FARAÒN METEOSÈS

At a slow pace…

(Translated by Pino Lorusso)

At a slow pace metropolitan bare-footed

I go down the steps in the dark night

    in a jerk I’m in the large intestine

    cause of thirty-five machine gun-shots

   that riddled the fabric jeans

    reactive to a sluggish digestion

    … blood stains like jam;

    I were still on the flight and the teeth of a skull

were chattering to me

syncopating the rhythm, with a siren

that darts it was… the red cross;

a blind old man is lying over there

on a sham couch made of newspapers

he clearly reads the uneasiness of my thoughts

grumbling just a little at my near future.

At a slow pace metropolitan bare-footed

I go to the square 

under a beheaded and mutilated statue

that has dirty feet because of the pollution:

the sky looks like a low ceiling

the moon is concave 

in the middle owing… to a punch in the face!

… in other times 

I would had thought to something else

but now I do believe that my real nightmare

is the reality that I’m living… day by day.

At a slow pace metropolitan bare-footed

I walk slowly, closed tightly in my loose garment

the cold is like a tongue pressed on the violet temples

my love is set upon the points of scissors for fish… that is already dead!

… I grazed the wall with my shoulders

the alley like a cone 

at the end gets always more closed,

there is a sound of an electric guitar

that strikes an accord in E seventh… 

it’s called BLUES.

At a slow pace metropolitan bare-footed

along a horrifiying cunniculos

gnomes and elfs of the district take a peep

and three hundred and nine sleepless bats

slipped of my bald cranium to the ground

only a black crow chatters in my ear

like a disturbed signal 

of a local and independent radio.

At a slow pace metropolitan bare-footed

now I’m limping in a oneiric and terrific journey

from a manhole four rats in a big hunting game

run after a leech caught unaware

that was sleeping away weakly on the red cheek!

… a stream of anaemic blood trickles

while I’m loosing heart on the same pavement

where I come from… 

at a slow pace metropolitan bare-footed.

IN THE MIRROR

(Translated by Deborah Ferrelli)

And now the Word reverberates in the reflection

during the Reading Action

believing I am a monad in the fire moulding

forged by the Giant

between the anvil and the hammer, the sickle and the tongs

refracted on the threshold of my laboratory

on the speculum at the corner between alfa and omega

in the umpteenth spell performed by the calamus

which unfolds on the line the afflatus and the metaphor

a quivering warping a converging conceit

consequently capsized in an intravenous claw

that inoculates me with a doubtful cannula

a cognitive probe that resounds in my gut

and I waver knowing that I am a trifle

before the absolute magnitude of the Star

caudate’s wake that fades

along the celestial longitude

and there is no relief from the burning of the burin

that engraves me with a mandrake underskin

that releases me not from the quavers’ knot

that no fricative rhyme can coagulate in the throat

in the ganglion of the molar cusp

in the vortex of the resonant glottis

there is no word

that involves the Vulgate

a word that saves me exhortatively

there is no received grace

no happiness that looks lasting

or soothes the imposture

and prompts me to probe

all the crap and phlegm

to be extirpated with force and fury

from the ranks of everlasting experts

through spits and asterisks, insults and arabesques

that I treasure in an immature grim dream

in an obstinate and cloudy sounding lead

where my wailing germ vegetates

the faint spark that never glows

on the painted background of these four walls

which for aeons have oozed with scions

odes and slaked lime that graze my flesh

in an opalescent calidarium

where, dumb, I evaporate in the void

and in the mist of the future

but if I look at the highland

I can see from the outside

the hermeneut into a trance

going down into the dromos

and realize that my corpuscular motion

can no longer compare with the Sound Spectra

which vocalize in the tunnels and on the ruins

the decaying antiphonal psalms that correspond to my Heresy

in an immane venture to re-ascend

not immune from the boundary line

which lies in the catoptrical eye

and on the chiromantic cast I am seeking

on the slab revealing the capillary vase

the trace of the resin and the lymph

of the mud, the ash and the argil

a mixture of etching and chlorophyll

of the uncleansed clay

of the soil and the dust

thickened on the spine of the book

clutched by the rapacious rostrum of the kite

curdled in the trickle of the colostrum

from which I suck ink

in the ethereal sink of my corporeal shell

and in the papyrus leaf

received by the apocryphal glyph

while crystal breaks before the glass

I am the possessed who loudly yells at Fulcanelli

for the seism delivered

on the disconnected bank of the stomach

for the writing supersaturated

with lay, topoi, enigmas and anagrams,

a wound reopens

in the rotting clots of the sore

‘cause of the persecution mania

of De Chirico’s puppets

the schizophrenia of the mathematician Fibonacci’s mantissa

I would recover my wits for a mere moment or in the Eclipse

even though that Beam of Creation

no longer shone for me in the summer heat

even if I breathed out the monsoon

spreading over the entire forest

or flew over it on Ganesha’s back!

Brasso

(Translated by Deborah Ferrelli)

Brasso: lemon yellow taste. Acid clearness of mind.

Radiant splendour of the apple-shaped knob: primeval thought.

Spherical ingot of my inner riches.

Totem in phallic form.

Aphonic flash-memory of an entryphone recall

Like a glimmer of a childish joke.

Soft woolen cloth rubbed on glossy lasciviously lush layers.

Taste of pure gold: cleanliness of the Spirit.

Ductile metal eye of self-consciousness.

Through the keyhole I discern the real essence of the world.

My house is all-Brasso like a consumeristic-atavistic fairy tale.

My hands shine like brass plates.

Together they give life to a tray of jewels.

To you I will give the goldest caress

My brow is wrinkle-less. I am still new-born.

Mine is an auroral wail.

The handle is now brightly pulled by straw threads.

I move into another room without substance

… another dimension

Glistening with Brasso. Here … in the supermarket.

VOICED RAIL CAR FOR ACOUSTIC INK
(almost a short poem engine)

(Translated by Deborah Ferrelli)

Intake
It was congenitally created in the embryo
and in the Criterion of the Contemporary Climate
in the impulse propulsed from the Engine of the Word
… in the poetical inspiration…
in the agonized combat of the mass medial altercation
against the reluctant martyrdom of the consummeristic man
and the prolapse of the disease … left over from Alzheimer
And so it sprung from an axon
and from a chain in the Brain
as the Demiurge transcribed from dictation
and the Nomenklatura wrote on the back
and it was said to solidify at source …
the same Concreteness as soot
… to have guzzled in a garage the fuel from an old wreck
… to have grown thanks to the TV antidepressant
in the bulimia of butane and botulinum
and to have come out in the uncivil inurban
heterogeneous Crowds …
to be stamped in a Clone acclaimed at the climax
of the discarded Anarchy and end-of-Line production!
… to have risen from the ashes
of the emporium of the brake lining
and the ironhormones and for midges on the shelves
… to be burned up in the frigid co-Fusion
in the Minestrone
in the bi-asexual embrace of a lymph gland with a diode
extracted from Aphrodite’s breast implants …
for the epos of Diomede’s four leaps
and to have been added to and reproduced into the metastasis
and the prosthesis in the Apotheosis
of the Crisis of the Good Governance …
to have augmented the psychosis of God the Father!
… which is said to have tempted the bio-masses
tampered with by the Scribes of the Glebe
and to have doctored the Dividend
on the mess of the Serfs of the Sheet
and crashed the armoured car through the slums,
into those fans thronging in the larval Stadium,
in the terminals and the bacteria of Salmonella
and to have, then, clung to the antipodes of the endogamy
and of the empire of Bourgeoisie
and have flourished in the antiphony of the Class struggle …
by now of one category only

… in the eighth House and Home of Tom, Dick and Harry …
in the seasoned and only-begotten sign of … “Capericorn”
and from the Medicine left forgotten on the shelf,
to be taken after death …
in the General Registry Office of the Community!
… after all the blows at the foot of Procrustes’ bed
and born before, during the menopause, popps up
the Tearful Matron of all the entrails on the threshold
of Intellectual Disvalues
… conceived as it was by the maculate Emulators of Chimera,
recoiled in the cirrocumuli of Utopia
up to the cornucopia and the chain
transacted like goods with repeated …
Au revoir … Goodbye …
… at the purchase of the mass-produced
provisions of the Antichrist
… with the victuals of Abundance
and the prayers offered up to Repentance
… in the lay act of faith of those who squander on the attic floor
and feint the sabre with the slipper
and gulp down a pint of an ecological scamn!
… when, because of a Quidproquo
and as extreme ratio,
the Pus Pustule of the Anti-Status set off,
exploding into Cyber Space,
… the Word was wrung from the collar outside working hours
by the latecomer (of the night shift)
who, ignoring the Broadcast, rose up against Misinformation
and in the ensuing chaos hurled both the Remote Control
and the Repeater against the Emperor
and proceeded from his PC. He typed in its suffix and the ABC.
and from there – oops … he pressed the wrong key.
And so it happened … that at a certain time,
he seriously challenged the oligopoly …
about the Sixth Open Secret
… on the false clauses of the Retro-cession of the Fifth,
and cancelled from the account
the omnivorous credit to the Charitable Institution
and the O-mission:
the unusual Asset of the Ancestor
and assented to the Appointment …
of the Comburivorous Power,
to Cohabit with a Faith in True Ethics,
because it looked as if he were
the Prime Cause and the Plot
of that Fire …
as if he represented its epitome
and on the way from Two deadlocked Full Stops
he opened its Intake valve
and restored the Right of the onomatopoeic Reply …
coming from the Voice of the Rail Car
… Guardian of the Arts, of Mechanic Music

and of the aforesaid Ink … de-no-mi-na-ted acoustic.
Compression
And that’s how it all happened in the year …
of the Absolute Zero,
as handed down in the gloss of the Petty Cash Book
of the Court Accountant (living at n° 23)
with all the papers of the copywriter,
on the Russian Roulette of the “Cabaret Voltaire”
… with the revolver and the cabriolet,
who, in his accounts made allowance for the surtax
on the taxpayer’s fat
and the amount levied on his daily breaths
on the meal tickets of employees gone off since The Flood
recorded in the Archives by the ClairvoyantAbbot
at the Ides of March
yet curtailed by a third
for the treatments of the caries of other Caryatids
and for the removal of the adenoids …
to the anger of three poor Eumenides
which preceeded, in the Annunciation …
on the cassette recorder
and the loudspeaker,
the Revolution …
of Fuel.
And in settling the controversy the Allegoria re-occurred
falling from the stage of the White Dwarf
dragged onto the birthing chair
by four public transport temporary workers
which crashed into the facial plastic surgery
into the Europhoria … of the Shopping Centre
on a collusion course with the Ark of the Patriarchs
berthing at the bay of cut prices
and of the equitable reimbursements
with the Tables of the cut price sales
of windscreen wipers and BBQ spits,
in the scuffle for the soup
of the shin bone of platypus and sloth stew
… which bruised by the indiscriminate use of the abacuses …
in a head-over-heels onto the Climbers
which concluded in the cul-de-sac
to come back (Good Heavens!)
after Cupid’s shot …
at Oedipus’ ankle and Aesop’s “Crying Wolf”
… which contracted the blunt bodies
with the dissidents,
in the crush and the press of the scrap-iron dealer
of the Trade Union Dragoman
in the fraud of the Re-cloned Big Computer
about the percentage of caustic soda
and the indexes of domestic economy
of those bad rival Companies

in the revenge on the spleen,
the unleaved bread and the King Prawn
… for the hereditary loans of will o’-the-wisp in the graveyards
and for subcontracted assignments in the Necropolis!
… this is why an eponymous Curse exploded as …
an anathema against Tyranny
… because of the accidents to the Poor
and the curses of the Unemployed
stuck in the mud …
driven to the bush and muzzled to the Misfortune
of sham income and …
devitalized yields in the prisons of the rents …
deducted from disintegrating pensions
experienced on the way to Despair
although the Kilowatt-hour light
and the farsightedness
propagated its recording
from the auditorium
and the sermon was broadcast …
of the most ancient Puncharpagon
and the policy holders,
who promptly moved from the One per Centum,
never feared
the imminent Deluge of Acid Rains
by Jupiter Pluvius
or the increase in foot-ablutions
with the consent of the homeopathic pill
of the Lottery-maieutic Double and the fillet of the P2 and P38!
And from the counting of votes
and from an obstetrician Oyster …
in advance of pregnancy,
the perspiring, pearly paw came out
of the Stereotype Monster
that reversed the trend
in the weather and the clinamen, the mid Lent and the Ramadàn,
that, as if by an act of faith,
split into a talkative Trans
and an Archetypal Metropolite
… who in a frenzy proclaimed the Supreme Sentence
from the pulpit
to the assembly of the First Paragraph Bis …
to whoever insisted on assigning for free …
the utilitarian ideal to the whole National …
Un-Health Service.
And many pluriaerialancestors were equipped
while few were waiting for the response of the oracle …
supplied with auricle
on the aureole of the brainless
and the sacred kneecap of the blessed …
bigots already approaching Sanctity!
And the Minority was of non believers,
resistant to the promise of Lupercalia and Carnivalia

of the two Adversaries Co-secretaries,
who made a strong impression
in their regular double couple and power …
under parliamentary cover,
seated on the chamberpots
of the Two Chambers of Low Com-pression
… surprising for their spring and release
on the oval high-backed seat
and on the flat screen,
for the tricks with serum on dentures
and with the final touch up of the armour
that knitted the tangle …
with the tools of the trader and of the postillion rider
here with Caudine Forks in the caravanserai
on the knee of the beggar in the pavilion
and there by chance, with the pants and the spats
made of merino wool
and those well woven in cotton …
for the Big Brother …
whose name is Cain!
Power
And so the voiced Rail Car proceeds solemnly,
brakes off by the switch operator of the brackets in the yard,
at full speed, heedless of danger and the Misunderstanding
in the Arrhythmic Mechanics caused by the four strokes
in spite of the many people hard of hearing
and with air conditioning
in the process of Combustion and of Phonics
forged in the workshop of the welled Word which becomes flesh
and puffs on the steep slope of the stone pit
sheer on the promontory scarp
where an Aged Train runs …
which from that platform starts up
spreading its steam …
on the tungsten rail, going over the top …
high on the Planetarium
which goes down first from the Meridian of …
Monte Mario
where only the semiautomatic Pilot in the Cockpit is
which diverts Poetry in the direction of travel
which drives us under the mantle of the Effable Marsh
which surrounds us in the region
that disenchants the Individual’s Fate
at the corner and the crossroads of Mankind
… while the Decline of Civilization seems to be fulfilled
Until Contempt blows coming from the West
and the wind of dead calm only lingers
and we row together in a rough cobalt blue sea
that foams on the barge and bursts with a start
… in a wave of hydrocarbons …
from smokestacks

… in a spout of concrete mixer toxins …
onto the cargo boat which goes high and low
and in the current growth of the Universe.
Exhaust
And so the voiced Rail Car goes on
like a road roller on a sandy shore
where many an empty sack of jellyfish lie
with the shoals of anchovies,
already salted driven onto the shore by the tide
the play-boxes of the well-off infant,
and the carcasses of the whales harpooned by defrauders
and it penetrates this Landscape
from which it is necessary
“Not to turn one’s back”
which runs down from that path
Glad from the Hill
enchanted by the sound of G flat
lingers among the lines and on the pillars, at the apex
of the appendix
and after a gloss sets out again energetically fed by
“Acoustic Ink”
and delves into the depths of these notes
advancing like a torpedo of Blank Verse
(in the most equipollent proposition)
spanning the whole Millenium
(It creeps like a Pivot-Thought, new and ambivalent)
which emphasizes the Will
and expresses itself unanimously
― a go-between who is loyal to necessities ―
(in order to accomplish itself)
with the numberless and human
Plu-ra-li-ties.

Short Biography Of the Author 

FARAÒN METEOSÈS

Registered name: Stefano Amorese (Roma-Italy); he is active performer from the streets to the stage;

poetic and cultural agitator, supporter of artistic collectives. He is active right now in “Per ludum

dicere” (representation of theatre and poetry) and other performances, participations and publications

of poetry, radiotelevised interventions, collaborations with elaborated compilations (synæsthesia). He is

an active performer and actor in jazz-poetry instruction group “Interaction in Action” (with M. Frasca:

drums and percussion & M. Charles: tenor saxophone) with which, in 2019 for the Portuguese record

label “Enough records” he released some songs, also available on Spotify.

http://enoughrecords.scene.org/release/enrmp444

At his debut in 2000, he published the selfproduced plaquette Samizdat now well-known in the Roman

underground. In 2007 he published Psicofantaossessioni with LietoColle and in 2009 for Arduino Sacco

Editore, with the poetry collection, post-dated, Ecolallaliche. He also coauthored with the photographer

Fabrizio Buratta the book Il dolce cammino… – Fermate a richiesta (Aracne, 2010). In 2016, he published

for Cavinato Editore International, the book with attached DVD, entitled Largo Sguardo (Wide View –

Grand Regard – Weite Sicht – Amplia Mirada: artistic and multimedia synesthesia in 24 languages of the

European Union) Mentioned in the critical essays of Giorgio Linguaglossa: “The new modernist

poetry” (Edilet, 2010); “From lyric poetry to poetic discourse-History of Italian poetry (1945-2010)”

(EdiLet, 2011); “After the twentieth century – Monitoring contemporary Italian poetry” (SEF, 2013)

and in that of Stefano Guglielmin “A look (from the net) on contemporary Italian poetry 2006-2011”

(Segni Collection, volume n. 7 – Blanc de ta nuque, 2012). His texts are present in various reviews and

numerous anthologies.

Publishing By Oana Ileana Noorani 

Senior Editor pencraft Literary magazine Bangladesh.