Mothers
Mothers
of my own sins
And of
every desire, where are you?
Mothers
who, without stopping, give birth
To weary
fates in unrealized times.
I have no
memory about chosen paths:
Only
about byways to pave
Pulling
away weeds on the back of the edges.
Mothers,
I am alone
Should I
ever be ashamed of this scream?
I cannot
hear my lament:
I’m
propagating it just like a crow
Who
believes in his song more than anyone else.
Mothers,
I am standing there motionless
Gaudy and
flowing like Mόnch’s ghost,
Bruise
and inaccurate like Shiele’s boy,
Mothers,
I am just and only
A
backbeated son,
A hymn to
victory prior to the battle,
And, to
silence, a voice in counterpoint.
Mothers,
perhaps I’m not and I will never be
More than
an intimate and folded flap of something.
I belong
to any Story that has been worn out,
A date display with three dots at
the bottom...
Red
The red
houses burn blurry
Under
this crackling hour
That
gives again blood to the walls.
I cannot
recognize the morning sea
If the
sun grasps it with one arm
Ready to
do the makeup again,
Nor the
melancholic sky above my South,
If it
slowly abandons it.
Who knows
why poets love the sunset!
Perhaps
because of the rouge
Before
the premiere,
Waiting
For the
sanguine hope
That the
show will begin,
Or
perhaps for the day after,
For the new day.
Wireless
I told of
you songs and springs
and I
neglected time rhythms and seasons.
I tired
your weakened refrains,
the north wind of November
together beat me up.
I told of
you more madnesses again
shocks
and thrills,
with
solitudes I filled up caresses
and the
fists with the little I had left.
I wore
down your skies with the apocalypses
of random
coffee grounds.
I died
proud of honesty.
I was
reborn so high and empty
without a
parachuted.
And of
you I told the credit of all my evil.
I was
even able to echo
the
bubbling of the blood
of my
humanity lost who knows where.
One
question I hissed and then I killed you.
With that
blade I engraved all the time
the
rhythms the seasons
and I
told of you gone springs
memories, songs.
Apocalypses
(Realismo Terminale Exercise
No.19)
if we are
not already patients in recovery
we are
silent queued up visitors
crammed
into the small lift
to float
among the sewage of thoughts
as
remnants of pulp in the tetrapak:
to each
one his shelf and the right ward
where to
try again the ability
to defy
pain head-on
and keep
it away just a little longer.
so might as well call them
apocalypses.
Author’s Bionote:
*Vito
Davoli (Bari, Italy, 1973) is a poet, writer, essayist, literary
critic, translator, and journalist. With a graduation in Classical Literature,
he has contributed and continues to contribute to various national and
international magazines and publications. He works as an author, screenwriter,
and graphic artist in the cinematographic field. He has been a secondary school
teacher, editor of “LaVallisa” (a
literary magazine in southern Italy) and editor of the series “Inediti Rari e
Diversi” (edited by Dario Bellezza until his death for Pellicano, Rome); he is
now the founder of “APS Verso Levante”, owner of the biannual literary magazine
“La Calce & il Dado”, of which he is deputy director and member of the
scientific committee; he founded and coordinates the blog and the aperiodic
magazine of the same name, “Pubblicazioni Letterariæ”, and directs the poetry
collection “Polveri”, which he founded for the publishing house Tabula fati.
His first publication in Italy was “Contraddizioni” (Leucò 2001). In 2022, he
published the collection of poems “Carne e sangue”, now in its fourth edition.
The following year, he published the booklet “Intr-un pumn de furie / In un
pugno di rabbia” in Bucharest, as a bilingual Italian-Romanian edition. His
most recent publication is the bilingual Italian-Spanish collection “Tanto vale
chiamarle apocalissi / Más vale llamarlas apocalipsis”, with a preface by Guido
Oldani, founder of Terminal Realism (Tabula fati, 2025). His texts have been
translated and published in Spanish, English, French, Portuguese, Serbian,
Albanian, Arabic and Romanian. His works have been reviewed by leading Italian
and international critics and intellectuals. Considered one of the most
influential voices in Apulian and Italian social poetry, his civic commitment
is reflected in the publication, together with poet, journalist and activist
Marco Cinque, of three international anthologies in solidarity: “SignorNò!”
(against the use of weapons, 2022); “Il buio della ragione” (against the
practice of torture, 2024), recently cited in the Italian literature history
textbook for secondary schools, entitled “Del mondo esperti”, edited by the
prominent Prof. Giuseppe Langella, and, finally, “Poeti da morire” (against the
death penalty, 2025).
