Non ho più che lo stento d’una vita

Carlo Betocchi

Non ho più che lo stento d’una vita
che sta passando, e perduto il suo fiore
mette spine e non foglie, e a malapena
respira. Eppure, senza acredine.
C’è quell’amore nascosto, in me,
quanto più miserevole pudico,
quel sentore di terra, che resiste,
come nei campi spogli: una ricchezza
creata, non mia, inestinguibile.
Nemmeno più coltivabile, forse, ma vera
esistenza; così come pare sperduta
nel cosmo, con la sua gravità, le sue leggi,
il suo magnetismo morente, che lo Spirito
non dimentica, anzi numera.
Non guardatemi, che son vecchio,
ma nel mio mutismo pietroso ascoltate
come gorgheggia , com’è fiero l’amore.

I have nothing but the hardships of a life

Carlo Betocchi

I have nothing but the hardships of a life
that is fleeting, that flowerless now
grows thorns and not leaves, and scarcely
breathes. And yet, without bitterness.
There is that hidden love, in me,
more than miserable discreet,
that scent of earth, which lingers,
like in the barren fields: a richness
born, not mine, inextinguishable.
No longer cultivable, perhaps, but true
existence; just as it seems lost
in the cosmos, with its gravity, its laws,
its dying magnetism, which the Spirit
does not forget, but rather enumerates.
Don’t look at me, for I am old,
but in my stony muteness listen to
how it warbles, how proud love is.

Translation ©Matilda Colarossi

Carlo Betocchi (1899 – 1986) was an Italian poet and writer. Although considered a sort of moral guide among the Hermetic poets, his poetry does not share any of the Hermetic commonplaces or poetic principles.

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