LUCILLA TRAPAZZO THE VERSATILE ARTIST FROM SWITZERLAND



BIODATA


Poet, translator, artist and performer. Poetry editor of MockUp Magazine, Italy, and Innsaei Literary Journal, India, coeditor of international anthologies, juror in poetry
competitions, co-organizer of international festivals and art exhibitions, guest speaker at international festivals (including Struga Poetry Evenings 2021).
Her poems, translated into 15 languages, are published in international literary journals and awarded multiple prizes (some: First Prize Civil and Philosophical Poems, "XI
Checkhov's Autumn International Festival", Crimea; Gold Medal Outstanding Poet Award, "Yan'an Festival 2021", China; Creativity Award Naji Naaman, Lebanon; Golden
Feather 2021, Russia; Best Book "4th Bo'ao International Poetry Festival", China).

POEMS BY LUCILLA TRAPAZZO IN ENGLISH AND ITALIAN

In Absence - a Boat named Hope

No moon tonight. The voracious belly
of the sea nurses on dreams
and flesh. A boat forgiven
is tainted by shadows
while furrowing the waters.
The promised destiny is distant.
A woman's face is suspended
in absence. Yesterday
the taste of home and native land.
Disdainful beaches
tomorrow.

In assenza - una barca di nome speranza

Niente luna stanotte. Il ventre
vorace del mare si nutre di sogni
e di carne. Una barca graziata
si tinge di ombra solcando le acque.
Distante è il destino promesso.
Un volto di donna sospeso
in assenza. Alle spalle sapore di casa
e terra natale. Spiagge sprezzanti
domani.

In the Grey Never Tired

Again in the frost
the beloved hand rises ferociously
denying her air. Heavy like lead
is the asphalt - and wet
but the injury becomes poetry.
"Oh this Grey is spreading
and I'm craving for sunshine
I wear yellow crops trousers
and a blouse of wildflowers.
I am bird of silk channel of wind
twittering sound.”
Wider and taller she closes the door
singing the sobbing.

Nel grigio mai stanco


Di nuovo nel gelo
la mano diletta si leva feroce
negandole aria. Plumbeo
è l’asfalto bagnato
ma il graffio diventa poesia.
“Perché il grigio dilaga e ho fame di sole
indosso calzoni di messi
mature e una felpa di fiori di campo.
Sono suono che ride
uccello di seta e di vento
canale.”
Più vasta più grande ella chiude la porta
cantando il singhiozzo.


  Fireworks


Thundering grenades, blossoming
trails mowing limbs
and flesh.
With no name or sense a life ends tonight
and it’s worth two pence. It’s a gift
if one arm is left over.
Wisdom of stone to breath to die.
The snow does not wash scarlet tales
of gore.
A circle is completed. Who weeps
tonight with the sky the invisible
stars?


Pirotecnia


Granate tuonanti, sbocciano scie
di coriandoli, arti falciando
e la carne.
Senza nome né senso si chiude la vita
che vale due penny. È un dono
se un braccio ti avanza.
Follia.
La neve non lava racconti scarlatti.
Il cerchio è compiuto. Chi piange
stanotte col cielo le stelle
invisibili?

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