Three Poems by Gemma Gorga, Translated by Sharon Dolin


[It's raining, without meaning to]

It's raining, without meaning to. The way sometimes you hurt someone, also without meaning to. So it rains, and when it rains, time is always about to lose its balance, perhaps because of these leaves scattered on the ground, with their backs wet and their transparent skin about to disappear. Treading on one, I slip into the past with the fleeting gesture of the ellipse. Now, it's three years ago, three years, three years, we are walking this same avenue under the yellow rain of streetlights, drops as slanted as a coward's gaze. And I grab hold of the sleeve of your woolen trench coat. Because I'm scared, scared of slipping and falling prematurely into the future. 


[Plou, sense voler]

Plou, sense voler. Com qui de vegades fa mal, també sense voler. Així doncs, plou, i quan plou el temps és sempre a punt de perdre l'equilibri, potser per culpa d'aquestes fulles que s'escampen per terra, l'esquena mullada i la carn transparent a punt de la desaparició. En trepitjo una i rellisco en el passat amb el gest fugaç de l'el·lipsi. Ara és fa tres anys, tres anys, tres anys: caminem per aquesta mateixa avinguda sota la pluja groga dels fanals, les gotes obliqües com la mirada d'un covard. I jo m'agafo ben fort a la màniga de la teva trenca de llana. Perquè tinc por, por de relliscar i caure prematurament en el futur.