Marco Carrer

Marco Carrer

Marco Carrer started dedicating himself to poetic production in Moscow when he was a student at the Bolshoi ballet academy, under the advice of the pas de deux teacher.

In his years of writing Marco Carrer received several awards for his poems, including an honorable mention at the Bologna writer’s festival, the third prize in the international free poetry category of the Giovanni Bertacchi prize and he was one of the winners of the 2022 contemporary Italian literature prize.

Marco Carrer is also Great Squire of the “World Union of Poets”, a member of the international movement “Poetas del Mundo” and co-founder of WikiPoesia.

On the 07/02/2020, the Knight of Merit of the Italian Republic for poetry Silvano Bortolazzi awarded him the “Steel Cross of the World Union of Poets for Dance” award.

Marco Carrer is former demi-soloist with the Israel ballet in Tel Aviv, former dancer with the Croatian National ballet in Split and international guest artist.

His second book “Strano amore” came out in February 2023 and thanks to this production he was called as a guest in some of the most prestigious Italian associations like the Italian institute of culture in Tel Aviv and the Dante Alighieri society in Split. The book also won the Panorama golden books award and it was finalist of the Mario Luzi prize, the most important for Italian poetry.


The tangling of those branches
lent shadow to my marine vision
which led to that land tatter
that with me the gulf outlined.

Further west the ostensible
infinite propagating,
it was said it actually hid
the earth that in infancy
cultivated me.

Charmed I admire
the proposed present,
from that old house
where abruptly
I was hurled to lodge.

So confused
by living my own life.
Having still on my derm
the essence of Negev,
I bring now rests of sand
on a pebble shore.

In this Adriatic forest
cicadas win the human sound.
And the deep wet heat,
interrupting my nights,
erratically alternates
with a mild salty breeze,
which relishes grazing
the pines hair and
my tired boughs.

On the observing twilights porch
we drink Saturdays away,
and coffee prepares to
the brackish road
of the working days.

A planisphere of people
floods the village streets,
constantly while I burrow
in the civic theater,
they revive the soul
of the ancient ruins.

Although someone told me,
that when Bora starts blowing
the city reclaims its solitude.

But even in solitude
the luck of residents
is not obscured.

That privilege of dwelling
in a town with an ocean view.


There is a city in this world
kissed by the warm Mediterranean,
at the beginning of the orient
recently awake, recently alive.

Perpetual contradiction
soars from ores ashes;

the clash between the ferrous giants
and the ancient stones,

the slaps between fierce heat
and untamed wind.

Where the door of atavistic pilgrim rises
colliding with the darting of time,
in that garden bloomed from sand
the sun burns our days.

And when it falls in the sea
scratching the sky line shadow
it calls the moon,
from the desert coming
with its golden night breeze.

She never falls asleep,
she does not have the time.
She nourishes the dream of people
their battles, their path.

It is specious I know,
but I live there.

Poetry in this post: © Marco Carrer
Published with the permission of Marco Carrer