Strange fruit, poem by Cristina Codazza. Painting by Davide Binello




“Southern trees bear a strange fruit

blood on the leaves and blood on the root”


(Baltimore, 1915)


My life

is hanging on a thread

they say,

and I am the thread and the miracle

of that life

I say,

and I will unreel only


in the presence

of a night amazed

by my lunar-material bond

(by my disarmed eye)


by a tide and by words

many, rough, creaked.


If that desperate thread

becomes the touch

of an urgent death


my smoky, obsessed Blues

will wear out, alone,


like a strange fruit

in the pungent smell

of a Nightclub dawn.


(New York, 1959)


to Billie Holiday



(Translation by Francesca Biagi and Monica Ann De Bari)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s