English-Italian Translation
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Walt Whitman – His Yearning and Ardent Poetry
The celebrated American poet, Walt Whitman, lived from 1819 until 1892. It was a tumultuous time of change in the United States; an epoch which is reflected in his poetry and in his hopes for the future of America. Two of his poems – poems reaching for a better world – appear below. They are presented both in original and in Italian translation. Il celebre poeta americano, Walt Whitman, visse dal 1819 al 1892. Era un’epoca tumultuosa e di cambiamento negli Stati Uniti; un’epoca che si riflette nella poesia di Whitman e nelle sue speranze per il futuro dell’America. Due delle sue poesie – poesie che cercano un mondo migliore…
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Langston Hughes – poet and prophet in translation
Some years ago I wrote an article about Langston Hughes and his poetry. Here I would like to present Italian translations of some of his poetry. The first is a brief epigram. The second is an extract from his poem Let America be America again. The third is I Dream a World, a poem which he included in his opera Troubled Isola. Qualche anno fa ho scritto un articolo su Langston Hughes e la sua poesia. Qui vorrei presentarne una traduzione italiana. La prima è un epigramma breve. Il secondo è un brano dal suo poema O, che l’America di nuovo America sia. Il terzo è Sogno un mondo, un…
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John Donne’s For Whom the Bell Tolls: with translation
John Donne’s passage For Whom the Bell Tolls is most familiar to audiences of our time through Ernest Hemingway’s novel of the same name, set in the Spanish civil war. John Donne’s words are often understood today as a poem (and they are indeed poetic). However they come from a book of devotions, and a longer contemplation on the meaning of the bell. John Donne lived in seventeenth century England. The tolling of the bell was a constant reminder of the call to prayer, and when in 1624 he wrote the passage, John Donne was Dean of St. Pauls (then one of the highest offices of the Anglican church). Il…
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Mary Gilmore – Nationality, a Response and a Little Ghost
Australian poet, Dame Mary Gilmore (1865-1962) was knighted for her services to literature and feted for her work. She was born in Goulburn and educated near Wagga Wagga. She became a teacher in 1883 and joined the ‘New Australia’ movement, a colonial settlement in Paraguay, inspired by social utopianism. Disillusioned and by then married, she returned with her husband and child to Australia in 1902. She began writing for the Australian Worker from 1908, contributing on social and economic issues. In 1938 she was appointed a Dame. During her life she published both poetry and prose in numerous works. Her war related poetry enhanced her fame, including the patriotic poem,…
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The sparkling Duomo in the darkness
The sparkling Duomo in the darkness Il duomo scintillante nel buio Stone outlined in green and rose and white As if it were paper cut out by giant’s hand As if the stone itself glows with inner light Tourists, unthinking, circumambulating this glimmering Kaaba. Like them, I am in awe, shivering at its wonder Tier upon tier, panel upon panel drawing eye upward Into lost and questioning darkness above This endless flow of humanity, come to worship its beauty Do we do well to come here? And in the beauty, do we find some echo of the nameless? Pietra tracciata di verde, rosa e bianco Come se fosse carta tagliata…
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The Infinite – Giacomo Leopardi
Sempre caro mi fu quest’ermo colle,e questa siepe, che da tanta partedell’ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude. Ever dear to me has been this empty knoll, And this hedgerow, which walls away so muchOf that last horizon from my sight. Ma sedendo e mirando, interminatispazi di là da quella, e sovrumanisilenzi, e profondissima quïeteio nel pensier mi fingo; ove per pocoil cor non si spaura. E come il ventoodo stormir tra queste piante, io quelloinfinito silenzio a questa vocevo comparando: e mi sovvien l’eterno,e le morte stagioni, e la presentee viva, e ‘l suon di lei. Così tra questaimmensità s’annega il pensier mio:e ‘l naufragar m’è dolce in questo mare. But…
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The Swallows and the Buddha
Feet sink in the melting sand As paces carry me forward Along scribbled threshold between land and sea. Ahead, a mist masks an unfamiliar treeline, And beyond, fading reaches of headland. La sabbia squaglia sotto i miei piedi Mentre i passi mi portano avanti Per la soglia scarabocchiata fra terr’ e mare Avanti, una foschia maschera alberi sconosciuti E più in fondo, svanenti promontori estesi. Sad and slivery-green, the waves carry their stories ashore. Bubbled lines flee down the sandy slope, Too quickly to be read before they, Vanish forever into the sea. Far out on the water, fishing boats bob in the early morning light. Verde-argenteo e tristi, le…
