FALLAS, IL PROCURATORE DI STATO Io, che brandivo il flagello, che spaccavo le bilance, che percuotevo con fruste e spade; io, che odiavo i contravve… - Edgar Lee Masters

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FALLAS, IL PROCURATORE DI STATO

Io, che brandivo il flagello, che spaccavo le bilance,
che percuotevo con fruste e spade;
io, che odiavo i contravventori della legge;
io, il legalista, inesorabile e amaro,
che spinsi i giurati a impiccare quel pazzo di Barry Holden,
divenni come uno ucciso da una luce troppo abbagliante,
e mi svegliai in faccia a una Verità dalla fronte sanguigna;
forcipi d'acciaio maneggiati malamente da un dottore
contro la testa del mio bimbo che nasceva
lo resero idiota.
Per curarlo e accudirlo
mi diedi a libri di scienza.
Ecco come il mondo di coloro che hanno mente malata
divenne il mio compito e tutto il mio mondo.
Povero ragazzo distrutto! Tu fosti, alla fine, il vasaio,
ed io, in tutti i miei atti di carità,
il vaso sotto le tue mani.

Italian
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About Edgar Lee Masters

Edgar Lee Masters (23 August 1868 – 5 March 1950) was an American poet, biographer and dramatist. He is most famous for the Spoon River Anthology.

Biography information from Wikiquote

Also Known As

Alternative Names: Lee Masters
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Additional quotes by Edgar Lee Masters

I bought every kind of machine that's known-
Grinders, shellers, planters, mowers,
Mills and rakes and ploughs and threshers-
And all of them stood in the rain and sun,
Getting rusted, warped and battered,
For I had no sheds to store them in,
And no use for most of them.
And toward the last, when I thought it over,
There by my window, growing clearer
About myself, as my pulse slowed down,
And looked at one of the mills I bought-
Which I didn't have the slightest need of,
As things turned out, and I never ran-
A fine machine, once brightly varnished,
And eager to do its work,
Now with its paint washed off-
I saw myself as a good machine
That Life had never used.

And I never started to plow in my life
That some one did not stop in the road
And take me away to a dance or picnic.
I ended up with forty acres;
I ended up with a broken fiddle — And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories,
And not a single regret.

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