“…life / felt /rich and full / as soon as I / wrote / poetry / life / felt / poor / and empty.” Alberto Moravia
| PERCHÉ NON TI VUOI BENE? Alberto Moravia Avrei voluto essere diverso il mio cuore è pieno di amarezza mi odio odio i miei libri amo gli altri e i libri degli altri Non sopporto di guardarmi in uno specchio né di leggere qualche cosa che ho scritto Quando un critico dice bene di un mio libro o una donna di me mi meraviglio e mi pare di essere un ladro lodato dai derubati. | WHY DON’T YOU LOVE YOURSELF? Alberto Moravia I would have liked to be different my heart is full of bitterness I hate myself I hate my books I love others and the books of others I can’t stand to look at myself in a mirror or to read something I have written When a critic speaks well of one of my books or a woman of me I’m amazed and I feel like I’m a looter lauded by the looted. Translation ©Matilda Colarossi 2024 |
Alberto Moravia (pseudonym of Alberto Pincherle) was an Italian journalist, short-story writer, and novelist. He was a major figure in 20th-century Italian literature. Among his numerous, very famous works we find Gli indifferenti (1929, Time of Indifference; Agostino (1944, Two Adolescents); La Romana (1947, The Woman of Rome); La disubbidienza (1948, Disobedience); and Il conformista (1951, The Conformist); La ciociara (1957, Two Women) tells of an adaptation to post-World War II Italian life. La noia (1960, The Empty Canvas). His books of short stories include Racconti romani (1954, Roman Tales); Nuovi racconti romani (1959, More Roman Tales); Racconti di Alberto Moravia (1968); Il paradiso (1970, “Paradise”); Boh (1976; The Voice of the Sea and Other Stories).
Although Moravia was mostly known for his prose, I found this poem enlightening, not so much for any secret it may hold of life (which is what I mostly search for in poetry, for I truly believe James Baldwin when he states: “The role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.”) but for the secret it holds of Alberto Moravia, an author I saw in a very different light until I read his book of poems.
Poesie, Firenze: Giunti Editore. 2019 can be found here: https://giunti.it/products/poesie-moravia-alberto-9788845299971
Image: Book cover of Poesie by Alberto Moravia, Giunti Editore 2019
This work is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
parallel texts: words reflected 
Such a simple poem. Could you elaborate on the secret it holds for Moravia?
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Have you read his works, Alan? There is no sign of anything but confidence. I read them all in university over 40 years ago, but I would never have imagined a Moravia who was anything but totally sure of himself, of his work, of his opinions.
The whole book of poems, on the other hand, is totally different from what I thought he was.
In “Dario” he says :”…I would not / in truth /regret / the boring days / of my ridiculous / success…”
in “Naked butts” he writes: “The past / is like one / of those dreams / in which you dream / of being / among people / with a naked / butt […] I remember / only stupidity / of which however / I am / still ashamed / like of a naked / butt”
In “Why don’t you cry with me?” he writes, “My house is about / to crash down on me / I know / but don’t move”
The whole book of poems is like this. I have never liked Moravia more!
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Ahime’. I have often had a conversation that brushes against these sentiments with a dear friend of mine. Someone, as it happens, who made a contemporary (excellent) translation of Conformista.
Neither of us have ever been able to identify ourselves by our given names nor can either of us recognize ourselves in our given names. We do not hate ourselves; we hardly recognize ourselves in the mirror. Eppure quanto ci vogliamo bene.
This is the familiar assassin:
mi meraviglio
e mi pare
di essere
un ladro
lodato
dai derubati.
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