A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.
A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren't enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.
Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.
A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren't enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.
Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
MAGIA NERA
Una donna che scrive è troppo emotiva
Ah che rivelazioni e tormenti
come se le mestruazioni e i bambini
e le proprie singolarità non fossero abbastanza;
come se i lamenti e i pettegolezzi
e le verdure non bastassero mai
Lei pensa di poter ammonire le stelle
Una scrittrice è soprattutto una spia
Amore caro , sono io quella ragazza.
Un uomo che scrive razionalizza troppo
Puntualizzando così ogni mania !
come se le erezioni e i congressi e i risultati
non fossero abbastanza; come se le macchine e le onorificenze
e le guerre non bastassero mai
Con i mobili usati lui costruisce un albero
Uno scrittore è essenzialmente un truffatore
amore caro , sei tu quell'uomo
Incapaci di amarci
spesso odiando le nostre scarpe e i nostri cappelli
ci adoriamo l'un l'altro come rarità
Le nostre mani sono celestiali e delicate
I nostri occhi colmi di segreti inconfessabili
Ma quando ci sposiamo
i figli scappano nauseati
c'è troppo cibo e nessuno ritorna a reclamarne gli avanzi
