Cromwell Hotel 407

 

"Anyone can reach his highest potential,

 who we are may be predetermined, but the path we follow is always our own choice. We should never allow our fears or the expectations of others to set the frontiers of our destiny. Your destiny cannot be changed, but it can be challenged. 

Every man is born as many men, and dies as one."

"Being and Time", Martin Heidegger (1927)

In Bologna, with your pitch eyes you swallowed me like a tunnel.

I thought of you once, while having it with another woman.

Unexpectedly, weeks later, we lay on a bed in London, embraced into eachother.

The pierced curtains of this three-star hotel in Chelsea, framing my monologues, on this night of synthesis, punctuated by detached caresses, anonymously true, but without kisses.

I study your pearly profile, shining in the moonlight.

Leaning out the window, our cigarette puffs glide sinuously, mingle, among the contours of clouds, in the silence of London, broken, by the meows of some cats in the garden below.

And here we both are: at the crossroads of our existences.

Glued to the sheets, held, by our sedate consciences, digging into our common, naive, college memories, searching for the myth, for a summarizing frame, pervaded by the nostalgia resurfaced with this cheap whiskey.

The concierge at the entrance doesn't know: 

I saw you naked.

Not white thighs, or voluptuous hills, but in your attitude of abandonment, which so violently resembles to my own.

And so, by coincidence, we shipped each other out this passing marbly January.

It's 7 a.m., we are still up.

Come on, let's get out of here!

To the off-licence, now.

To buy one last bottle!

The future awaits us.

******

[JTA]

A Bologna, con i tuoi occhi di pece mi hai inghiottito come una galleria.

Ti ho pensato una volta, mentre lo facevo con un’altra.

Inaspettatamente, settimane dopo, giacciamo su di un letto, abbracciati.

Le tende bucherellate di un due stelle a Chelsea,

a far da cornice ai miei monologhi, in questa notte di sintesi,

scandita da carezze distaccate, anonimamente vere, senza baci.

 

Studio il tuo profilo perlato, che brilla alla luce della luna.

Sporti alla finestra, gli sbuffi delle sigarette scivolano sinuosamente,

si confondono, tra i contorni delle nuvole, tra il silenzio di Londra,

rotto, dai miagolii dei gatti, nel giardino di sotto.

 

Ed eccoci qui entrambi: al bivio delle nostre esistenze.

Incollati alle lenzuola, trattenuti, dalle nostre coscienze sedate,

scavando nelle nostre comuni, ingenue, memorie universitarie,

alla ricerca del mito, di un fotogramma riassuntivo,

pervasi dalla nostalgia riemersa con questo whiskey scadente.

 

Il concierge all’ingresso non lo sa: ti ho visto nuda.

Non cosce bianche, o voluttuose colline,

ma nel tuo atteggiamento di abbandono,

che così violentemente rassomiglia al mio.

 

E così, per coincidenza, ci siamo traghettati fuori

da questo marmoreo gennaio di passaggio.

Siamo ancora in piedi, alle 7 del mattino.

Dai usciamo! A comprare un’ultima bottiglia!

Il futuro ci aspetta


[ENG]

In Bologna, with your pitch eyes you swallowed me like a tunnel.

I thought of you once, while having it with another woman.

Unexpectedly, weeks later, we lay on a bed, embraced.

The pierced curtains of this two-star hotel in Chelsea,

framing my monologues, on this night of synthesis,

punctuated by detached caresses, anonymously true, but without kisses.

I study your pearly profile, shining in the moonlight.

Leaning out the window, our cigarette puffs glide sinuously,

mingle, among the contours of clouds, in the silence of London,

broken, by the meows of some cats in the garden below.

And here we both are: at the crossroads of our existences.

Glued to the sheets, held, by our sedate consciences,

digging into our common, naive, college memories,

searching for the myth, for a summarizing frame,

pervaded by the nostalgia resurfaced with this cheap whiskey.

The concierge at the entrance doesn't know: I saw you naked.

Not white thighs, or voluptuous hills,

but in your attitude of abandonment,

which so violently resembles to my own.

And so, by coincidence, we shipped each other out this passing marbly January.

It's 7 a.m., we are still up.

Come on, let's get out of here!

To the grocery, quick, now! To buy one last bottle!

The future awaits us.