“The poetry of Mario Luzi is permeated and sostained by the certainty that it may undergo change but is always true to itself, that is, to the spiritual essence of the universe.” Franco Fortini
| COME TU VUOI Mario Luzi La tramontana screpola le argille, stringe, assoda le terre di lavoro, irrita l’acqua nelle conche; lascia zappe confitte, aratri inerti nel campo. Se qualcuno esce per legna, o si sposta a fatica o si sofferma rattrappito in cappucci e pellegrine, serra i denti. Che regna nella stanza è il silenzio del testimone muto della neve, della pioggia, del fumo, dell’immobilità del mutamento. Sono qui che metto pine sul fuoco, porgo orecchio al fremere dei vetri, non ho calma né ansia. Tu che per lunga promessa vieni ed occupi il posto lasciato dalla sofferenza non disperare o di me o di te fruga nelle adiacenze della casa, cerca i battenti grigi della porta. A poco a poco la misura è colma, a poco a poco, a poco a poco, come tu vuoi, la solitudine trabocca, vieni ed entra, attingi a mani basse. È un giorno dell’inverno di quest’anno, un giorno, un giorno della nostra vita. | AS YOU WISH Mario Luzi The north wind cracks the clays, tightens, hardens the working lands, it irritates the water in the basins; it leaves hoes rooted, ploughs inert in the field. If anyone goes out for wood, or moves heavily or pauses benumbed in hoods and capes, they clench their teeth. What reigns in the room is the silence of the mute witness of the snow, of the rain, of the smoke, of the stillness of change. I am here, placing pine cones on the fire, I lend an ear to the shivering of the panes, I am neither calm nor anxious. You, who by a long standing promise, come and occupy the space left by the suffering do not despair of me or you rummage throughthe house, search out the grey door panels. Little by little the cup is full, little by little, little by little, as you wish, loneliness overflows, come, come in, take it up with both hands. It is one day of the winter of this year, one day, one day of our life. Translation ©Matilda Colarossi 2026 |
The poem is from the collection Onore del vero, 1957 (poems dating from 1952 to 1957).
As always, poetry seems to exist so that it may express what I so urgently need to express.
This poem…this winter. – M.C.
This translation is protected under https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/
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