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Next Issue Peter Scupham at 85: a celebration Contributions by Anne Stevenson, Robert Wells, Peter Davidson, Lawrence Sail

This poem is taken from PN Review 12, Volume 6 Number 4, March - April 1980.

Five Poems (translated by Michael Edwards) Roberto Sanesi

Translated by Michael Edwards

Retreating to fact, being acting having, and never a
    complete awareness
of the lie, and among the leaves a play of systems, a solar
altered in the silent room, one pace after another in the
and they float up, and we, placing our foot, pursue them,
    phantoms, in the room,
they float up lightly from other times, I touch them,
    looming, figures raised by the summons,
and you (who are you?) brood to no purpose: time is here,
    in my room, outside,
where the cat half-closing its eyes crumbles the last
remains of the summer wind and the oleander in the
    courtyard snows, whitely, its perfume.

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