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Southern Air Looked for in England
from the Spanish of Rafael Alberti (1902-1999)

If the air should say to itself one day:
…………………………………………………….“I’m tired,
exhausted of my name. I do not want
even my initials scrawled on the curls
of the carnation, the fluttering of the rose,
the ruffled pleats of the gentle brook,
the graceful turmoil of the sea, or the dimple
that laughs its way along the cheek of a sail . . .

My bearings lost, I rise from the kindly
dormant surfaces
that house my sleep.
I flow from the indolent vines, I insinuate
the tall shut windows of the towers.
Pure slenderness, I bend through streets
with sharpened corners, penetrating,
broken and wounded from hinges of doors, deep
vestibules that lead to green courtyards
whose gushing fountains cause me to recall,
sweetly and desperately, my own desire . . .

I search and search for what to call myself
– with what new word, in what new mode or fashion?
Is there no gust, no inspiration,
no respiration able to give flight
to the unknown voice that would bestow my name?

Dispirited, I search and search for a token,
a something or a someone to replace me,
to be just like myself, and with the memory
fresh of all these things, under the spell
of the fragile cradle and the feverish whispering,
might press on with the same
trembling, the same breath
I took that morning
of spring as I was born, when the light told me:
Fly. You are the air.”

If the air should say that to itself one day . . .

 

A Luis Cernuda, Aire Del Sur Buscado En Inglaterra
Rafael Alberti

Si el aire se dijera un día:
Estoy cansado,
rendido de mi nombre… Ya no quiero
ni mi inicial para firmar el bucle
del clavel, el rizado de la rosa,
el pliegecillo fino del arroyo,
el gracioso volante de la mar y el hoyuelo
que ríe en la mejilla de la vela…

Desorientado, subo de las blandas,
dormidas superficies
que dan casa a mi sueño.
Fluyo de las paradas enredaderas, calo
los ciegos ajimeces de las torres;
tuerzo, ya pura delgadez, las calles
de afiladas esquinas, penetrando,
roto y herido de los quicios, hondos
zaguanes que se van a verdes patios
donde el agua elevada me recuerda,
dulce y desesperada, mi deseo…

Busco y busco llamarme
¿con qué nueva palabra, de qué modo?
¿No hay soplo, no hay aliento,
respiración capaz de poner alas
a esa desconocida voz que me denomine?

Desalentado, busco y busco un signo,
un algo o alguien que me sustituya
que sea como yo y en la memoria
fresca de todo aquello, susceptible
de tenue cuna y cálido susurro,
perdure con el mismo
temblor, el mismo hálito
que tuve la primera
mañana en que al nacer, la luz me dijo:
Vuela. Tú eres el aire.

Si el aire se dijera un día eso…

Piano Practice
from the German of Rainer Marie Rilke (1875-1926)

The summer hums. A tired afternoon.
Confused, she settled in her crisp new dress
and played into the etude’s weightiness
impatience for a here-and-now that soon

could come: tomorrow, later when it’s dark −,
that maybe was already there, disguised;
and by the picture window, oversized,
she felt revulsion for the well-groomed park.

She broke off; gazed outside, and with a quick
motion folded her hands; wished for a book −
then shoved the jasmine fragrance in the nook
fiercely aside. She found it made her sick.

 

Übung am Klavier
Rainer Marie Rilke

Der Sommer summt. Der Nachmittag macht müde;
sie atmete verwirrt ihr frisches Kleid
und legte in die triftige Etüde
die Ungeduld nach einer Wirklichkeit,
die kommen konnte: morgen, heute abend –,
die vielleicht da war, die man nur verbarg;
und vor den Fenstern, hoch und alles habend,
empfand sie plötzlich den verwöhnten Park.
Da brach sie ab; schaute hinaus, verschränkte
die Hände; wünschte sich ein langes Buch
und schob auf einmal den Jasmingeruch
erzürnt zurück. Sie fand, daß er sie kränkte.

12.
If in the sky a thousand suns
………………………………..should suddenly ascend,
their radiance would reach
………………………………..the radiance of this mahatma.

13.
Pandu’s son perceived the whole world’s
………………………………..divided multiplicities
in the body of the God of Gods
………………………………..standing there as one.

14.
Shot through with awe, his hair
………………………………..on end, wealthwinning Arjuna
bowed his head before the God
………………………………..and joined his hands and said,

Arjuna said,

15.
………………………………..I witness the Gods in your body, oh God,
and every species of being ingathered,
………………………………..And sovereign Brahma, who sits on a lotus,
and all of the seers and heavenly serpents,

16.
………………………………..with many an arm and torso, many a mouth and eye.
I perceive you in every direction, unending in form—
………………………………..No endpoint, no midpoint, no source of you can I perceive.
Lord of the cosmos, your form is the cosmos.

17.
………………………………..With your diadem, discus, and mace,
your radiance limitless, everywhere blazing,
………………………………..Hard though you are to behold in your wholeness,
I see your immeasurable lightning flash.

18.
………………………………..You the immutable zenith, what knowledge would know,
universal and highest asylum, you
………………………………..the unchanging guard of a dharma undying—
eternal I know you to be, and human.

19.
………………………………..No beginning, no middle, no end to your endless virtue,
with infinite arms, and the moon and the sun for your eyes,
………………………………..I can see you, your mouth the devouring ritual fire,
your own luminosity heating this universe.

20.
………………………………..Between earth and the heavens, in every direction,
you alone overwhelm this, Mahatma!
………………………………..The three worlds are shivered to witness
this marvelous monstrous form of yours.

21.
………………………………..They enter you there, congregations of Gods—
some fearful, some joining their palms, they acclaim you.
………………………………..Congregations of seers and prodigies hail you
and hymn you with bountiful hymns.

22.
………………………………..The Rudras, Adityas, the Vasus and Sadhas, the Gods of the world,
the twin Ashvins, the storm Gods and steam-drinkers,
………………………………..Gandharvas and Yakshas, Asuras and Siddhas all
are crowding together to stare at you, stunned.

23.
………………………………..Having seen, mighty-armed one, the might of your form
with so many arms, many mouths, many eyes,
………………………………..With so many legs, many bellies and harrowing teeth,
the planets are rattled and so am I!

24.
………………………………..Now that I witness you touching the sky, multicolored
and blazing, with vastness ablaze in your eyes
………………………………..And jaws wide open, my atman is quaking!
I can find no support or serenity, Vishnu!

25.
………………………………..I have glanced in your mouths with their harrowing tusks
that resemble the fires of time,
………………………………..And I lose my direction! No refuge will take me! Home
of the universe, Lord of the devas, have mercy!

26.
………………………………..Into you—there—go the children of King Dhritarashtra,
and all of the kings of the earth in a crowd,
………………………………..Bhishma, Drona, the son of that charioteer—there—
together with ours, with even our paramount warriors!

27.
………………………………..Briskly they enter your dreadful mouths
agape with so many incisors—
………………………………..I can make out their haughty heads
in the mash that is stuck to your teeth!

28.
………………………………..The way multitudinous currents flow out
through their river mouths into the ocean
………………………………..The heroes of civilization go into
your faces perpetually flashing.

29.
………………………………..As moths in their quickening swarms
are lost in the shine of the fire they enter,
………………………………..The worlds in their quickening swarms as well
enter your mouths and are lost.

30.
………………………………..You lap up on every side and devour, Vishnu,
all of the worlds in your fiery mouths.
………………………………..This cosmos you fill up with brilliance—your fierce
radiation incinerates all of it, Vishnu!

31.
………………………………..Tell me—I so want to know who you are—
Namaste to you, elect of the Gods, have mercy!—
………………………………..Primordial Master, so fearsome of form,
I can’t comprehend it—the whirl of your work!

 

 

दिवि सूर्यसहस्रस्य भवेद्युगपदुत्थिता
यदि भाः सदृशी सा स्याद्भासस्तस्य महात्मनः

तत्रैकस्थं जगत्कृत्स्नं प्रविभक्तमनेकधा
अपश्यद्देवदेवस्य शरीरे पाण्डवस्तदा

ततः स विस्मयाविष्टो हृष्टरोमा धनञ्जयः
प्रणम्य शिरसा देवं कृताञ्जलिरभाषत

अर्जुन उवाच

पश्यामि देवांस्तव देव देहे
सर्वांस्तथा भूतविशेषसङ्घान्
ब्रह्माणमीशं कमलासनस्थ
मृषींश्च सर्वानुरगांश्च दिव्यान्

अनेकबाहूदरवक्त्रनेत्रं
पश्यामि त्वां सर्वतोऽनन्तरूपम्
नान्तं न मध्यं न पुनस्तवादिं
पश्यामि विश्वेश्वर विश्वरूप

किरीटिनं गदिनं चक्रिणं च
तेजोराशिं सर्वतोदीप्तिमन्तम्
पश्यामि त्वां दुर्निरीक्ष्यं समन्ता
द्दीप्तानलार्कद्युतिमप्रमेयम्

त्वमक्षरं परमं वेदितव्यं
त्वमस्य विश्वस्य परं निधानम्
त्वमव्ययः शाश्वतधर्मगोप्ता
सनातनस्त्वं पुरुषो मतो मे

अनादिमध्यान्तमनन्तवीर्य
मनन्तबाहुं शशिसूर्यनेत्रम्
पश्यामि त्वां दीप्तहुताशवक्त्रम्
स्वतेजसा विश्वमिदं तपन्तम्

द्यावापृथिव्योरिदमन्तरं हि
व्याप्तं त्वयैकेन दिशश्च सर्वाः
दृष्ट्वाऽद्भुतं रूपमुग्रं तवेदं
लोकत्रयं प्रव्यथितं महात्मन्

अमी हि त्वां सुरसङ्घाः विशन्ति
केचिद्भीताः प्राञ्जलयो गृणन्ति
स्वस्तीत्युक्त्वा महर्षिसिद्धसङ्घाः
स्तुवन्ति त्वां स्तुतिभिः पुष्कलाभिः

रुद्रादित्या वसवो ये च साध्या
विश्वेऽश्िवनौ मरुतश्चोष्मपाश्च
गन्धर्वयक्षासुरसिद्धसङ्घा
वीक्षन्ते त्वां विस्मिताश्चैव सर्वे

रूपं महत्ते बहुवक्त्रनेत्रं
महाबाहो बहुबाहूरुपादम्
बहूदरं बहुदंष्ट्राकरालं
दृष्ट्वा लोकाः प्रव्यथितास्तथाऽहम्

नभःस्पृशं दीप्तमनेकवर्णं
व्यात्ताननं दीप्तविशालनेत्रम्
दृष्ट्वा हि त्वां प्रव्यथितान्तरात्मा
धृतिं न विन्दामि शमं च विष्णो

दंष्ट्राकरालानि च ते मुखानि
दृष्ट्वैव कालानलसन्निभानि
दिशो न जाने न लभे च शर्म
प्रसीद देवेश जगन्निवास

अमी च त्वां धृतराष्ट्रस्य पुत्राः
सर्वे सहैवावनिपालसङ्घैः
भीष्मो द्रोणः सूतपुत्रस्तथाऽसौ
सहास्मदीयैरपि योधमुख्यैः

वक्त्राणि ते त्वरमाणा विशन्ति
दंष्ट्राकरालानि भयानकानि
केचिद्विलग्ना दशनान्तरेषु
संदृश्यन्ते चूर्णितैरुत्तमाङ्गैः

यथा नदीनां बहवोऽम्बुवेगाः
समुद्रमेवाभिमुखाः द्रवन्ति
तथा तवामी नरलोकवीरा
विशन्ति वक्त्राण्यभिविज्वलन्ति

यथा प्रदीप्तं ज्वलनं पतङ्गा
विशन्ति नाशाय समृद्धवेगाः
तथैव नाशाय विशन्ति लोका
स्तवापि वक्त्राणि समृद्धवेगाः

लेलिह्यसे ग्रसमानः समन्ता
ल्लोकान्समग्रान्वदनैर्ज्वलद्भिः
तेजोभिरापूर्य जगत्समग्रं
भासस्तवोग्राः प्रतपन्ति विष्णो

आख्याहि मे को भवानुग्ररूपो
नमोऽस्तु ते देववर प्रसीद
विज्ञातुमिच्छामि भवन्तमाद्यं
न हि प्रजानामि तव प्रवृत्तिम्

A Poem Written at the Huayan Temple in Yu Du

I hike through Yellow Dragon’s realm.
My bamboo staff shakes in my hand.
I search old caves for tiger cubs
I trained once– but I search in vain.
Fresh clouds surround the cliffs and crags–
there’s nowhere else for me to go.
The wind shakes stubborn, clinging pines–
I’m halfway up the mountain now.

 

題雩都華嚴寺

手持竹節訪黃龍
舊穴空遺虎子蹤
雲鎖斷崖無覓處
半山松竹撼秋風

Circumspection

You place your hand in mine. Breathless, we sit
beneath this giant tree where tender breezes
come to die in broken sighs, on branches
glowing gray in moonlight pale and soft.

We sit still. Our knees touch. Our eyes meet.
Let us not think, but dream, and take a chance
with fleeting happiness, fading romance,
and feel the owl’s wing across our cheeks.

Let us forget to hope. Discreet, contained,
let both our souls remember and retain
this calm, and this serenely dying sun,

remaining wordless in nocturnal peace—
best not to trouble Nature as He sleeps,
that feral god, ferocious, silent, stern.

 

Circonspection

Donne ta main, retiens ton souffle, asseyons-nous
Sous cet arbre géant où vient mourir la brise
En soupirs inégaux sous la ramure grise
Que caresse le clair de lune blême et doux.

Immobiles, baissons nos yeux vers nos genoux.
Ne pensons pas, rêvons. Laissons faire à leur guise
Le bonheur qui s’enfuit et l’amour qui s’épuise,
Et nos cheveux frôlés par l’aile des hiboux.

Oublions d’espérer. Discrète et contenue,
Que l’âme de chacun de nous deux continue
Ce calme et cette mort sereine du soleil.

Restons silencieux parmi la paix nocturne :
Il n’est pas bon d’aller troubler dans son sommeil
La nature, ce dieu féroce et taciturne.

i.

Where do dawn-cold flowers open their mouths? I need to
find them, but where, where, where?. Who knows? You
emerald trembler, hummingbird? Should I ask you? Would
you tell? Or should I ask you, my flake of flame, my slice
of fragile embers, stumbling butterfly?

Could you tell me where? I think you know where
dawn-cold flowers open their quiet mouths.

So tell me. Here, in the laurel forest, in the twist of smooth
branches, where feathers glisten green and flashing? Or
higher up, on mountain fields? I will find a patch,
dew-sharp, and pluck a few, and carry them back to town in
a fold of my robe. With them I will make the children glad.

ii.

Sounds led me to a fertile patch of gorge, a
petal-womb, where dew made little worlds of wet
and light, and there I found a swarm of flowers,
bright and strange, that thrust

their stems through crumbly soil. Something spoke: Rise and
pick, and make the children glad.
It stabs me to recollect that valley now.

iii.

There I entered many petal-wombs
where I heard, far-off, the essence of song, where I heard
the glitter-chatter of streams and thought plausible the
philosophies of birds.

I saw nectar drip from the slender tongue of the
hummingbird, and thought, There it is. I tried to
follow when it flew away,
sending my voice through tubes of disturbed air.

iv.

I snipped and gathered petals in my robe, cradled them,
a basketful of bright tongues, thinking: I want to show
my friends this place. Here we could be happy; here the
light is good; here the eyes can ride on visible song;
here is dignity, here loll butterflies
too nectar-gorged to fly away. My heart thudded as I left
that place and hurried back to town, but when I tried to
show my eager friends the valley of the blooms, it was not
there.

v & vi.

I am the singer; I gather soft leaves to place on smooth brows.
The children look to me. When I was there, I rubbed the
flank of song. I dreamed up melodies that could delight Him
whose voice is the hiss of quetzal feathers. While my voice was
buzzing through the air, I entered a kingdom of light and
blue-veined leaves where children shatter fetters and unlock
slaves.

vii.

Where did I lose it, that quiet valley of blooms? Why can’t I remember? Am I unworthy
to crush fertile mosses under my heel?
Who is worthy to walk through snowing petals? Only He who utters sunlight can say.
I sense Him. He is near. When I think of friends searching cracked wilderness for Paradise and finding always nothing, my heart is a carcass glittering with flies. And all song stops.

viii.

The earth is not an honest rock. Joy lies. Or it
lies elsewhere. Here is mud. Ash.
Spit and ache. The earth hums vacantly.
But sometimes I remember that zone of bloom where
stems glowed gold and I forgot
that I was clay. Let me go to that valley
where snowing petals curved around the dart of jade-bright
birds, where I, dahlia-fisted, got drunk on feathers, so happy I
thought I was dead.

 

1. Ninoyolnonotza, campa nicuiz yectli, ahuiaca xochitl:—Ac nitlatlaniz? Manozo yehuatl nictlatlani in quetzal huitzitziltin, in chalchiuh huitzitzicatzin; manozo ye nictlatlani in zaquan papalotl; ca yehuantin in machiz, ommati, campa cueponi in yectli ahuiac xochitl, tla nitlahuihuiltequi in nican acxoyatzinitzcanquauhtla, manoze nitlahuihuiltequi in tlauhquecholxochiquauhtla; oncan huihuitolihui ahuach tonameyotoc in oncan mocehcemelquixtia; azo oncan niquimittaz intla onechittitique; nocuexanco nictemaz ic niquintlapaloz in tepilhuan, ic niquimellelquixtiz in teteuctin.

2. Tlacazo nican nemi, ye nicaqui in ixochicuicatzin yuhqui tepetl quinnananquilia; tlacazo itlan in meyaquetzalatl, xiuhtotoameyalli, oncan mocuica, momotla, mocuica; nananquilia in centzontlatolli; azo quinnananquilia in coyoltototl, ayacachiçahuacatimani, in nepapan tlazocuicani totome. Oncan quiyectenehua in tlalticpaque hueltetozcatemique.

3. Nic itoaya, nitlaocoltzatzia; ma namechellelti y tlazohuane, niman cactimotlalique, niman hualtato in quetzal huitzitziltin. Aquin tictemohua, cuicanitzine? Niman niquinnanquilia niquimilhuia: Campa catqui in yectli, ahuiac xochitl ic niquimellelquixtiz in
amohuampotzitzinhuan? Niman onechicacahuatzque ca nican tlatimitzittitili ticuicani azo nelli ic tiquimellelquixtiz in toquichpohuan in teteuctin.

4. Tepeitic tonacatlalpa, xochitlalpa nechcalaquiqueo oncan on ahuachtotonameyotimani, oncan niquittacaya in nepapan tlazoahuiac xochitl, tlazohuelic xochitl ahuach quequentoc, ayauhcozamalotonameyotimani, oncan nechilhuia, xixochitetequi, in catlehuatl toconnequiz, ma mellelquiza in ticuicani, tiquinmacataciz in tocnihuan in teteuctin in quellelquixtizque in tlalticpaque.

5. Auh nicnocuecuexantia in nepapan ahuiacxochitl, in huel teyolquima, in huel tetlamachti, nic itoaya manozo aca tohuanti hual calaquini, ma cenca miec in ticmamani; auh ca tel ye onimatico nitlanonotztahciz imixpan in tocnihuan nican mochipa tiqualtetequizque in tlazo nepapan ahuiac xochitl ihuan ticuiquihui in nepapan yectliyancuicatl ic tiquimellelquixtizque in tocnihuan in tlalticpactlaca in tepilhuan quauhtliya ocelotl.

6. Ca moch nicuitoya in nicuicani ic niquimicpac xochiti in tepilhuan inic niquimapan in can in mac niquinten; niman niquehuaya yectli yacuicatl ic netimalolo in tepilhuan ixpan in tloque in nahuaque, auh in atley y maceuallo.

7. Can quicuiz? Can quitlaz in huelic xochitl? Auh cuix nohuan aciz aya in xochitlalpan, in tonacatlalpan, in atley y macehuallo in nentlamati? Intla y tlacohua in tlalticpac ca çan quitemacehualtica in tloque in nahuaque, in tlalticpac; ye nican ic chocan noyollo noconilnamiquia in ompa onitlachiato y xochitlalpana nicuicani.

8. Auh nic itoaya tlacazo amo qualcan in tlalticpac ye nican, tlacazo occecni in huilohuayan, in oncan ca in netlamachtilli; tlezannen in tlalticpac? tlacazo occecni yoliliz ximoayan, ma ompa niauh, ma ompa inhuan noncuicati in nepapan tlazototome, ma ompa nicnotlamachti yectliya xochitl ahuiaca xochitl, in teyolquima, in zan tepacca, teahuiaca yhuintia, in zan tepacca, ahuiaca yhuintia.

日に千度心は谷になげはててあるにもあらずすぐる我が身は

Existing each day. Neither here, nor gone.
Pitching my heart into the valley
one thousand times.

重ねそう八重山吹の匂いかな春の名残はいくか成らねど

Perfume from layers of yellow roses
when what’s left of spring
is only a trace.

君が名に思えば袖に包めども知らじよ涙漏らば漏るとて

Thinking of your name,
I wrap tears in my sleeve.
Unnoticed, they leak.

帰り来ぬ昔を今と思い寝の夢の枕に匂うたちばな

An orange sweetness
reaches my pillow
as I dream of what can’t come again.

都人沖つ小島の浜庇久しくなりぬ波路隔てて

A tiny island, dotted with beach huts,
cut off by the waves.
Poets, we have drifted so far apart.

静かなる暁ごとに見わたせばまだ深き夜の夢ぞ悲しき

Gazing into the silent dawn,
sorrow from a dark night of dreams
still with me.

ただ今の夕の雲を君も見て同じ時雨や袖に掛からん

Do you see these same evening clouds?
Are your sleeves damp
with this same winter shower?

時鳥横雲霞む山の端の有明の月になおぞ語らう

Up on the ridge, in ragged cloud,
a cuckoo, still talking
to the dawn moon.

玉の緒よ絶えねば絶えねながらへば忍ぶることの弱りもぞする

My string of jewels, if you must break,
then break. This relentless longing
is more than I can bear.

春来れば心も溶けて淡雪のあわれふりゆく身を知らぬかな

Spring comes. My heart melts,
oblivious to how, like the light snow,
I go on fading.

The virgin, the lively and the beautiful today
Will it tear from us with a drunken wingbeat’s blow
This hard lost lake a limpid glacier down below
The frost haunts with the flights that never flew away!

A swan of other times remembers that it’s he
Magnificent but with no hope to be spared pains
For having never sung the kingdom where life reigns
When sterile winter lends a glisten to ennui.

His whole neck will shake off this blank agon that space
Inflicts upon the bird denying it, but not
The horror of the earth in which his plumes are caught.

Phantom whose own pure radiance assigns this place,
He is immobilized in the cold dream of scorn
That by the Swan is through his useless exile worn.

 

Stéphane Mallarmé: Le vierge, le vivace, et le bel aujourd’hui

Le vierge, le vivace et le bel aujourd’hui
Va-t-il nous déchirer avec un coup d’aile ivre
Ce lac dur oublié que hante sous le givre
Le transparent glacier des vols qui n’ont pas fuit !

Un cygne d’autrefois se souvient que c’est lui
Magnifique mais qui sans espoir se délivre
Pour n’avoir pas chanté la région où vivre
Quand du stérile hiver a resplendi l’ennui.

Tout son col secouera cette blanche agonie
Par l’espace infligé à l’oiseau qui le nie,
Mais non l’horreur du sol où le plumage est pris.

Fantôme qu’à ce lieu son pur éclat assigne,
Il s’immobilise au songe froid de mépris
Que vêt parmi l’exil inutile le Cygne.

This struggle, through all that is still undone
Proceeding heavily and as if bound,
Is like the graceless waddle of the swan.

And dying, comprehension letting go
Of that on which we daily stand, the ground,
His anxious letting-himself-down below—:

Into the water, gently welcoming
Him, and itself a last and happy thing,
Which underneath him, wave by wave, is gone;
Meanwhile he, infinitely calm and sure
And with the kingly poise of the mature
Deigns at his leisure to keep gliding on.

 

Rainer Maria Rilke: Der Schwan

Diese Mühsal, durch noch Ungetanes
schwer und wie gebunden hinzugehn,
gleicht dem ungeschaffen Gang des Schwanes.

Und das Sterben, dieses Nichtmehrfassen
jenes Grunds, auf dem wir täglich stehn,
seinem ängstlichen Sich-Niederlassen—:

in die Wasser, die ihn sanft empfangen
und die sich, wie glücklich und vergangen,
unter ihm zurückziehn, Flut um Flut;
während er unendlich still und sicher
immer mündiger und königlicher
und gelassener zu ziehn geruht.

Which svelte young dreamboat, Pyrrha, on a bed of roses
Down in your grotto, dripping with colognes, takes hold
……..Of you and pleasantly reposes?
……..For whom have you tied back your gold

Locks, cosmopolitanly plain? Oh, but he’ll cry
At how you and the gods alter your loyalties,
……..And, thunderstruck, marveling, eye
……..The dark storms ruffling restless seas,

Who savors unsuspectingly your sun-gilt hair
Now, hoping always you will always love him true,
……..Not knowing how soft gusts of air
……..Can mask a squall. They’re sunk, those who,

Poor lubbers, think you’re fair. For me: on the façade
Of his shrine proof hangs that I gave—a votive scroll—
……..My sopping slicker to the god
……..Who holds the seas in his control.

 

Horace: Ode i.5

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa
perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
…grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?
……..Cui flavam religas comam

simplex munditiis? Heu quotiens fidem
mutatosque deos felbit et aspera
…nigris aequora ventis
……..emirabitur insolens,

qui nunc te fruitur credulous aurea,
qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem
…sperat, nescius aurae
……..fallacis! Miseri, quibus

intemptata nites! Me tabula sacer
votiva paries indicat uvida
…suspendisse potenti
……..vestimenta maris deo.

……..The Maiden:

Pass over, oh, pass over,
Wild man of bones: away!
I am still young. Go, lover,
And touch me not today.

……..Death:

Give me your hand, you frail and lovely child!
I am your friend and bring no vengeful harms.
Be of good cheer! I am not wild!
Soft shall you sleep within my arms!

 

Matthias Claudius: Der Tod Und Das Mädchen

……..Das Mädchen:

Vorüber, ach vorüber
geh, wilder Knochenmann!
Ich bin noch jung! Geh, Lieber,
und rühre mich nicht an!

……..Der Tod:

Gib deine Hand, du schön und zart Gebild!
Bin Freund und komme nicht zu strafen.
Sei gutes Mut! Ich bin nicht wild!
Sollst sanft in meinen Armen schlafen!

Ecclesiastes said: a living dog
is better than a lion dead; that save
for food and drink, all things are smoke and fog;
that nothingness of life fills up the grave.

On ancient nights, his face to heaven’s face,
atop his tower, silent and alone,
his eyes suspended over depths of space,
he dreamt of darkness on his ivory throne.

Old lover of the sun, who railed at God,
know too that death is also a facade.
What joy to truly die– no thoughts, no seeing!

But no. Instead I hear, eternally,
drunk on the dread of immortality,
the endless roar of everlasting Being.

 

L’Ecclésiaste

by Leconte de Lisle

L’Ecclésiaste a dit : Un chien vivant vaut mieux
Qu’un lion mort. Hormis, certes, manger et boire,
Tout n’est qu’ombre et fumée. Et le monde est très vieux,
Et le néant de vivre emplit la tombe noire.

Par les antiques nuits, à la face des cieux,
Du sommet de sa tour comme d’un promontoire,
Dans le silence, au loin laissant planer ses yeux,
Sombre, tel il songeait sur son siège d’ivoire.

Vieil amant du soleil, qui gémissais ainsi,
L’irrévocable mort est un mensonge aussi.
Heureux qui d’un seul bond s’engloutirait en elle !

Moi, toujours, à jamais, j’écoute, épouvanté,
Dans l’ivresse et l’horreur de l’immortalité,
Le long rugissement de la Vie éternelle.

I have not come to use your body, beast,
which bears the people’s sins, nor rake my nails
through your soiled tresses like a wretched tempest–
through all my kisses, chronic boredom wails.

Beneath these sheets stained by remorseless thighs,
it’s just for dreamless sleep I want your bed–
the same you savor after your false sighs.
Of nothingness, you know more than the dead.

For Vice has gnawed away my born nobility,
and marked me, like yourself, with her sterility.
But while your breast houses a heart of stone

the fangs of crime are powerless to eat,
I flee, pale, haunted by my winding sheet,
afraid of dying when I sleep alone.

 

Angoisse

by Stéphane Mallarmé

Je ne viens pas ce soir vaincre ton corps, ô bête
En qui vont les péchés d’un peuple, ni creuser
Dans tes cheveux impurs une triste tempête
Sous l’incurable ennui que verse mon baiser:

Je demande à ton lit le lourd sommeil sans songes
Planant sous les rideaux inconnus du remords,
Et que tu peux goûter après tes noirs mensonges,
Toi qui sur le néant en sais plus que les morts:

Car le Vice, rongeant ma native noblesse,
M’a comme toi marqué de sa stérilité,
Mais tandis que ton sein de pierre est habité

Par un coeur que la dent d’aucun crime ne blesse,
Je fuis, pâle, défait, hanté par mon linceul,
Ayant peur de mourir lorsque je couche seul.

We look, my daughter and I,
At our shadows upon the gravel;
Small shadows, of a tint
Between rose-pink and purple.
We look above, and “Oh!”

My daughter cries with joy.
For just today have sprouted
On the branches little buds,
Some opening up in flowers,
Some shut in verdant rows.

She laughs; and her toddler’s laughter
Blends with the bright green hues
Born into being above us
This morning—and blends, too,
With the shadows down below.

 

Sul vial

Vardemo, mi e mia fia,
le ombre su la giarina:
pice ombre de ’na tinta
tra rosa e zelestina.
Vardemo in suso; e un Oh!

ela la fa contenta.
Vignude apena fora
ghe xe le foietine
sui rami, averte ancora
una sì una no.

La ridi: e quel su’ rìder
de fiola se combina
col verde che xe nato
là suso stamatina,
co’ ’ste ombre qua zo.

 

In six volumes of verse Virgilio Giotti (1887–1957) fashioned an utterly unique voice within the Italian literary landscape. Born in Trieste when the city was part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, Giotti chose to write in a refined variant of his local dialect rather than in standard literary Italian. This allowed him to sidestep the bookish and oratorical aspects of the Italian tradition and to tap into the stream of popular European lyric running from archaic Greece to German Lieder. Giotti added to this an acute visual sensibility all his own and an interest in contemporary aesthetic debates. Although his use of dialect has rendered his work less well-known than it ought to be, Giotti has been celebrated by the likes of E. Montale and P. P. Pasolini and is the object of increasing interest from Italian scholars and critics. His natural peers are lyricists like Sappho, Heine, and Hardy.