Journey's End - A Poem About Turin
by Rasmus Rosenkrantz
Photo by Rebin Hadad
Part 1
There exists a strange energy in the universe: a power that binds and ties you to certain things — a sort of mutual attraction between objects and people. It manifests itself in your heart like a loud whisper or a supressed scream and it appears both when entering or leaving a place but for very different reasons.
I am leaving Turin, Piedmont, Italy, my place of residence for more than two years. It is a place that I don’t hesitate say has formed me — transforming and reshaping the remnants of my bewildered psyche that directionless found it’s way here.
Why I am leaving is irrelevant for it has no impact on the feelings I associate with this city. If I had stayed it wouldn’t have changed, altered or erased the scattered parts of my recollection that the city now contains as part of a tempory exhibition in the museum of my soul.
These pieces of my mind are neither happy nor sad, instead they move me for their originality, they are indisputably me — now that I am leaving, will they stay? will I take them with me? or will they perish completely?
As long as my feet know these steps
and don't seize when walking its path —
Then
Melancholy and Nostalgia
Will
Safely lead my stroll
towards
The Flipside of my heart —
The last place
contaning enough space
for this empty feeling. Parco Valentino
Photo by Rebin Hadad
I got out of bed today with a single purpose: to go to the park. The first part of my quest is the most demanding. I walk a solid fifteen minutes and arrive by the river, and immediately cling my whole body to a tree, embracing a piece of history, both familiar and unknown to me.
By the river I glare at the sun's reflection in the brown water. Small waves form and sway delicately, going nowhere, locked in place, without direction or purpose. Their conquest is much like mine. I've terminated my one objective for the day, now all that's left for me is to follow the waves of time, until I will sleep once more and maybe forget what I refuse to know.
I caught a fleeting glimpse of my infancy yesterday sitting on a bench — Images I thought were erased, still lingering on my retina A flickering picture of my house — now someone else's — following one child lying awake throughout the night — How come I never learned to sleep?
Daydreaming is what you could call a full-time hobby. These final days I find myself in a state between dead asleep and frighteningly awake. Images of past and present mix with an erased future. Fragments of unrealised motives start to haunt me —The thought of not returning, and that there will be no same time and place next week — Everything seems so temporary.
I've sought it all found a lot and don't know how to stop asking for more — Ti volevo raccontare il mondo La terra nascosta dentro il mio cuore E gli regali della vita Chiusi nei miei pensieri — I don't remember you well I recall your body and figure I reminisce of your laugh I keep recollections of your smile I retain the images of your face I forgot your name I can hardly remember my own. — Mi ero perso in mille sogni Svegliato di nuovo Vedo la terra Vedo me stesso Per quello che sono Non vedo niente.
Monte Dei Cappucini:
Photo by Rebin Hadad
From the park I head towards the hills. High above — many times I've studied the art of hiding. In the big city you're never invisible, but a few places offer the opportunity to disappear momentarily.
I wish to look across the valley from the panoramic view point of Monte Dei Cappuccini. It's a lovely day. The alps greet me and the certainty of the sun setting soothes my nervous inner creature.
The images start fludding. Too many visions, too much to bear, too much much to be, I can't even disappear, not like this.
Caught in this whirlwind of a self-imposed melancholy, I snap my eyes towards the coloured brick with the writing “right place to say I love you” and then the memories start recommencing…
It was the right place to say
I love you
Yet my heart did not know it
My sentiment's now gone lost in time
and won't see the light of day
only in this rhyme
but even that won't stay
Amongst the trees
with the wind swaying through your hair
your silent face mystifyingly embracing me
How blind was I and what did I fail to see
since those memories now recide in my soul
having never really existed
—
I scout across the city while it's still mine
Like How I held the hand of a lover for the last time
The brutal sentence of all our feelings—
the bitter certainty of their futility
Oh I'd wish I could look at thee eternally one last time
that my gaze should always remain locked in the same state,
saying hello and goodbye to you every single day
When will I greet you again?
Will my eyes remember your kean shapes?
Will my tenderness continue to decay?A final Stroll:
Photo by Rebin Hadad
My wonder has exceeded my stamina and I intend to descend. With the hills in my back I feel the weight of my every step. It's a 10 minute walk down — it's the first time I've counted it.
I let the wind speak It soothens me with Its blissfull indifference Perhaps it never cries? or perhaps it never smiles? — Parlare del passato fa scorrere i veni del momento Il vento del tempo Trascina i sentimenti Al lungo buco del mio cuore Attraverso le lacrime versati in ogni mio pensiero — The sun sets On the river— I close my eyes — Vedo la tua fantasma dietro l'albero Dove stringevo la mano della tua figlia La fanciulla perduta nei tuoi ricordi Che mi aveva amato senza conoscere il mio cuore
La Mole:
Photo by Gabriele Astuto
Once down the hill I pass the river again and head towards La Mole Antonelliana. A big tower not really resembling anything. For me it's the symbol of the city. So I love it. The building’s affection is entirely tied to one's perception. To me that's art!
Every night at eight it is illuminated in everchanging, sparkling lights. I swear that even when I don’t see it physically I can somehow still feel something brightening in my heart in unison with the building.
Baciarsi qui sotto la mole
Uno di quei momenti che
la vita sembrasse un film
Ma durava troppo poco
Ed è sparito nel velo fugace
di un secondo
—
A thousand lights
Call me home
A single Light
brings about darkness
—
I tie a knot
In the iris of my eyes
As the flickering lights
haunt me in my sleep
and reality prevents me from dreaming.Tram
Photo by Rebin Hadad
A girl smiled at me today on the tram and immediately transported me to an alternate reality — one where I had met her much earlier. I saw a reflection of her soft blond hair through my tainted eyelids on a cold winter day in some mountain cabin.
And then she got off at the next stop… and I felt sad.
Part 2
Photo by Rebin Hadad
Departure
The hours are closing in, departure is all I see. Nostalgia is all I feel. Every building, every sidewalk, every tree and tiny leaf have morphed into organic pieces of repressed recollections, and I can’t for the life of me begin to process them.
I was full of hope when I discarded my fear I was full of pain the first time I left from here I was taken aback, left in limbo Now it's time to go forward but my feet refuse to move.
I have begun to see Home as an idea. As a concept it puzzles you equally when present and absent. Where you live is really a practical ordeal, and therefore moving shouldn’t be a big deal. What ties you to your home, locks you in place. When you dream of the world, your head gets lost in space. So today I am home, tomorrow I don’t know.
My last evening I roam the streets, talk to strangers without fear — I am certain they won’t remember me. I’ve played my part, but I worry that I played it poorly, but now it’s too late and frankly I’m getting tired. Too many words and too much overthinking, perhaps I will find peace once I faint from exhaustion.
I decide it’s time to walk home. The same path that I’ve walked uncountable times. I know each step by memory and have photos in my mind of all the passing scenery. I know it all too well, there’s no longer anything special about it. But since it’s the last time I will walk these streets, I decide to walk slowly.
In order to brace yourself for any change, first you must breathe in and let go of the weight of your sensability. When you close your eyes, you can always find home in your mind. In order to find love you need to know what to leave behind.
Saying goodbye is well... Complicated Eternity is a thing of the past If nothing is meant to last I choose to embrace past future days. — Maybe a place is just a place after all I will miss my friends and my loved ones that I haven’t met already It might be the end Yet I refuse to call it so.
Photo by Rebin Hadad
Beautiful collection Rasmus, the intensity of feeling here is moving, thanks for sharing these!
Your words are full of many emotions, Rasmus. I feel the nostalgia and your parting emotions. Bon voyage!