CHIARA DAINO was born on the 5th of March 1981 in Genoa, Italy. She is [the way she is]:

• . ACTRESS
• . NOVELIST
• . SONGWRITER
• . TRANSLATOR
• . TROUBLEMAKER [she said she writes verse/means. She is but a poet]

Chiara Daino. is an (h)old soul who reincarnated in this lifetime as a beating blood blend. Born in the age of «Devoid of Sense», she grew up with Stage, with Page, with Metal, with her Lethal believing/performing.

A short selection of her (un)faithful translations/conversions:



– And four for one! So there by the tired hand
pierrot starting stall and he goes to stage by grace,
the ungrateful sight, all the sins behind white lime,
by elbows he came out, to writhing to glut himself!

You ask me what a pierrot is for: is just to trash him!
great things that rambling mask anyway really knows,
‘bout the restless bit that lasts, with the all at sea Spy,
stunned, they stagger as well as they fall in deep dens,

bathed by the beginning shame, by the black tragedy,
call them the name you like, give them a good look:
bare jail meal as well as the family’s fictitious festivity,
sweet dreams made by sufferings and big lipstick lips.

unfair’ s gorge and rage, undesired spleenetic ones.
their stingy hearts make weak the sad moon patrols
by moonlights they act as if they choke by their ties:
– Cure, once more u! I’ll waitin’ for the curtain drop.

[poem by Luca Salvatore, DEAD CITY RADIO, Arcipelago Edizioni, 2008]



My open eyed sleepwalker nights.
All! but a kind. I want skilled eyes.

I kept in my in pocket all the trials,
pass mythology files, plays as bestiary.

I moved marrows, scraps and broken nerves,
the modern-day Spleen on plots and models,

as the Another, my fleshy ravenous double,
on the real object of my will uncontrollable.

Because we force to act by the raw way
showing formal fucking as wise we stay,

because we often mix up ethic and pathetic
revealing ecstatic rigours to one best synthetic.

By morgans, rude by night, I track the short line
the lies of the poets , of the guard gods of mine,

the treaty by nymphs and satyrs, the shaky party,
and the hate ‘n’ love strings, a likely fight mighty.

They loud say that anything has a price
I stand one left, of the fad they despise,

You mark down the Art, the future race being
smelling the scandal everywhere, your’s editing

you could count every one of my bones, one by one,
and almost all felt bully by Unlucky as a hunt one.

And I cant keep my mood, this as those, by pleased
I made my skill touch up by Universal one was painted!

[poem by Luca Salvatore, DEAD CITY RADIO, Arcipelago Edizioni, 2008]



to Alice, to far away sunflowers,

59 seconds to tell you last night I was quite drunk,
58 to tell you I went away but pay the bill,
57 to tell you I had a right idea about what I had to, to run away or to stay,
56 to tell you when I woke it was a really shit my friend,
55 to tell you it is always from bad to worse, fucking’ absinth!,
54 to tell you that old Japanese cure does not work,
53 to tell you today I did all the best, wasting time,
52 to tell you I needed you the time I was broken,
51 to tell you I miss the crying that scared your eyes ,
50 to tell you that telling lies to oneself is the only way to lie,
49 to tell you Alice is no more here by long long time,
48 to tell you “Lucky the one won’t shocked at you”,
47 to tell you where is gone all I wanted from you,
46 to tell you just now we can imagine us out of this world,
45 to tell you came as you are,
44 to tell you is quite enough by now,
43 to tell you to try to be another one was crazy,
42 to tell you we could see shiny but no fury,
41 to tell you I’ve almost began to believe in again,
40 to tell you I never could promise you an outlook life,
39 to tell you the whole I am I’ve already written it or more or less,
38 to tell you I never believed in exemplary sentences,
37 to tell you I paid for this by my life,
36 to tell you I took loan one at random,
35 to tell you I spent last years thinking how to relax the stress,
34 to tell you I’m waiting for a panic fit just right now or something worst,
33 to tell you one day as always I’ll return to the old dresser,
32 to tell you I’ve just confessed everything tom y broken glass,
31 to tell you what you bliss soon it will burn you,
30 to tell you it is always on my mind the “same” song,
29 to tell you is the same as when I’m drinking...,
28 to tell you is just like they already are going to massacre me alive!,
27 to tell you who drinks just water is keeping a secret or is pretending curiosity,
26 to tell you I told what you was not brave to,
25 to tell you the woman is sleeping by your side is a great bitch,
24 to tell you the way she fucks you is almost a Literary one,
23 to tell you boredom is not just a matter of rage,
22 to tell you I’ve never trusted in morals to benefit this life ore other ones,
21 to tell you so you are a criminal only if they will catch you,
20 to tell you we are the same substance that Nothing is feeding,
19 to tell you your fucking crying took out my eyes,
18 [I really can’t translate it. Sorry. C.D.]
17 to tell you imagination makes you believing what itself is building,
16 to tell you I’ve already learnt how to count,
15 to tell you it is not told two is a couple, and that one meter long stick does not mean you have to limit a one meter thing,
14 to tell you everything must have a ...destination,
13 to tell you nobody really knows what the other ones mean...,
12 to tell you I have my Hell to love and my rebus to solve,
11 to tell you too much answer is no way for you,
10 to tell you love is blind but neighbours!...,
9 to tell you I’ve touched on Love just a few times and you?,
8 to tell you is from fat gut that Dance goes out?,
7 to tell you the meaning is to forget you’ve began,
6 to tell you some small things I didn’t tell you,
5 to tell you what is past no more it will returns,
4 to tell you the meaning I misses,
3 to tell you here I am by tired hand, short of soul and breath,
2 to tell you this weak play just stays on just like the rest
1 second just to tell you I really know by now,
and... bitch by lust, that’s sixty at whole.

[poem by Luca Salvatore, DEAD CITY RADIO, Arcipelago Edizioni, 2008]



the age of the middle age this is
sixteen years or less; is
pleaded for the main meeting


just to see who spreads rapidly
– the seed like this –, high fantasy
wasting so, a lot

always, a lot.

[poem by Massimo Sannelli, IT: NOME NOME, Inedition, Bologna, 2007; EN: NO MAN ON ME, Aufgabe # 7, Litmus Press, 2008]



thinness in screaming, who skips
or strolls around, that’s the girl –

unripe you are not – among things
void, to comb, to swab teeth, short
hair, wear, hands;
not this bliss to rehearse
a thing; as it is; not this trip
these ones, lost, by keens,
plots, cuts. She knows, must.

[poem by Massimo Sannelli, IT: NOME NOME, Inedition, Bologna, 2007; EN: NO MAN ON ME, Aufgabe # 7, Litmus Press, 2008]



It blends: why? a point: is mine?
rock ’n’ core: aren’t thy?
Links
faulty default, one’s own – free will
a fall, never downfall. No.
Saint Etienne tourne le dos
Saint Stephen turns to glance – hi’s back:
a duke too, head flies in storms
and he rolls
along airworks

[poem by Massimo Sannelli, inversiOn, Dusie, Winterthur 2007, also in the New review of Literature, Spring 2008]



Our human cores burn out through thermic trips
Night lives there waiting the light has an end
By the sky to reply the day to run again to die
It’s a little brave game by poetry and flame right now
Wonders happen as they used as they are – padlocks
Looks are lost in non-sense eyes
Tight in a lasting dreamlike calm
That dynamic does dominate the space to pack it
With empty strain to link all that standstill has in
Clear and concise the short word is like the thrill
the pure dark ran over untaken gap and burst into
just made hush it spreads to return the lack is you

[poem by Adriano Padua]