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    Auguri scomodi → traduzione in Inglese

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Auguri scomodi

La città già dorme nella sua indifferenza
sola sta la sera nei colori della festa
tanti auguri a questo vecchio mondo che già muore
la resa è nel cuore per noi.
Donami la nausea di una vita senza senso
via da qui dai giorni senza spinte verticali
aprirai la notte dalle mille porte chiuse
le ali confuse per noi.
 
Se vuoi vedere una gran luce
devi partire dalla terra.
Se vuoi sentire la tua pace
devi guardare alla tua guerra.
 
12:25 salgo in bus e
25/12, santo jesus
pressati e freddi quanto i findus
parlano di regali di guanti e di trousse
qualche virus mi rende pazzo ed arrabbiato più di Mingus
vorrei spaccare tutto come Bruce Lee, vomitare muesli
sulle bizzoche in cerca di news
giù le mie nocche in cerca di pus
non voglio di più, ti voglio blu
come le tue pillole da sesso e ictus
adesso mi scuso, esco vi scruto
gesto e vi sputo un segno di crux
e fuggo da grotte, casbah e kibbutz
 
Sì lo so, la voce che ti fa sentire verme
caro amico è un'angelo che vuole infastidire
buon natale a chi ha il coraggio di fare silenzio
la nebbia l'incenso per noi.
 
Se vuoi vedere una gran luce
devi partire dalla terra.
Se vuoi sentire la tua pace
devi guardare alla tua guerra.
 
E mi ritrovo circondato da gente e mi sento
solo fra loro e l'argento in centro
ma 'sto gelo non ha spento il mio incendio
e brucio più di ogni vostro stipendio
dentro l'iper siete lì per seguire un iter
cene d'élite e cin cin e colite
facebook e twitter
foto e video le cose che condividi
tu parli con i morti non parli più con i vivi
non ceni coi tuoi prendi cibo per animali
non chiami più i tuoi mandi messaggi gratis
io odio i messaggi gratis a natale
se me ne mandi uno ti giuro che ti butto già dalle scale
e resto freddo come il vento di maestrale
 
Traduzione

Discomforting Wishes

The city is already sleeping in its indifference.
Alone is the evening, in the feast’s colors.
Best wishes to this old world that’s already dying.
The rose is in our heart.
Gift me with the sickness for a purposeless life.
Away from here, from the days with no vertical pushes.
You’ll open the night with its thousand closed doors.
Our wings are confused.
 
If you want to see a great light
you have to start from the Earth.
If you want to feel your peace
you have to look at your war.
 
12:25, I’m getting on the bus.
It’s 12/25, Saint Jesus.
Packed and cold like Findus,
they are talking about gifts, gloves and make-up sets.2
Some virus makes me crazy and angry, more than Mingus,3
here, I’d like to smash everything, like Bruce Lee, I’d like to vomit muesli;
upon the bigots looking for pieces of gossip,
down go my knuckles looking for pus.
I don’t want more, I want you black and blue
like your pills for sex and ictus.4
Now I apologize, I get off, I stare at you,
I make a gesture and I spit a sign of the cross on you.
I run away from caves, kasbahs and kibbutzes.5
 
Yes I know, the voice making you feel like a rat,
dear friend, is an angel who wants to annoy you.
Merry Christmas to the people who have the courage to keep silent.
Incense inebriates us.
 
If you want to see a great light
you have to start from the Earth.
If you want to feel your peace
you have to look at your war.
 
And I find myself surrounded by people,
I feel alone, between them and the silver, downtown.
But this cold hasn’t put off my fire,
and I’m burning more than your every salary6
inside the mall, you are there to follow a procedure:
elite dinners and toasts and colitis,
Facebook and Twitter, and photos and videos, the things you share.
You speak with the dead, you don’t speak with the living anymore.
You don’t have dinner with your parents, you buy animal food,
you don’t call your parents anymore, you just send free text messages.
I hate free text messages at Christmas,
if you send me one, I swear I’ll thrust you down the stairs,
I keep cold like the mistral wind.
 
Discomforting Wishes
My dearest, I would not abide by my duty as a bishop if I were to wish you ‟Merry Christmas” without disturbing you. Instead, I want to annoy you. Indeed, I can’t bear the idea of having to address you with harmless, formal wishes, imposed by the calendar routine.
I’m even flattered by the possibility that someone would bounce them back to the sender as undesired.
Best discomforting wishes, then, my dear brothers!
May Jesus born for love give you nausea towards a selfish, absurd life, one without vertical pushes, and may he let you create for yourself a life loaded with giving, with prayer, with silence, with courage.
May the Baby sleeping on the straw deprive you of your sleep and may he make your bed’s pillow feel like a boulder, until you’ll have granted hospitality to an evictee, a Moroccan, a poor person passing by.
May God, who became a man, make you feel like rats every time your career becomes the idol of your life, every time the overtake becomes the plan for your days, every time your fellow’s back becomes the means of your climbing up.
Maria, who finds only in animal droppings the cradle where to tenderly lay down the fruit of her womb, may she, with her wounded eyes, force you to suspend the sentiment of all your Christmas carols, until your hypocritical conscience will have admitted that the garbage bin, the incinerator of a clinic, become the crossless grave of a suppressed life.
Joseph, who, in the face of the outrage of a thousand closed doors, is the symbol of all fatherly disappointments, may he disturb the drunkenness of your Christmas dinners, may he rebuke the warmth of your raffles, may he cause short-circuits to the waste of your illuminations, until you will have been distressed by the suffering of the many parents who shed secret tears for their sons without fortune, without health, without a job.
May the peace-announcing angels bring more war to your sleepy tranquillity, unable to see that just as far as your arm’s length - with the aggravating factor of your complicit silence - injustice is perpetrated, people are evicted, weapons are built, the land of modest people gets militarized, populations are condemned to be exterminated by starvation.
The poor people who are hastening towards the cave, while the powerful people are plotting inside the darkness and the city is sleeping in its indifference, may them make you realize that if you want to see ‟a great light” you have to start from the last ones.
That the handout of those who put someone else’s skin at stake, are useless tranquilizers.
That the fur coats bought with the Christmas bonus from multiple wages make a good impression, but they do not keep you warm.
That the delays in public housing are acts of sacrilege, when caused by speculations by the lobbies.
The shepherds keeping guard at night, ‟guarding the flock”, and staring at the break of day,
may them give you the sense of history, the exaltation of wait, the rejoicing of surrender to God.
And may them arouse in you the deep longing to live poorly, which is after all the only way to die rich.
Merry Christmas! On your old dying world, may hope be born.
don Tonino Bello
 
  • 2. Findus is a frozen food company.
  • 3. Charles Mingus was a jazzist nicknamed ‟The Angry Man of Jazz”.
  • 4. The blue pill is Viagra, which sometimes causes heart attacks or strokes because the (presumably old) body is stressed by the overexcitement about the things to come.
  • 5. He refuses any institutionalized religion: Christianity (the cave), Judaism (the kibbutz) and Islamism (the kasbah).
  • 6. bruciare = burn; squander.
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