Your Mind; My Mind

Sweet girl, you don't know love
you don't know what it means to suffer through love
you don't know what it means to hurt the heart
you don't know what it can make you do

You jump and smile while singing
you go through valleys and paths, it's spring
and in between the flight of birds you stay
sitting in between the violets until the dusk of day

The spring silently brushes
against your face with a flow of wind
you stay alone far from the people
enjoying the blow of the wind that moves the waves of the ocean

You will be back one day at the sea shore
while watching with love in your heart
you move your face as someone kisses you
gently saying: there is love in you.

The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.

Now the night is falling
down from the heavens
while the earth 
is covered by darknesses 
now soothing
and wrapping up each creature 
in a veil
The stars are shining 
in internal firmament 
the lights are quiet 
and look tiny
You that take the others 
over to the moon 
tell me if you 
now love my heart
more than life
tell me if you do?
You that in the sky 
makes beautiful 
splendour 
You lady 
you seem to be elected
tell me if you know
can I hope? 
that in the future 
in time
I will feel love 
and that she will react
to my existence? 
Maybe she’s deluded 
my friendly 
dream 
that the love of 
the heart is light.
the love that arrives
to the heart 
is the love of her why I’m alive?

The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.

I dreamt of you tonight, mamma, 
and you were more beautiful than ever, 
but you were pale, mamma
and so were your hands that I so often kissed.
A shiver went through my body, 
the dreams seems to be sweeter 
and it appeared as if in your mortal state 
you didn’t suffer at all.
A very light scent of rose 
carried away that strange world 
that once was happy and faraway
the remembrance that fills my heart.
Your beautiful eyes were sparkling 
and your mouth looked like it was speaking 
and it was saying the most dear things 
and on your lips a smile appeared. 
But my mind couldn’t 
capture your words
and I only understood two words: 
you were talking about death and love.
You kissed me and the sweet smiles
changed into tears 
and the cruel night took you 
in your calling, and that was the end. 
I reached my hand out to find you
but you were going away, very far... very far. 
I wanted to call you but it was in vein, 
my voice remained in my throat.
Everything was dark in front of my eyes 
and there was a voice in the air 
that was calling pointing to a cross 
on the tomb that was covered with flowers. 
I was calling again 
thinking that you were close to me
but I was alone, I was more alone than ever
with two tears on the top of my pillow. 

The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.

Grief is an unpredictable thing. We can feel it all at once, or in waves over time. Antonio grieved his mother greatly as a boy, and the beauty of his various poems about his mothers can really make us understand the journey of grief.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.

I think I can hear
your voice 
I think I can see 
your face
where is 
your sweet smile 
that makes 
my heart 
so very happy? 
I look for you everywhere: 
in the sky 
in the turbulent waves
of the sea 
the wind 
that agitates and runs 
between the greenery 
faraway 
in the forest. 
Now I can see 
you in the rays
of light
on your mouth 
I can see 
your smile 
in the air
your face reflects 
the joy 
that brings back 
the peace 
to my heart. 
You are the sun 
that announces the calmness
the star 
that shines in the dark
the moon 
that illuminates the sky 
Your eyes 
reflect the light 
your mouth 
only has a smile 
there is only sweetness
on your face 
it’s more beautiful 
than the rays of the sun. 

The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.

Project Antonio is now live, and this is my favourite project yet. Watch this video to understand the background behind the writings in my “Antonio” section, and delve into these revived writings here: http://ymmm.co.za/wp/?cat=7

Questo l’ho fato per te, Nonno Antonio.

They told me, when in the house 
everything was done in silence,
and the furniture and decor 
was very hard, heavy, unfamiliar,
in the huge bedroom 
(big and faraway!)
My mother was cold and white; 
they told me: “don’t cry, you’re a man!”
...Man!
Then I saw a great expanse of earth
and the mountains were light blue, hard, 
the sea, vast, but so voracious 
like a whirlwind, 
and the forests were black, 
the cities were mute and deserted, 
the streets were like a maze, the river 
was impassable;
and the wind was raging
and the storm was terrible
twisting into a gorge that runs over;
and me...alone: man!
the rotating stars and the immense 
infinity...         
me...nothing: man!
And now... everything rolls, moves, overwhelms me... 
I lifted my hands to defend myself, 
and a trembling overtook me
with a great desire to runaway.
I burst in tears but tried to hold it back; 
“Take my hand mommy, I’m scared!”
Mom was cold and white... 
Her hands were beside her body without pulse
hands of love, hands of forgiveness
and her closed eyes, her very beautiful eyes, 
silent... forever.
...
...take my hand, 
Mommy, I’m scared!...

The above poem illustrates the hard loss that Antonio experienced at around the age of 14 when his mother passed away. The concept of “Don’t Cry. You’re a Man!” is a harsh reality many men still face in our society, coming through the ages. Young Antonio, like many other boys and men, experienced a overwhelming sadness, and had every right to feel this sadness, but was told this was just not the manly thing to do.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.

On top of everything, I like your work, 
Patient, deep, hard working, 
you search with great courage
in the secret of the earth.  
Firm and dark, 
like a gentlemen in a dark suit, 
you enter this black grand palace
from the long corridor and down the creaking staircase, 
as the beams turn
like a galant play:
the pick is your partner. 
The orchestra is playing heavily;
the trolleys are flowing without ceasing. 
And at the end you come out 
tired, drunk, pale and dirty;
you come out from the long dazzling festival
in which you have undressed
the rich lady that dominates you.
You feel more poor than before. 
Because you take and you give. 
The world awaits your gift:
for the Life. 
For this the grand rivalry is born 
the Death
awaiting you. You are not only the gentlemen 
in the dark suit
that is waiting his turn for a dance,
the prodigal that provides. 
You’re a strong athlete, you’re the gladiator
you’re not scared of any danger 
that enters into the arena 
to fight the enemy. 
Your weapon is a pick. 
Everyday you enter into 
the black world like the eternal night,
to bring your contribution to life
against Death. 
And you come out tired, drunk; 
drunk from the joy for life
that every day has given you another chance
like you give yours to the world. 
You are good and strong. 
For this 
above everything else, I like your work. 

The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.