The snail to the earthworm:
Tunnels, tunnels for your train
that pierces and sluggishly passes in the dark!
Keep them level, for you not to emerge
to the road of dust, in the sun,
to the cobblestones where you die withered
and a foot then breaks you like a vial
of glass with a thousand rings:
those that now clasp your mood
and drive thee to flow within the earth
in which you form the incessant shell
that accompanies thy weakness.
The earthworm to the snail:
train of a slow queen
coiled in a spiral
at the bottom of the path
as if through long night…
There I find you again, returning
with the sun still high above
and the love that followed you
along the incessant journey leaves me.
You did not reach the crevice established
by my hope that coincided
the time figured by your trait
with that used by you in the space
open to your will and mine.
It was to draw from it a glimmer of hope
that on dark tiredness would flash
to relieve the ill-carried burdens
in this expectation of happy rendezvous.
Disappointed, now I am your enemy
in the futile desire that you move
in tenacious progress to the point.
(Have I a comparison of measure
to ask that you bathe new ground
Towards the goal which I set from me to you
in challenge to the coded course of the world?)
I invite you to get out of your shell
but fails the childish song.
(Do you fear my somber and wrathful voice?)
A blade of grass is therefore the sting.
You retract, without space, into yourself
and slime, in green foams, hides thee
behind your and my horror.
Decided. I know that tomorrow
you will not be here, in torment,
and I, seeking your path
I shall find myself slower than you
scattering on the imagined road
so much mood that it will leave a dense trace
up to the top of the wall
assigned to me against the emptiness of the sky.
Le poesie Il lombrico e La lumaca di Arturo Loria tratte da Bestiario