Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
Ciacco
To see a familiar, as though one were a wizard
Making their way through violent, energetic dimensions
To see them suffer, in the dark marshes, is he still your enemy
or friend, against the equalizing torque of death, afterdeath
In my suffering, he suffers as I, does he still
In that black world, need
His lesson?
Ciacco is he, who predicts the victory of tyrants
Within three hot suns; did he not once
dream of love? Do the wicked not
dream of love?
Francesca
Francesca, dearest, the things they accuse you of!
Jelaousy, lust, incest, vanity, fie to all!
Your sin was none but to forsake the myths
of your fathers, it was wanting life
to be all your own, you were the hero
seeking absolution, in your own private hell. Desire
does that for us: sets us free. And love?
Makes in us,
something of the pure.
O, Francesa, would you have taken
this poor pilgrim, and seen your face in his?
If I found you before Paolo. If I held you in my eyes. You
Have done this before. Do it now. Soft as a dove.
Be vain, I implore you. Beatrice
can wait.
Cerberus
Three mouthed fiend, forever
famished. What do I do but praise
the pain you endure, and what
do I do, but see into your sixth eye, find your being
..and there it is: a cracked reflection
of the holy trinity.
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