Desdemona's Tears rain down for another than she

In recent times, I have been working both on translating May Ziadeh’s poetry and publication of Cinthio’s Desdemona: The Story that Inspired Othello. With both their stories on my mind, I thought to write the poem below. In this poem, I follow Cinthio’s version of Desdemona’s story, rather than Shakespeare. The figure of Scheherazad appeared in my commentary for Cinthio’s Desdemona. The reference to Cassandra honours May Ziadeh’s own poetry, which itself draws on ancient Greek mythology. I have published translations of three of May’s poems: Eyes, the Child and I, and Where is My Country?

Desdemona’s Tears

Le lacrime di Desdemona

[In memory of May Ziadeh]

[in memoria di Mayy Ziyade]

My tears are not for me, I weep for thee,
O May. Like Scheherazad, radiant bright,
A healing balm for the madness in men’s hearts.

Le mie lacrime non sono per me, piango per te,
O Mayy. Come Shahrazād, radiosa e splendente,
Un balsamo curante per la follia nei cuori umani.

Iago slew me with three cruel and mighty blows,
Your death was compassed with a thousand vicious cuts.

Iago mi uccise con tre colpi possenti e crudeli,
La tua morte fu compiuta con mille tagli spietati

Like mendicants they gathered at your door,
Passing over the sacred words inscribed upon your floor,
They entered your magic salon and, reborn within,
You sent them forth adorned in precious gems.

Come mendicanti si radunavano alle tue porta,
E ignoravano le sacre parole iscritte sul suolo,
Entrarono il tuo salotto stupendo e rinati lì dentro
Li mandavi fuori abbelliti di perle preziose

Astonished by the transcendent beauty,
Of your mind, men stood in awe, yet lusted
Only for your nakedness, they never saw.

Meravigliati dalla tua bellezza divina,
Della tua mente, uomini erano stupiti, ma
Solo bramavano, il tuo corpo nudo che mai videro.

Gibran, across the ocean, knew your worth,
And the forests and streams of Lebanon,
Were your haunt, days spent by Nile’s sacred banks,
Nights under the stars of heaven by the Sphinx,
Wondering who we are, where we come and whence …

Dall’altra sponda dell’oceano Gibran sapeva il tuo valore,
E le foreste e i fiumi del Libano,
Furono il tuo rifugio, e giorni passati sulle sacre rive del Nilo,
Notti sotto le stelle del cielo accanto alla Sfinge,
Chiedendosi chi siamo, da dove veniamo e dove andremo …

Like Cassandra you saw too well; and knew yourself alone.
The happiness that others shared never to be your own,
Your own demise and the bitterness of a land of endless war,
Vanishing moments with everlasting beauty sown,
Reaching beyond to the universal that you saw.

Come Cassandra troppo bene vedevi; e ti sapevi di essere sola.
La felicità che altri avevano non sarebbe mai stata la tua,
La tua rovina e l’amarezza di una terra di guerra infinita,
Attimi svanenti di bellezza eterna seminati,
Ti allungavi al di là, verso l’universale che vedevi.

Othello’s betrayal was worse to me
Than any blow, and you too were betrayed
By those who swore their love, and friends
Who in better times had waited by your door
But then abandoned you a ‘prisoned sparrow
Immured behind a wall.

Il tradimento di Otello era peggiore per me
Di qualsiasi colpo, e tu pure fosti tradita
Da quelli che giuravano amore, e amici
Che in tempi migliori aspettavano accanto alla tua porte
Ma poi ti hanno abbandonata un passero imprigionato
Murata dietro un muro.