action is an extroversion of the body
by Sofia Demetrula Rosati
On this page you can read the English translation of the book “action is an extroversion of the body”, tranlated by Sofia Demetrula Rosati
author’s note
Although it resembles an anthology in its format, “action is an extroversion of the body”, unfolds as a single poetic text in twelve acts, twelve frameworks in which action is extroverted. High tension is the leitmotiv which unfolds throughout the entire anthology and creates a clear beginning and an epilogue.
Every single completed action implies the subsequent one. Every single extroverted action maintains its uniqueness. Thus the poems are broken down over various pages, leading the reader to two precise actions: the first one lengthens the pause between one verse and another, as you leaf through the pages; the second one fixes the preceding verse into memory, connecting it to the next page, maintaining concentration. Tension, held back thusly, leads you to reading out loud.
By stimulating the reader’s body through recitative movement, the body will participate in the poetic-creative act, reproduced through recitative action. An extroversion of the body which has a conscious nature, but not a rational one.
S.D.R.
action is an extroversion of the body
action is an extroversion of the body
supported by silent bones and
meditative in
a late hour
while the falcons ride the
wind sated with the day
The warm hand rests
on the face to
stimulate the nerves
the body is extroverted in
an agitated movement which
stirs the hammock hanging on
trellises of light and
on which it rests
movement seems disconnected
so much that the body is shaken towards
opposite directions and bones
lose concentration
it seems but the oscillation of the hammock
slowly restores equilibrium
the falcons return to their nests on the
rocks and face the wind proud
the hand has detached from the face
the air is warm and calm
I hate this breathing into emptiness
I hate this breathing into emptiness
the cursor on the screen beats
intermittently but does not
produce sound
silence is dense and
I have to swallow it continuously to
make room for me
refracted sound
produces single bothersome notes
I thought I could
remain seated and
wait
consoling the edges and
curves of the room
intervene
among the objects
instead I find myself throwing
material away continuously
in order not to be suffocated
possibility is an error underlined in red
so rarefaction prevails
so rarefaction prevails
specific weight has denounced
the law of gravity
the vastness of space
is the right measure for me
to count the steps on the straight vertical line
I no longer fear now
fulfillment dilates the walls of the stomach and
the spasm is no longer clenched by anguish but
fluctuates hanging on an umbrella
I can know you blindfolded
without fearing that you see me blind
I can learn to love while I gather
the ripe fruit fallen from the trees
without hurry sitting while waiting that
still sour
because life is long for those who
have exhausted their questions
one by one I recognized you
one by one I recognized you in the vulgar exhalation of your stride I have not allowed losing you at the crossroads in following you I have generated photovoltaic connections It doesn’t matter if you have made alliances a glance is faster than thought intercepts the light yellow orange of your contaminations at primordial speed High voltage has bent space and time into a right angle clinging onto the edge I cry out and call you one by one incessantly so that you will not lose memory
you can walk between my scapulae
you can walk between my
scapulae
Leave your shoes on the stairs
weight is not specific
I have learned to converse with
the wooden floor
I can write on my face
without you realizing it
I can eat
without you seeing me suffocate
if the light does not blind it can remain
I never had the feeling of being there
and yet my fingerprints were taken
I have a face white and black
before the lens
I have given you so much power
I have given you much power
shadowing the verb until the action
I have cleared the street to be crossed
I have connected the cords of the lights
I have picked out the doors which can be opened
leaving the keys clearly in sight
my eyes always fixed
on your scapulae and
suddenly stopping
and then taking again
with shoes in hand
stalking action until the verb
I have given you power
the implored one
with distracted gaze and
when you extended your hand to
complicate the pretension
a presence in space it was declared
- THEN - it became a verbal tense
we were all there looking on
illusions on the trelisses of light
we lay on the warm rass and
we began to to eat it
then we proceeded in small leaps the conjugations returned
I confused my name with its meaning
I confused my name with its meaning
and
I broadened the outline of my profile
following an arbitrary movement
subject to knowledge
but in observing the movement
it didn’t add up
the volumes containing and
those contents
I had to reduce the outline of my profile
and
fix my name spelling it out
with a labial movement
subject to desire
in the inertia of waiting I eat oranges spreading the aroma
I have given birth to a uterus
I have given birth to a uterus
and
I have sewn myself inside
they look for and do not find me
they outline perimeters on my corporeality
the floor is strewn with mechanical detectors
but the recorded voices I have them with me
the exercise of action in search is done in
coincidental consideration of the facts
but the exact version of the facts
is made impossible
halved by the desperation of the meaning
they are seated in wide spaces excavated and
throw small stones inches from the water's surface
while they caress their hot soft abdomens
an intense aroma of oranges floods them
there is no exact version of the facts
there is no exact version of the facts
the transcriptions are rounded up to the truth minus one
witnessing has always been closed between
the doorframe and its screen
what remains is the diagonal of the received
family tree without mutants
the assumptions can no longer
be taken into consideration
movement remains the only
possible action and
the uterus roles down the rocks
shaken by the movement of air
From the solid beats of falcons' wings that
return to their nests
the sun late and hot
dissects the thin layer of uterine flesh
the body oozes out and stretches
in search of wetness
nerves envelope the bones
dominant and resolute in evident fragility
limbs regain security and
a hand runs speedily on the ground
smelling like pomegranate the warm blades of grass
yet the question imposes importance
yet the question imposes importance
the sensation is to be able to disconnect
an ellipsis of time if
the questions stretch out on the grass
concentrated on the umbalanced oscillation
of the hammock
those who have
questions and queries
suppose
the importance of waiting for a
month of new moon to employ
verbal exercise
the body in widespread discrepancy
controls the migration of its shadow
in mute observation of the yellow-orange light
which comes from below
but the arrival of the new moon dislocates the
the verbal procedure
questions arise one by one and
they proceed on the vertical straight line
those who have breath and questions
move towards following them
but escape is not within their possibilities
and the unwritten page
and the unwritten page
is
the measure of all
non-action determines the state of the non-agent
while the futile details of life accumulate
the blades of grass thicken
bones blanche under the sun
teeth yellow
but the page remains unwritten
the extroversion of the body does not
leave visible traces if only
the movement of air felt a few
meters on
heat imposes a break on the edge of the road
while he who watches can flow swiftly
insulin in veins does not manage the oppressive
incapability of metabolizing sweetness
in the glare of blindness writing is not an agent
while suicide is quickly buried
without even the sign of the cross
in a field of fruit trees the
exercise of free will is declared
extroversion no longer has witnesses
extroversion no longer has witnesses
and
action turns its back to the demolished
the pace proceeds slowly
the wind does not have odors
fruit is no longer the nourishment
of the horizon’s curve
marks the stride calming it
we proceed without leaving a trace
© sofia demetrula rosati
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