Il funambolo - Enrico Ruggeri

Questo tempo libera la poesia.

Passa un’ora e non pi№ la mia

ma rimane l¬, immobile

quella corda tesa tra la realt

e la pi№ strana fantasia

come i minuti e le perplessit

tra le stesse quotidianit

ma sarІ l¬, libero

pi№ vicino al cielo volerІ

non precipiterІ tra l’azzurro e la citt

la citt vola via

vola sopra a quell’idea

di equilibrio e simmetria

dove il tempo svanir

c' il funambolo che sa

passa il tempo e il tempo dimmi che cos'

se il presente tiene dentro s

ogni passato prossimo

come se non fossimo gi qui

ancora immobili, cos¬

con quei ricordi indistruttibili

quei sentimenti indivisibili

saremo l¬,

fragili e nasconderemo le armonie

di certe poesie

tra l’azzurro e le citt

la citt vola via

vola sopra a quell’idea

di equilibrio e simmetria

dove il tempo svanir

c' il funambolo che sa

questo tempo immobile che limita

sbriciola il futuro che verr

ma abbiamo gi un’anima

che conduce verso l’allegria

o la malinconia

come se spingessimo altalene

in preda alla follia

tra l’azzurro e un’idea quell’idea vola via vola sulle citt

tra equilibrio e simmetria

quando il tempo fuggir

il funambolo sapr

il funambolo sapr.

(Grazie a emilio per questo testo)

This time frees poetry.

An hour goes by and not mine anymore

but it remains there, motionless

that tightrope between reality

and the strangest fantasy

like the minutes and the perplexities

between the same everyday

but it will be there, free

as close to heaven as I want

I will not fall between the blue and the city

the city flies away

flies above that idea

of balance and symmetry

where time will fade

there is the tightrope walker who knows

time passes and time tell me what

if the present holds within s

every perfect past tense

as if we weren't already here

still motionless, like this

with those indestructible memories

those indivisible feelings

we will be there,

fragile and we will hide the harmonies

of certain poems

between the blue and the cities

the city flies away

flies above that idea

of balance and symmetry

where time will fade

there is the tightrope walker who knows

this still time that limits

crumbles the future that will come

but we already have a soul

that leads to happiness

or melancholy

as if we were pushing swings

in the grip of madness

between blue and an idea that idea flies away flies over the cities

between balance and symmetry

when time will flee

the tightrope walker will know

the tightrope walker will know.

(Thanks to emilio for this text)