Realesed From Customs

Poetry and Nasoni



Clof, clop, cloche, cloffete, cloppete, clocchette, chchch .....
and 'down' in the courtyard, the fountain sick poor;
that agony! hear her cough.
coughs, coughs, a little
is silent .... again, coughing.
My poor fountain, the evil that you
heart I would. It is silent, does not throw more 'anything.
It is silent, is heard no noise whatsoever that maybe ...
that maybe she's dead? Oh horror! no.
here again, still coughing,
Clof, clop, cloche, cloffete, cloppete, chchch ....
Tuberculosis kills him.
holy God, his eternal cough that strikes me,
a little is good, but so much .... Who complain!
But Habel! Victory! Go, run, close to the source,
kills me that his eternal cough!
Go, put something to end it, maybe ...
perhaps die. Madonna! Jesus! No more! Not anymore.
My poor fountain, with the evil you have,
'll end up, you kill me well.
Clof, clop, cloche, cloffete, cloppete, clocked, chchch ... (A. Palazzeschi)