Danguard Awakening for Danguard (惑星ロボ ダンガードA, Wakusei Robo Danguard Ace by Stefano Donno

 1. Danguard Awakening

In the cockpit of dying blue

Takuma’s pulse syncs with tungsten veins.

Danguard Ace —

not born, assembled from the last prayer of Earth.

Thrusters cough star-dust.

Prometheus waits, Doppler laughs in stolen gold.

Fist the size of a moon

opens like a question no one asked.

Steel remembers the boy’s fear.

The boy forgets he is only flesh.

Together they tear the black seam:

one heartbeat, one reactor, one endless

defend.

The planet tilts.

The robot answers.

No god.

Just ace.

2. The Marriage of Carbon and Circuit

They built him when the oceans had already begun to forget their names.

Danguard Ace, forty stories of unblinking alloy, core humming the old lullaby of survival.

Takuma stepped inside not as pilot but as doubt wearing a flight suit.

Can a child command a continent of steel?

The robot answered by closing its chest around him like a second childhood.

Now they move as one sentence split across two languages:

human tremor

machine certainty.

When Doppler’s fleet darkens the sky like locusts in chrome,

the boy whispers left and the left arm becomes a sun.

The robot learns the taste of terror through Takuma’s palms on the yoke.

In that cockpit they write a new scripture:

not savior, not weapon,

but the hinge where flesh forgives metal

and metal forgives the fragility of tomorrow.

They leave Earth behind.

They arrive at Prometheus already home.

3. Ace Refrain

He strides the dark between two dying suns,

Danguard Ace, planetary heart of flame and steel.

Doppler’s shadow lengthens — but the ace replies:

Ace in the void, ace in the fight,

ace for the children who still dream of light.

Takuma’s voice cracks inside the helmet,

yet the servos answer smoother than any prayer.

Plasma scars the hull like old regrets,

but the robot keeps its promise forged in Earth’s last ore.

From blue ruin to red promise they fly,

carrying every refugee dream on shoulders of titanium.

No throne, no crown — only the open palm of fire

that says: not today.

Ace in the void, ace in the fight,

ace for the children who still dream of light.

When the final battle dims the stars,

history will remember not the man, not the machine,

but the single word they became together:

Ace.

Still guarding the future

long after the screen goes dark.

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CHIODI BATTUTI: haiku scelti di Akano Yotsuba a cura di Diego Martina (I Quaderni del Bardo Edizioni di Stefano Donno)

 

🏆 VINCITORE 34ª Edizione Premio Nuove Voci dello Haiku Moderno

CHIODI BATTUTI

Haiku scelti di Akano Yotsuba
a cura di Diego Martina

Lo haiku non esprime.
Indica la luna.

CLICCA QUI E COLLEGATI SUBITO

L’haiku più bello dopo il silenzio

Nel discorso tenuto durante la cerimonia di premiazione alla 34esima edizione del Premio Nuove Voci dello Haiku Moderno, il vincitore Akano Yotsuba (1977-) ha definito lo haiku «la forma poetica più bella dopo il silenzio».

Proprio come Terayama Shūji lo chiamava «un ago», Yotsuba trasforma la brevità in una vera e propria “puntura poetica”. Nei suoi componimenti lo haiku non è più ciò che intende esprimere, quanto ciò che intende indicare.

«Proprio come nel celebre insegnamento Zen del dito che indica la luna, lo haiku si fa dito.»
— dall’introduzione di Diego Martina

Chi è Akano Yotsuba

Nato a Kōchi (Shikoku) nel 1977. Dedito alla poesia haiku dal 2011, nel 2016 vince la 34ª edizione del Premio Nuove Voci dello Haiku Moderno.

La sua raccolta Chiodi Battuti (iQdB Casa Editrice, 2023) è un viaggio in cui ogni verso è un chiodo che fissa l’attenzione sull’essenziale.

LEGGI L’INTRODUZIONE COMPLETA

Perché questi haiku restano impressi

Il dito indica la luna

Non racconta: mostra. Ogni haiku è un gesto zen che lascia il lettore libero di vedere.

Brevità che colpisce

Come chiodi battuti: pochi millimetri che penetrano in profondità.

Poesia dopo il silenzio

Il premio internazionale riconosce la potenza di una voce nuova e universale.

Pronto a lasciarti indicare la luna?

Clicca ora e scopri CHIODI BATTUTI – la raccolta haiku che sta conquistando lettori e critici in tutto il mondo.

CLICCA QUI E COLLEGATI SUBITO

iQdB Casa Editrice • 2023 • ISBN B0C5KLCZF4

iQdB Casa Editrice — I Quaderni del Bardo Edizioni di Stefano Donno
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Combining Squadron Psalm for Mechander Robot (合身戦隊メカンダーロボ, Gasshin Sentai Mekandaa Robot-Mekander robot) by Stefano Donno

 1. “Gasshin Sequence”

The torso waits in the launch bay,

cold titanium ribs humming.

Legs one and two roll in on magnetic rails—

Kojiro’s pulse inside the left knee joint.

Ryusuke’s voice in the right femur, steady.

Arms three and four lock with a click

that sounds like a planet remembering its name.

Jimmy Orion, last prince of poisoned Ganymede,

slides into the chest cavity,

cyborg heart syncing with reactor core.

Then the command—

Gasshin—

and everything forgets its solitude.

Steel becomes blood,

blood becomes orbit.

The Doron fleet above Earth

sees only one silhouette

rising,

larger than fear,

brighter than any dying star.

We are not five pilots.

We are the single fist

Earth still knows how to make.

2. “Mechander Echo”

They came from a world that had already killed itself with progress.

General Ozmel’s voice still carries the ash of Medusa’s oceans.

We answered with one machine built from five hearts.

Mechander Robo, you were never just metal.

You were the moment Jimmy’s exile became purpose,

Ryusuke’s inheritance became courage,

Kojiro’s youth became weapon.

You were the quiet prayer Dr. Shikishima whispered

while the sky burned 95 percent of the planet away.

When your five sections scream into alignment,

the sound is not machinery—

it is the last clean breath

this galaxy will ever take.

And somewhere in the reactor glow

a boy from a poisoned home

finally stops running.

3. “Combining Squadron Psalm”

Merge.

Merge the left thruster with the right regret.

Merge the shoulder cannon with the mother’s last transmission.

Merge the cockpit light with the boy who crossed stars in a capsule.

Gasshin—

the word itself a spark.

Merge the fear of falling with the certainty of rising.

Merge the alien empire’s shadow with the small human hand on the lever.

Merge the polluted blood of Ganymede

with the blue untouched oceans of Earth.

Gasshin—

the word itself a shield.

Now the sky splits open

and one red-and-silver god

stands where five children used to stand alone.

We do not conquer.

We combine.

We do not destroy.

We remember.

Mechander Robot,

you are the poem

the 1977 sky refused to let die