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

genesicosmica-strangefruit

“STRANGE FRUIT”

  

“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)

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