| La Bufera
Di Eugenio Montale Les princes n’ont point d’yeux pour voir grand’s merveilles, leurs mains ne servent plus qu’à nous persécuter…. Agrippa d’Aubigné, A Dieu . La bufera che sgronda sulle foglie dure della magnolia i lunghi tuoni marzolini e la grandine, . (i suoni di cristallo nel tuo nido notturno ti sorprendono, dell’oro che s’è spento sui mogani, sul taglio dei libri rilegati, brucia ancora una grana di zucchero nel guscio delle tue palpebre) . il lampo che candisce alberi e muro e li sorprende in quella eternità d’istante – marmo manna e distruzione – ch’entro te scolpita porti per tua condanna e che ti lega più che l’amore a me, strana sorella, – . e poi lo schianto rude, i sistri, il fremere dei tamburelli sulla fossa fuia, lo scalpicciare del fandango, e sopra qualche gesto che annaspa… . Come quando ti rivolgesti e con la mano, sgombra la fronte dalla nube dei capelli, . mi salutasti – per entrar nel buio. |
The storm
By Eugenio Montale Les princes n’ont point d’yeux pour voir grand’s merveilles, leurs mains ne servent plus qu’à nous persécuter…. Agrippa d’Aubigné, A Dieu . The storm that drenches stiff magnolia leaves the slow rumble of thunder in spring and the hail, . (the sounds of crystal in your nocturnal nest surprise you, of the gold that fades on mahogany, on the spine of bound books, lingers still a grain of sugar in the folds of your eyelids) . the light that blanches trees and wall and surprises them in that instant of eternity – marble manna and destruction – that sculpted in you condemned you carry and binds you to me more than love, strange sister,- . and then the brutal crash, the sistra, the rumble of drums on the trenches of terror, the skip of the fandango, and beyond a frantic scrambling of steps … . Like when you beckoned and with your hand, a lock of hair swept from your brow, . you waved, disappearing into the darkness. . Translation by ©Matilda Colarossi |
Eugenio Montale was an Italian poet, writer, editor and translator, and recipient of the 1975 Nobel Prize in Literature. In this poem, where the thunder of war sounds through the verses, love – his love, Clizia -from far off America, where she had to take refuge during the war, offers a ray of hope, a “lampo che candisce/alberi e muro e li sorprende in quella/eternità d’istante”.
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Thank you Mati… it’s a gift we needed, a special kind of light in the darkness of these days
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And, Patrizia, although the sound of thunder and the drums of war are unbearable, the light in Clizia’s eyes shines still today!
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