"Archipelago" by Antonella Anedda (Bloodaxe, 2014)

A bilingual "selected poems" with translations by James McKendrick. Some of the translations have appeared in MPT, Oxford Poetry, Poetry Review, TLS, etc. She writes in Italian and Logudorese, and slides between poetry and prose. She also likes writing in sequences. Here's part I of "Nights of Western Peace"

I see from the darkness as from the most radiant balcony. The body is an axe: it strikes the light silently removing it to its starkest passage - to the black of a time that composes from the space trodden down by my soles an unbearably slow promised land

The final stanza of "to my daughter" slides gradually away from reality

I fold down the sheet, switch off the last light, and let your temples quietly beat under the covers, so the night will kneel beside your headlong November

Later, there's

Write because nothing is protected and the word wood shakes more frailly than the wood itself, without branches or birds because only courage can excavate patience in the heights until it takes the weight away from the meadow's black weight. (p.51)

and this, ending the selection from "Nights of Western Peace"

I have no voice, no song at all, only a language mixed with straw, a language of rope and salt clenched in the fist and to fill every crack in the house gate that bangs on the hard tumulus of dawn from darkness to darkness for whoever remains, for whoever keeps turning. (p.57)

Most of it was lost on me. "Courage" was the first poem in the book that I liked. "Anaesthetics" nearly worked.

"troviamo un po' pace, la stessa che danno gli scheltri composto nei musei" on p.140 is translated as "we can find peace of the sort that assails no lulls us seeing human bones laid out in a museum" which is near incomprehensible. There must have been a reason for avoiding the simple "we can find peace of the sort that human bones give us, laid out in museums."