my profile
Looked at my photos 
and messaged me 
"heyy wanna some fun tonite?"
Only you 
showed the rest of the world what being gay is all about.

Only for you — The Babbling of a Poet

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Pexels.com

Rainbow Tweets #19 – Collective Writing Challenge

🇬🇧 Each week a photo prompt will be provided for you to tell a story in 280 characters or less. Post your little story/entry inspired by the picture in the comments of this post, in the format you prefer (prose, poetry, picture, etc) and using the language of your choice. You can choose to add to an existing story or to start a new entry. This is an experiment around collective writing and micro fiction. Have fun with it!

🇮🇹 Ogni settimana verrà fornita una foto per raccontare una storia in 280 caratteri o meno. Pubblica la tua storia breve ispirata dall’immagine nei commenti di questo post, nel formato che preferisci (prosa, poesia, immagine, ecc.) e nella la lingua che preferisci. Puoi scegliere di aggiungere una storia esistente o iniziare con un nuovo commento. Questo è un esperimento di scrittura collettiva e micro fiction. Buon divertimento!

This week’s picture is:

Photo by Nick Bondarev on Pexels.com

Rainbow Tweets #1

Rainbow Tweets #2

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