«This act of translation, this half-world»

[december_crime]

Without tenderness, we are all in hell.
E non è un post che avevo in mente di fare. Non è la poesia che volevo copiare.
Non ho neanche tempo&voglia di trovare le parole giuste per mettere in relazione Helene e le altre cose che ho letto, come a volte si trovino a convergere e siano incontri veri, reali. Quindi, è solo un promemoria forse. Per tempi a venire.

VI
Your small hands, precisely equal to my own -
only the thumb is larger, longer - in these hands
I could trust the world, or in many hands like these,
handling power-tools or steering-wheel
or touching a human face...such hands could turn
the unborn child rightways in the birth canal
or pilot the exploratory rescue-ship
through icebergs, or piece together
the fine, needle-like shreds of a great krater-cup
bearing on its sides
fingers of ecstatic women striding
to the sibyl's den or the Eleusinian cave -
such hands might carry out an unavoidable violence
with such restraint, with such a grasp
of the range and limits of violence
that violence ever after would be obsolete.

Adrienne Rich, Twenty-one Love Poems