Giorgio Caproni said his poetry was “in shirt sleeves” until, after editing, it wore a jacket. But whether in shirt sleeves or jacket, it is an extraordinary thing of complex simplicity.
| Oh cari Apparivano tutti in trasparenza. Tutti in anima. Tutti nell’imprescindibile essenza Dell’ombra. Ma vivi Vivi dentro la morte come i morti son vivi nella vita. Cercai di contarli. Il numero si perdeva nel vuoto come nel vento il numero delle foglie. Oh cari. Oh odiosi. Piansi d’amore e di rabbia. Pensai alla mia mente accecata. Chiusi la finestra. Il cuore. La porta. A doppia mandata. | Oh dear ones They appeared all in transparency. All in heart. All in the indispensable essence Of the shadow. But alive Alive within death like the dead are alive in life. I tried to count them. The number was lost in the emptiness like in the wind the number of the leaves. Oh dear ones. Oh odious ones. I wept with love and with anger. I thought of my blinded mind. I closed the window. My heart. My door. Double locked. Translation ©Matilda Colarossi 2022 |
Poetry is what we feel in the moment we read it: Caproni was talking of himself, of his past lives; as I translate, I think of others, those living far away and those lost forever.
For my father.
parallel texts: words reflected 
Reblogged this on Paolo Ottaviani's Weblog.
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