mail art Dream Project - dedicated to Marilyn Dammann "Shadow"

In this project I want to gather the dreams in the textual or visual versions from all those who want to share them. If you want, you can send to me your dreams via snail mail or via e-mail. You find the addresses in my profile.

giovedì, luglio 07, 2005

Gilda Camero

Tides are gods’ whims.

Tides are gods’ whims, dice thrown on the sea of a strange fate, waves of curls and silk, brushed like hair of secret beauties.
Lead by the moon, whimsical and stern, pale as a face powder coating, gentle as a ringing out parchment, they follow the impulses of the heart through lack of wind and sudden sea storms.
It is follies, masses of oceans and blank verse, kisses that follow one another and chase each other some second kilometers further on from the thin surface of the enveloping water.
No breath of wind averts the dreamer’s eyes . Just the murmurs, just the echoes that the tides bring in their cloak fraught with desires, fables, purple enchantments . The dark hour is precious, dresses in shimmering singings, singsongs that start from a distance, that will reach the time to come. Sultriness destroys, chokes. The interval between breaths is shorter.
Gravitational breathlessness. Big speeds get out of dynamics laws, jump over fences with innocents’ courage. The unsaid shouts in the corners of an afflicted and absorbed silence, entranced in the latitudes of a sun-filled South. Road surface and rock, signs like red-hot tattoos, marks on the skin, destroying bistoury.
What a lot of eyes have seen and haven’t watched perfumes and incenses that the touch missed .
The melody goes clung on to a piano, rocked by a marzipan sax in this summer of foreign scents, of otherness and peoples’ echoes.
Sheets rubbing their never watchful eyes, always half asleep, unintelligible and paradisiacal.
Dozed off mind breaking free in the evening air, in that moment that separates from the dark, from that boundless dark that every night hosts the eternal beauty of stars.

Translation by Antonella Di Giulio