Transported
Maria Berardi
Once upon a time, well, always,
I wanted enchantment in stories,
adored fairy tales, the dark ones,
the mother-in-law ogresses,
the serial-killer husbands,
the wicked etc.–
I didn’t mind the threat, the blood,
there was something real in their unreality,
something true in their very preposterousness.
And I craved the uncanny,
the labyrinth, the code, the key,
the incanted, etc.
I got very confused. I started to wonder,
did I love the beauty of the world
because it reminded me of the bewitched woods in the stories,
because those stories had glamoured my faculties first?
I remain confused.
This world is too much with me,
late and soon, the world is not enough,
and is all there is.
On an unsettled winter’s morning
snowflakes float down
in dawn’s pink-gold light,
exquisite, iridescent.
It seems more wonderful
than the real which it is.
Then I remember,
in this reality,
extraordinary, etc.,
water apparates in the air.
Maria Berardi
Once upon a time, well, always,
I wanted enchantment in stories,
adored fairy tales, the dark ones,
the mother-in-law ogresses,
the serial-killer husbands,
the wicked etc.–
I didn’t mind the threat, the blood,
there was something real in their unreality,
something true in their very preposterousness.
And I craved the uncanny,
the labyrinth, the code, the key,
the incanted, etc.
I got very confused. I started to wonder,
did I love the beauty of the world
because it reminded me of the bewitched woods in the stories,
because those stories had glamoured my faculties first?
I remain confused.
This world is too much with me,
late and soon, the world is not enough,
and is all there is.
On an unsettled winter’s morning
snowflakes float down
in dawn’s pink-gold light,
exquisite, iridescent.
It seems more wonderful
than the real which it is.
Then I remember,
in this reality,
extraordinary, etc.,
water apparates in the air.