Ecco i vincitori del Concorso SEEKING FOR A POEM

Possiamo finalmente annunciare i vincitori del Concorso internazionale SEEKING FOR A POEM, bandito dalla rivista DIOGEN e dall’Associazione LA STANZA DEL POETA

I vincitori sono:

     1. Teuta Butuči, Zagreb (Croazia) – con la poesia “Dying and cold coffee
     2. Patrick Sammut, Mosta (Malta) – con la poesia “Crossing the Julian Alps
     3. Solmaz Beghman, Mashad (Iran) – con la poesia “Niagara Dreaming

Complimenti e Auguri a tutti: adesso saranno pubblicati su un numero speciale della rivista DIOGEN a cura del direttore Sabahudin Hadzialic (dove avranno un po’ di spazio anche gli altri numerosissimi partecipanti da tutto il mondo!)

Ecco intanto le prime due poesie:

Dying and cold coffee  (di Teuta Butuci)

 Cold coffee my lips are blue my skin is white,

                               the remains of a last night,

                               shattered on the floor.

(It’s been a misunderstanding.)

                               broken glass, water, sugar, wine

on the floor

(It’s been a misunderstanding.)

a vase, glittering with blood

                             red blood,

                             my blood

Once it was mine, now it belongs to the carpet.

Blood stained carpet. In a sterile hotel room.

It’s obviously been a misunderstanding.

I don’t believe it. How could it happen?? How???

I wouldn’t have believed it at all if it wasn’t for the cold coffee.

My lips are blue my skin is white.

“It’s because you’re dead since the last night.”

explains God while he pours me another cup of ethereal cold coffee in the Heavens.

Crossing the Julian Alps (di Patrick Sammut)

 The mountains are alive

they do not spare me one moment.

I can hear their voice calling me

coming out from between the deep crevices,

the echoes reaching high up to the peaks

and deep down inside myself.

My spirit drinks from the pure spring waters

my nostrils breathe in clean air

my ears feed upon the natural voices

birds sing their evening prayers.

I look at the ground as I walk the solitary paths

and see stones coming out like bones

roots protruding like aged fingers

mushrooms, tiny plants and mosses like eczema

flowers natural tattoos

on a million-old body of rocks.

The pines white with snow

white hair of an aged being.

I see bunkers, trenches dug deep

inside the earth

cemeteries and monuments for those

who passed away in vain combat,

tens of niches with holy images

hiding in different secret corners.

The mountains are alive

they do not spare me a moment of rest.

In front of all this I stand in awe

and let silence speak in whispers.


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