Quando lo abbandono
nel lavello, amore,
il coltello buono
germoglia un mutevole
anello di ruggine.
Lo abbandono senza volerlo
come penso saprai
L’abbandono intendeva
essere annullato
in un tempo abbastanza
ragionevole, amore,
e io so che tu sai
quanto io abbia il senso
del bastante come la ruggine,
quando sono friabile, esposta,
tendendo positiva
nel modo in cui
può produrre la divisione.

Translation ©Arabella Bertola


©Julia Leverone

When I leave it
in the sink, my love,
the good knife
sprouts a variable
circle of rust.
I leave it unintentionally,
as I think you know.
The leaving meant
to be undone
in reasonable-enough
time, my love,
and I know you know
I possess a sense
of the enough like rust,
when I’m friable, exposed,
tending positively
the way in which
division can produce.


Quando lo abbandono
nel lavello, amore mio
il buon coltello
germina un incerto
circolo di ruggine.
Lo abbandono inintenzionalmente,
come immagino sai.
L’abbandono è destinato
a venir meno
in tempi , amore mio,
sufficientemente ragionevoli
e so che sai che io
possiedo un senso
del sufficientemente come ruggine,
quando sono friabile, esposta,
tendendo proprio verso
il modo in cui
può prodursi frattura

Translation ©Patrizia Sardisco

The idea of an experiment in translation section came to me because, as one can guess, I love translation. Some experiments were graciously ‘bestowed’ upon me by my lovely students, because I believe that translation can teach so much about a foreign language; others were the gift of fine poets and thinkers, people with a sure gift of language, who humour and delight me with their insight, because, as I have learned through the years, there is really never just one possible translation.  That would be like saying there is only one way of hearing, seeing, reading, thinking, understanding…If  each individual is, as Pirandello wrote One, no-one and one hundred thousand, the words they write can be that too. So just as every poem inspires something different in the reader, it does even more so in the translator who rummages among those words, verses and stanzas searching for a hidden light that will illumine his or her way. And like the Haulers in Valerio Magrelli’s poem, they too move those words that move them: “I too move house/ for words, words/ that are not mine/ and lay my hands on things/ I don’t know without understanding/ what I’m moving./ I’m moving me…”

This beautiful poem by Julia Leverone first came out in Yespoetry and can be found here.
More about the poet and translator here.
Arabella Bertola, writer/translator, can be found here and here.
Patrizia Sardisco, poet, can be found ‘poeting’ here and here.

Painting by Pierre Bonnard.

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