yellow-green blades

stand at attention

motionless

on a windless, humid morning

inhaling moist air

covered in beads of sweat

that stay 

break tension

and drip down

to the dark brown earth.

Col sole, una mattina, ho visto come

la vostra forza vi ha fermato,

care case.

Voi non andate da nessuna parte.

Restate qui, a portata di mano,

ma guardate lontano,

via, laggiù, dove siete

veramente fondate.

Eyeful

Translation by Christopher Ribaudo

In sunlight, one morning, I saw how

your strength detained you,

dear houses.

You are not going anywhere.

You stay here, within reach,

yet you keep looking far away

way off, down there, where your

foundations really are.

soggy, walnut timbers dripped with pride

and gave birth to memories of when

men turned their long ships to the sea

and sailed the coaxing coastlines

from Northumbria to North Africa

dreaming of adventure

praying to Njord

longing for home.

The sapphire sun kisses the Pacific morning

and steeled men armed with caffeine cups

float beneath the knowing gaze of Morro Rock

and turn their ships into the fog.

Warriors of the sea,

fighting legal currents and shifting tides,

they trawl the coaxing coastlines

from Channel Islands to Moss Landing

dreaming of adventure

hoping to net gold

still longing for home. 

though your heart was rocked by news that day.

You are safe, heading home, leave all your cares.

You did not like it and it all seemed unfair.

What can be said in times like then? Just pray.

Keep on trusting through the toils and snares.

You worried and hoped for life to be spared,

but a miracle did not come his way.

You are safe, heading home, leave all your cares.

Tears from thoughts of your daughter's untouched hair

and the grandkids with all the games unplayed--

keep on trusting through the toils and snares.

Believing disbelief without despair.

Found but lost in a momentary way.

You are safe, heading home, leave all your cares.

It's hard to see--even you would not dare

to believe the look of his love these days.

Keep on trusting through the toils and snares.

You are safe, heading home, leave all your cares.

So spring me, unlock me 

crack the chains and loose me.

I’m sick and tired of the daily churn—

birth and death

pleasure and pain 

laughter and tears

smiles and frowns

springs and winters

Sox and Cubs

sweet and sour

plenty and want

victories and defeats

dancing and mourning

giving and receiving

young and old

muscle and fat

hair and baldness

health and sickness

prayer and action

faith and doubt

light and darkness.

One day you’re going to bust me out of here.

One day this drama will be done

the weight of glory set in

the paradox gone

and experience resolved into one

without darkness

without tears

without fears

without death

and joy forever.

Red-amber leaves and new books marked the fall

as row after row of houses and streets

mail boxes and pavement sprawled before him.

It was a little later than usual

because his dad gave him extra time to play--

time that means so much to a boy in school

trying his best to live against the grain.

It was reward for work well done.

A crowded car pulled beside and stopped.

A smoky window rattled down

then a muzzle snarled lead

through the autumn air into his temple

and slithered away. 

His spattered backpack cradled his limp limbs.

Motionless, the future laid eyes shut. 

Everyone knew the script--

the cops questioned

the neighbors knew nothing

the world kept turning

and the rest of us returning to things to do.

Copyright © 2010, Christopher Ribaudo. All rights reserved.

Translation by Christopher Ribaudo.

Laying on the grass

a girl and a boy.

Eating oranges, sharing kisses

like waves sharing foam.

Laying on the beach

a girl and a boy.

Eating lemons, sharing kisses

like clouds sharing foam.

Laying under the earth

a girl and a boy.

Saying nothing, never kissing

sharing silence for silence.

Los Novios

By Octavio Paz

Tendidos en la yerba 
una muchacha y un muchacho. 
Comen naranjas, cambian besos 
como las olas cambian sus espumas.

Tendido en la playa 
una muchacha y un muchacho. 
Comen limones, cambian besos 
como las nubes cambian espumas.

Tendidos bajo tierra 
una muchacha y un muchacho. 
No dicen nada, no se besan, 
cambian silencio por silencio.

Copyright © 2010, Christopher Ribaudo. All rights reserved.

when they saw the skyline of stone and steel

drifting below her torch above the bay?

Were they silent? Did they shout, cry or kneel?

And when they walked on the alien earth

weeks away from the hills of Sicily

it must have seemed like a death and a birth

knowing new life would not come easily.

Amid full bankruptcies and foreclosed homes

the air is heavy with a tang of greed.

Crystal hopes and plans and unspoken dreams

turned to scrambling, wherever it leads.

It's a brand new day—one I did not choose.

In the growing shadows of autumn's cool

I am wondering, unsure what to do. 

Copyright © 2010, Christopher Ribaudo. All rights reserved.

surrounded by craters of rain water

purple and gold stars of hyacinth and poppy

and lush, green grass grown long

being combed by the wind's fingers.

Under the weight of nylon ropes and runners,

harnesses and slings, the tinkling of the carabineers and chalks

made us feel more solemn.

Climbing in spring was the time in our lives

when our hidden parts

would come into plain view

display our limits and fears

reveal more of who we were

and we discovered we were alive.

I glowed and gloried in those days

and lusted for them not to end.

I did not realize these were just a few peaks

in a mountain range of life

that extends to today and runs through tomorrow.

I forgot where I laid my gear long ago.

But I am still climbing.

Copyright © 2010, Christopher Ribaudo. All rights reserved.

straight up with your amber face 

lit by November’s sun

you were maternine beauty in the flesh.

Hair brushed, lips glossed, glasses removed

there were no tremors or fumbling like the first time.

Your knowing eyes were a green paradox—

softness and strength.

As the time drew near

contractions seared like meteors in a night sky.

Building in intensity

I watched in helpless amazement

as you traveled between control and abandonment

to a place I will never know.

When the boy was laid in my arms

after he had rested at your breasts,

I cried for the new life that was

and for the new life to come.

It was a joyful sound.

Then I thought there was so much I didn’t understand,

like the foundations of the earth

the path to light’s dwelling

the arrival of constellations in season

the way of the wind

and the mystery of a mother’s moiling love

to bring life.

Copyright © 2010, Christopher Ribaudo. All rights reserved.