Elisa Revelli Tomatis
Elisa Revelli Tomatis (1938) was born in Carrù and lives in Cuneo. She started writing and publishing her lyrics only in fairly recent years but has since asserted herself as perhaps the most prolific author of her generation. Revelli Tomatis’s poetry displays a variety of metrical forms and tones, an uncommon wealth of images, and a vast and variegated vocabulary aiming to portray the multifaceted beauty of the world and the mystery of existence. Her work has been recognized at several literary contests such as the Carù, pòrta dla Langa, the Salutme ‘l Mòro, and the Ròche dij Përtià. Her collections to date are Cheur masnà (Child Heart) (2006), Tralus ëd cel (Transparence of Sky) (2007), Spovrin (Hourglass) (2009), A pont cros (Cross-Stitching) (2012), A la bela stèila (Out in the Open) (2015), Pan ëd barbarià (Rye Bread) (2018), Onde (Waves) (2022), Lerme (Tears) (2024), and La lordin-a dël silensi (The Vertigo of Silence) (2025).
Spovrin (From Spovrin)
Cito sla stagera d’un crotin
o stanta në spovrin abandonà,
lo vagno ij ragg ëd so da na fnestròta
ënmes a ‘n trimoraso ‘d taragnà.
Lo ‘rvir con dlicadëssa come ‘n sògn,
la sabia a sguja seuria longh ël veri
a giajolé ën tralus na brova ‘d temp
an travajand l’arbat dij mè pënsé.
E maraman
quand le grumlòte is no stan chiete
na piuma a s’ëmbërbora
a ‘n caramà.
(Clessidra «Silente sulla scansia d’una cantinetta / langue una clessidra abbandonata, / la raggiungono i raggi del sole da una finestrella / in mezzo a un tremolio di ragnatele. // La rigiro con delicatezza come un sogno, / la sabbia scivola liscia lungo il vetro / a screziare in trasparenza il greto del tempo/pervadendo il pulsare dei miei pensieri. // E d’improvviso /quando i semini se ne stan quieti /una penna si disseta / a un calamaio».)
Hourglass
Silent on a shelf in a small cellar
the abandoned hourglass languishes,
the sunrays reach it from a small window
through the trembling of cobwebs.
I turn it delicately as a dream,
the sand glides smoothly along the glass
transparently streaking the shore of time,
pervading the pulsing of my thoughts.
And suddenly
as the grains fall quiet
a feather drinks
from an inkwell.