I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
Billy Collins (New York, 1941), da A vela in solitaria intorno alla stanza (Fazi, 2013)

Chiedo loro di prendere una poesia
e di tenerla in alto controluce
come una diapositiva a colori

o di premere un orecchio sul suo alveare.


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