Louis Fratino

"Della romantica tuta oh non amai solo la scorza. Ma proprio la dolcezza ch’è sperduta fra le montagne della forza.

Not only did I love the length of hide in the romantic coverall. But oh the tenderness overall tucked away between peaks of strength.

—Sandro Penna, Translated by Jahan Khajavi

"La Vita Morta

Each man I’ve wrestled with till dawn has been angelic — In the flesh or merely in a dream. If strength the reliquary, sweetness is the relic — Rolled into a ball. The higher the scheme,

The greater the form — as sculpted figures, made of other Stuff, more human than a corpse may seem. When I held the body of my younger brother — Hard as marble, flesh that wouldn’t yield,

And cold — no spark remained there that I feared to smother With my kisses. Everyone I’ve peeled Out of his working clothes has, tenderness & brawn, Equally whole joys, to me revealed.

I have imagined, on the verge of being drawn, A breath from sleeping boys who cannot catch you Creeping up on them, whose sole role is to fawn. And every angel I have seen, a statue."

—Jahan Khajavi