Roberta Maria Atti: mixed media

Bush owes us an apology

.ETERNITY
by Roberta Maria Atti

I was walking down my path one day,
and I stumbled upon eternity.
I was surprised.
It didn’t look at all like I thought it would.
I expected space and time, merging in a stream of creation.
Galaxies, giving birth to solar systems.
Black holes, opening onto parallel universes.
Restless atoms, zooming in and out of reality.
I thought I would see the world’s Soul, suspended in bliss.
But eternity didn’t look like any of that.

It was a hairy bumble bee,
gracefully caressing the tiny purple flowers in a lavender bush.
A tear, plump and salty, rushing to join the ocean,
out of the corner of a baby’s eye.
A cricket in love, playing his part in a majestic choral symphony.
A seahorse, galloping the undercurrents of a tropical sea.
A pearl, white, and full of tiny rainbows.
It was my heart, pulsating gently, rocking my life back and forth.

I picked up eternity,
because it was so pretty,
and now I carry it with me everywhere I go.

NARCISSUS
by Roberta Maria Atti

Narcissus was a boy
a long, long time ago,
whose beauty has been talked about
by many. And it was so,
that beauty was his gift,
and beauty was his curse,
but let me tell his story
I got from truthful source.

The gorgeous boy had locks,
around his lovely face,
jet black and thick and strong
and luscious with such grace,
that when the King of Ravens
came flying by one day
his plumage seemed quite ordinary
much to the bird’s dismay.

Narcissus’ eyes were blue
when he was by the sea,
and lightened when he looked up high,
like mirrors of the sky;
and when he wandered in the forest
they’d turn a deep dark green,
like emeralds that sparkle
from coffers of a Queen.

I do not need to tell you
how women loved this boy.
They’d gather ‘round him day and night,
with smiles so sweet and coy.
The young and old alike,
each bosom full of hope
that maybe love would strike
and lovers would elope.
And yet it never came about,
his care was never shown,
for none of them could touch his heart
that beauty had turned to stone.

It just so happened that one day
Narcissus fell asleep,
while roaming through the forest deep
and for a time he lay,
until such hour came to pass
when darkness covers all,
and as he rested on the grass
a Nymph came for a stroll.

Her name was Echo, and sooner
much sooner than you'd think,
she found Narcissus sleeping
and could not even blink:
her eyes had never seen
such beauty, such display
of exquisite humanity,
of graciousness such play.
She sat right by him, watching
till dawn lit up the sky.
She waited with a joyous heart,
anticipation high.

And when he woke she smiled at him
and touched him on the cheek,
caressed him with the loveliest hand,
for nothing she could speak.
Her beauty was so innocent,
so pure and rare a gift,
the jealous Goddess cursed her
by silencing her lips.
That only she could speak
if she was spoken to,

and only could repeat
what others would proclaim,
her own desires, in her heart,
she'd try to voice, in vain.

He smiled back and said: “Who are you?”
“Who are you?”,
repeated Echo in earnest,
in hope that he would know,
she meant to speak but couldn’t.
Her face would surely show
she meant no harm and no deceit,
but kindness and concern.
But as he rose he laughed at her,
dismissed her in return.

He broke her heart and walked away
as if she were not there,
a cruel smile on his lips
and not the slightest care.
“My beauty I should not seek
to waste on such a freak!
She cannot even formulate
how much she loves my looks,
what good would do me to behold
her? For even if I shook
her body till she’d faint,
no sound would ever come from her,
no joyous words of praise,
for my fair beauty, for my charms
nor for my perfect grace”.

Poor Echo could not cease
to think about the boy.
She tried to put herself at ease
but found she had no joy.
Narcissus soon forgot about
the pretty little Nymph
who could not speak and could not shout,
whose tears were like sweet lymph.

She languished in the forest
surrounded by her friends:
fox, owl, deer and chipmunks
could not return her zest.
She died one day of broken heart
and she became a tree.
An Evergreen, and from the start
she knew her Soul was free:
her love would never die again
for Winter could not kill
with icy winds and frozen rain
her foliage, strong and still.

Narcissus did not realize
how careless he had been,
his looks had made him not so wise
nor sensitive, nor keen.
The Elders of the forest,
in seeing his arrogance,
decided to impart revenge
on such a fool, at once.

They brought him to a pool of water
where nature seemed so calm,
they made him thirsty and he came closer
to drink the soothing balm.
But when his lips would almost touch
the surface of the lake
he caught a glimpse of his own beauty
and that was his mistake.

No longer could he feel
thirst, hunger, pain or joy,
the only thing that stabbed his heart:
a longing for this boy
he saw reflected on the surface
of the magic pool.
And so it was that, like a fool,
he starved himself to death,

unable yet to see
that real love is to be found,
though imperfect it may be,
all over, all around us,
within us and without,
and in the smiles of those who care,
and love us with no doubt.

The Evergreen who loved him so
took pity on his Soul,
and begged the Forest to forgive
whatever love he stole.

The Fairies heard her and decided
a flower he should be
made pretty for the pretty girls,
and scented for their glee.

And so it is that every year,
when blossoms start to show,
Narcissus comes, and flowers near
the Evergreen that know
what beauty lies within him
that he could not express.
For life is nothing but a whim
for those who cannot guess
that truest beauty lies inside
where hearts beat day and night,
and not outside, on pretty faces
or looks that cause delight.

My friends this is the story
of lovers and of fate,
I hope you heard what glory
can everyone create,
in spite of sorrow, grief and loss
in spite of even death,
for Love is endless and immortal.

Relax, and take a breath:
Narcissus is a flower,
and Echo is a tree,
they live next to each other,
for you and I to see.

8/2000

AN EASTER TALE OF TWO OAKS
by Alessandra Atti
translated from Italian by Roberta Maria Atti

Once upon a time, on the tallest hill overlooking the village, there lived a Great Mother. Her spacious bosom was home to many creatures: a squirrel’s burrow could be found there, and countless birds’ nests, and insect nurseries. Even tadpoles lived in a safe puddle of water hidden among her roots, but only in the right season.

Sometimes, whether in the soft, humid mist of autumn days, or in the icy drizzle of a winter morning, or in a light spring fog, or in the haze of the August sun, Her foliage seemed so vast, so abundant, so majestic, that one would think it was two trees standing there, not one.

One day, at the right moment, which was known only to Her, the Great Mother dropped two acorns, small but well formed, plump and full of untold life, as young acorns usually are. The two acorns rolled happily on the grass, moving away from where Mother was standing, but not too far. So small, just barely at the beginning of their existence, they knew what to do, as is common among Earth’s creatures. Be strong and stable; put down long roots and hold on to the ground; stretch the limbs wide and high and cover them with leaves, in order to breathe better; offer shade and shelter, peace and rest to all those who need it. These are the important things in an oak’s life.

But for now the task was to sprout a tiny yellow root and a few small leaves, and make sure they all moved in the right direction: the root down and the leaves up. It was simple and it all went well. The Great Mother looked on, encouraging the little ones with tender love, whispering bright green fairy tales as they grew, standing tall above the vast and mysterious world below. The two small acorns would bravely stretch their short, delicate limbs towards it, feeling safe and protected with Mother’s bigness right behind.

But then something happened. Something inevitable. Something which is carved into the bark right from the start, but that remains mercifully unknown: the time of strength was coming to an end. The Great Mother felt a weakness spreading up from within her, and She surrendered gracefully to her destiny. Her dried up leaves dangled from the hardened branches, no longer replaced by new ones, while long, deep cracks opened up all over her trunk.

In leaving her daughters without the joy of seeing them grow, the Great Mother shed heavy tears of slightly sweet lymph that ran down all the way to the ground. Then, with a loud, thunder-like cry, the Great Oak Mother surrendered her mighty Spirit to the quiet night on the hill.

A cold wind, coming from the north, started to blow, almost immediately. The two small oaks felt alone and unprotected for the first time, and so they tangled up their roots together, to help one another hold on, while the cold wind blew. But in spite of the support they gave one another they felt the coldness reach all the way inside, deep in their young oak hearts. One of them became blind to the world, in order not to see the pain in it, while the other grew too fast, trying to get away from herself.

Time went by slowly, inexorably. The two oaks grew, in spite of their sorrow, and tried to forget their true nature, in an attempt to numb the anguish. The blind one lived as if the life she had been given was small and insignificant. She let her strength grow dim, in hope that no one would notice her. She let termites feed on her flesh and ignored the ivy that choked her. She slowly lost her inside to the opportunists that lived within her and she became hollow.

The other one, the one who had tried to escape her body, had grown long, spindly, disordered limbs that stretched out in all directions without accomplishing much. As a result no creature could trust her and birds didn’t build their nests on her. She felt empty and useless most of the time, and hoped to hurry up her life that way, so she could disappear.

For many dreary, gloomy, meaningless days, the two sisters ignored one another. They wouldn’t even whisper in the breeze to one another, for fear of awakening the unbearable pain they had been trying to forget. But again, something happened: maybe the wind changed, maybe the Great Mother spoke to them from within their souls, or maybe it was because of those hidden, tangled roots, that had never released their grip, in spite of the cold wind above ground.

And so it came to pass that, at the beginning of one winter, the two sisters dared to let their leaves fall to the ground at the same time and mingle onto the frozen earth, so that one could no longer distinguish the leaves of one tree from those of the other. And when the coldest wind blew they let the frost cover them from top to bottom, standing together, trusting in the Spirit of the seasons. And oh, how they suffered from the cold! Oh, how they wept from the cruel bite of those frosty, silent, gray mornings on the hill overlooking the village. But the unbearable cold killed the parasites and broke off useless, spindly, sterile branches.

And so, with the coming of the new Spring, on a warm starry night, the two sisters discovered that their branches were murmuring together, an ancient song that only Great Mothers know. And that night they realized they had become Great Mothers themselves.

On Easter, as was customary since the beginning of time, a long procession of devout people climbed the hill, holding lit candles and singing joyous hymns. And they looked and looked, almost incredulous, and wondered...and commented.... how unusual, how interersting, how beautiful: in the pastel colors of twilight, air perfumed with hyacinth and daffodil, one could see not two, but one enormous tree, standing tall, holding up its thick, luscious foliage, watching over the village like a gentle giant.

And from that day on the people used to say that the Great Mother had returned to her home on top of the tallest hill overlooking the village.