Marcia del Camposanto - Vinicio Capossela

E lo portaron al Camposanto

gonfio di birra

senza rimpianto

se lo portaron

seduto in trono

quattro becchini

al passo lento del perdono

due passi avanti

tre passi indietro

sotto la luna livida dello spineto

la cinciallegra

rimase affranta

il gallo dorme

e la civetta canta

nelle pannocchie

tra il frumentone

passò il bastone curvo della processione

la cornacchia

gracchia alla macchia

la gazza luccica

sul becco del trombone

e per la lagna

della malogna

che non portasse un’altra volta la scalogna

l’arciprete

non volle messe

e solo un tocco al sacrestano gli concesse

e la buonanima

di Materdomina

soffia nel mantice della fisarmonica

la marescialla

zoppa di guerra

balla la polka

della stampella

nel tabernacolo

del camposanto

la mammanonna lo depose come un

guanto

dentro la cassa

porta il tesoro

e sopra gli occhi

due zecchini d’oro

e per la Grazia

del suo Mistero

e per la cantica e la tremola del cero

dalle stelle

sparte in cielo

la luna venne

col suo manto nero

gli tolse gli occhi

gli tolse il pianto

che non portasse l’amarezza dentro il campo

si prese in cambio

l’or zecchino

e lo brillò nell’oro in bocca del mattino

e per la Grazia

dello zecchino

brillò più forte l’oro in bocca a quel mattino

And they took him to the Cemetery

swollen with beer

without regret

they took it

seated on the throne

four gravediggers

at the slow pace of forgiveness

two steps forward

three steps back

under the livid moon of the spinetum

the great tit

she was heartbroken

the rooster sleeps

and the owl sings

in the cobs

between the frumentone

the curved staff of the procession passed

the crow

croaks in the bush

the magpie glitters

on the trombone's beak

and for the complaint

of malice

that he didn't bring bad luck again

the archpriest

he did not want masses

and only a touch the sacristan granted him

and the good soul

by Materdomina

blows into the bellows of the accordion

the marshal

war lame

dance polka

of the crutch

in the tabernacle

of the cemetery

the mother-woman laid him down like a

glove

inside the box

bring the treasure

and above the eyes

two gold sequins

and for Grace

of his Mystery

and for the canticle and the tremola of the candle

from the stars

spreads in the sky

the moon came

with his black cloak

she took his eyes away

she took away his tears

that did not bring bitterness into the field

took it in exchange

the pure gold

and she shone it in the gold in the morning's mouth

and for Grace

of the sequin

the gold in the mouth that morning shone brighter