Painter from the Marche, The Infant Jesus, 18th century (detail).
the earth turns, it is a cradle and we fall asleep in the world, it turns and we sleep another life. We wake up here, still weeping until two good beasts look over us with their warm breath.
*
from birth, the good felt in arms lasts all life long, look at this city, lifted from its weight with all that happens and what it contains —it has hands that love, for foundations.
Francesco Menzocchi, Polyptych, ca. 1535. San Marino (detail).
*
from the bed, in the moonless hour carried by many arms onto a sheet and laid out with open hands on the grass to question the stars
his chest, a pumice stone on which to break bread.
*
my belly a pot that cooks harm in the good I’ve known a warmer that keeps the embers of war under the ashes—protect the circle of breathing.
Francesco Menzocchi, Polyptych, ca. 1535, Descent from the Cross (detail of the predella).
*
you can fill a cabinet but wealth is the sunlight
coming down, with many coins at night. You rule the world if you have the sea in your eyes.
*
walk, remember: the shells at your ears, at your lips the mug that offers you every wave —so lives the tongue that dances in your body
(7)- Necklaces and pendants in stone and glass paste. (8)-Stone seals.
*
old nameless saint holy infant in the hospice
in every almanac is feted the birth of your dying —a white truth that smooths the pebble mind.
*
pollywogs, darts of light in the shaken air—the wind revives the fire: the globules go back up the veins around the refracted body of the sun.
Giovanni Laurentini (also called Arrigoni), Saint Girolamo and Saint Biagio (1613).
*
bring a stone to your chest knock on your name
and the darkness we bear opens up the space between the stars.
*
before it becomes light the body is brightened earth a lamp that someone turns on to keep from getting lost.
*
we are born pierced: a string between fibers and bones holds us pearls on the chest of the universe.
Biconical necklace elements. Glazed terracotta. Early Middle Ages.
Note: Franca Mancinelli’s poems have been written for the project Il museo in poesia: per una personale visione del dettaglio (The Museum in Poetry: For a Personal Vision of Detail), curated by Juan Carlos Ceci and Franca Mancinelli, under the auspices of the Istituti Culturali of the Republic of San Marino—Musei di Stato, sezione didattica e sezione archeologica. The illustrations of the Museo di Stato della Repubblica di San Marino are reproduced here with the courtesy and permission of the Istituti Culturali della Repubblica di San Marino.
Photo credit: Chiara Signoretti
Franca Mancinelli (b. 1981) is one of the most important poetic voices in Italian poetry and generous samples of her writings have often first appeared in The Fortnightly Review. All of her published work is available in John Taylor’s English translations. The Bitter Oleander Press has issued The Little Book of Passage(2018), At an Hour’s Sleep from Here(2019), as well as a volume gathering Mancinelli’s prose narratives and personal essays, The Butterfly Cemetery(2022). Her most recent Italian volume, Tutti gli occhi che ho aperto (Marcos y Marcos, 2020), which won two national Italian prizes, was published in English in 2023 by Black Square Editions as All the Eyes that I Have Opened.
Photo credit: Françoise Daviet-Taylor
John Taylor (b. 1952) is a frequent contributor to The Fortnightly Review. As a translator from three languages (French, Italian, and Modern Greek), he has brought the work of several European poets into English for the first time. His most recent translations include books by Pascal Quignard, Philippe Jaccottet, Béatrice Douvre, Charline Lambert, Veroniki Dalakoura, and Elias Petropoulos. His own volumes of poetry and poetic prose include Grassy Stairways,Remembrance of Water & Twenty-Five Trees, A Notebook of Clouds & A Notebook of Ridges, which is a “double book” co-authored with the Swiss poet Pierre Chappuis and published in the Odd Volumes series, and What Comes from the Night.