CHANDRA LIVIA CANDIANI – Apprentices of the moon in the meditation room
Meditation and poetry are “nocturnal ways” – clear-cut and essential although not easily deciphered by reason. They are like moonlight that shines in the dark, that illumines and veils. In the East, the moon represents the mind that reflects, is compassionate, does not separate. The moon teaches the flow and holds the secret of appearances and disappearances. Poetry, too, is reflected light, mysterious gift that disappears in the new paragraph and reappears in the next verse. Meditation is the art of dwelling in everything – even in disappearance, even in nothingness; dwelling in nothingness like the new moon. Chandra Livia Candiani proposes a connection between poetry and meditation, a shared time to experiment together, to conquer the fear of the void and recognize the space in it. We are all apprentices, and being apprentices of the moon means not to fear darkness, to learn the art of wandering and of silent traces. The meditation room is portable, it is our body. – source
Nell’orto c’è paura c’è
mezzogiorno di fuoco,
tu Bea porta con te
la tana tenera
dell’amicizia, dicono
che ho troppi doni nelle mani
e tu che nel troppo
avevi dimora, distribuiscili
tra i passeri, i lombrichi,
le chiocciole, dalli in pasto
ai trifogli e alla salvia,
non far crescere fiori
che mi rapinano lo sguardo.
Dicono che io sono sempre
in allarme, all’erta
e tu profuga smarrita
in ogni agio
spiegaglielo che sono in veglia
in canto insonne di uccelli
per ubriacatura di primavera.
Se ti portassi qui
saresti in breve la monaca folle
sposata con le piante
e gli animali e tutto il resto
che fa capolino
dal mistero.
Ci sei e non ci sei,
sei il luogo,
troppo vasta
per vederti.
Sfiorami dunque
col pensiero
come fanno le mosche
quando rincorrendosi
formano geometrie
innamorate.
Chandra Livia Candiani
Da: La Bambina Pugile, Einaudi, 2014.
In the garden there is fear, there is
high noon on fire,
you, Bea, take with you
the gentle cave
of friendship, they say
I have too many gifts on my hands,
and you who were at home
in the too many, share them out
between the sparrows, the worms,
the snails, give them
to the trefoil and the sage,
don’t grow flowers
that will steal my sight.
They say I am always
alarmed, on alert,
and you, refugee lost
in any comfort,
explain to them that I keep vigil
with the sleepless song of birds,
drunk on spring.
If I brought you here
you would soon be the mad nun
married to the plants
and the animals and everything else
that peeps in
on the mystery.
You are here, and you are not,
you are the place,
too vast
to be seen.
Touch me then
with a thought
like the flies do
when, chasing each other,
they form geometries
in love.
Chandra Livia Candiani
From: La Bambina Pugile, Einaudi, 2014. Translation by Bhikkhu Abhinando
Chandra Livia Candiani – Vengodalmare is where I learned of Chandra Livia Candiani, the contemporary Italian poet. – df
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