Io stessa, leggendo la sceneggiatura, restavo avvinta. Non sono una di quelle attrici che cercano la distanza. Il racconto, il romanzo a puntate, sono qualcosa di speciale. Hanno un linguaggio innovativo e interessante. Ce lo spiega uno degli autori storici del talent show, Mauro Monaco: Noi siamo abituati a vedere le esibizioni e le scelte dei direttori artistici: Elisa e Emma devono mettere in campo un totale di 20 esibizioni eseguite dai talenti. Dipende da cosa dicono i giudici, dallo stato di forma dei ragazzi e dalle eliminazioni provvisorie dalla gara.
Le scelte sono libere. Appena si raggiunge la maggioranza di voti favorevoli per una squadra, il punto viene assegnato. Uno viene deciso dalla somma dei voti dei talenti vincitori, uno dai professori, il terzo dal direttore artistico. Ecco alcune delle parole che ha voluto dire ai ragazzi del talent show di Canale 5. Non canto, non ballo, vengo da un altro percorso. Eppure sono convinto che sia il posto giusto.
Prendere un libro, approfondire. Entrambe le cantanti hanno vinto Sanremo: Elisa nel , Emma nel AMici cAnAlE 5 sabato ore In questa serie scopriremo che ha anche una sorella, Bea Lunetta Savino , che fa la televenditrice di pentole. Ci descrive il rapporto tra le due? Non pratica nessuno sport. Non sa neppure nuotare. Sa solo stare seduta.
E muovere la lingua. Ogni due per tre finisce nel mirino per le sue battute. Persino le suore di clausura si sono arrabbiate. Lei come le prende queste critiche? Ilcomico deve prenderti per il Io cerco di fermarmi sempre un passo prima. E sono tutti rissosi. Ma diamoci una bella calmata, su! Fabio Fazio sembra sempre terrorizzato dai possibili effetti delle sue battute. Naturalmente il casino esplode sempre per la quarta notizia.
Infatti spesso alla fine dellatrasmissioneripassada me e dice: Si sta rivedendo nei panni di giudice? Faccia il giudice di se stessa e giudichi i suoi giudizi! E sono diventata buona! A destra Ariadna Gaya 22 anni: Sotto, Victoria Camps Medina Io invece sono felicissima: Ero certa che non mi avrebbero presa! Ho solo cercato di capire, parlando con gli autori, come Aurora le somigliasse. Come trascorre il suo tempo libero? Quando posso, mi dedico alla mia famiglia: I miei mi hanno sempre incoraggiata e sono i miei primi fan.
I fan sono in ansia: Abbiamo incontrato la Gaya a Madrid: E intanto Megan che fa? La storia ruota intorno alle forze speciali italiane di stanza in Afghanistan: Nel cast, anche Andrea Sartoretti e Romina Mondello. In futuro sarebbe bello fare anche cinema e teatro. Per raoul bova megan montaner. Racconteremo delle storie incontrando i protagonisti. Io mi sono commossa: Un uomo che lei desidera ringraziare. Io mi sono commossa. Prima di prenderle in considerazione le abbiamo verificate.
Io e Alvin siamo conduttori ma soprattutto spettatori: Non avevo un copione, ho cercato particolari della storia a cui aggrapparmi per fareoperadiconvincimento. Avevo fatto programmi tv, ma sempre basati sulle canzoni: Roma, Milano, Napoli, Torino e Bari. Anna Tatangelo e Alvin nella foto a destra sono gli inviati speciali del programma pensato per gli innamorati.
E voi che aspettate? Ma non solo loro: Per ora sono previsti 12 episodi per entrambe le serie, con un occhio al mercato internazionale.
Mi accolgono sempre con calore. Non ne sarei capace. Guardo Pamela Prati che a 56 anni si cimenta con il trapezio: E lei non ama il rischio? Ognivoltache inizio un nuovo spettacolo a teatro mi chiedo: Io non ho nostalgia del passato. Il teatro mi ha cambiato la vita. Tutto questo mi regala un entusiasmo incredibile di fare cose nuove. Il giorno in cui ti siedi e dici: Gaultiernonfa ivestitisudimeoispirandosi al mio fisico: Ci sono ragazze che fanno scuola di recitazione, studiano ballo, fanno i calendari nude per farsi notare.
Persino Sofia Loren ha fatto la Miss. Non era previsto che David Bowiesiinnamorassedime. E magari un giorno incontro Woody Allen che mi fa fare un film con lui Ha ispirato anche David Bowie? Alta, magra, capelli come spaghetti. Alloragliapparecchieranodi ferro, bruttissimi e io mi vergognavo: Ha fatto pace con se stessa? Ma se viene, bene. E poi non vorrei esagerare: E non voglio fare la finediquellesignoretruccate e ingioiellate che uccidono per un gettone di presenza.
Ma che lavoro fanno? FiDanzati nella lonDra anni 60 lalearconBryanFerrydeiroxy music: Fissavo gli altri in maniera sinistra, facendoli intimorire. Diventavo fastidiosa e inquietante, anche se lo facevo scherzando. Io sono una donna solare. In quali difetti le somiglia? Un lato che, mi dicono, intimorisce. Quando mi arrabbio non sono tenera, ma nemmeno cattiva. Sono diretta e istintiva. A lei capita di essere cattiva? E chi meglio di lui poteva spiegarci come nasce sulla carta un personaggio femminile negativo? Poi giochiamo sui contrasti dei ruoli: I colori che indossa, invece, contano: Con il regista che prima di ogni ciak mi urlava di sentirmi una bomba sexy.
Alle sette del mattino! Anche i costumi sono simili ai suoi, molto sensuali. Poi magari mi scuso, anche se ho ragione. Anche io come Laura ho preso diverse porte in faccia. Le peggiori sono quelle che ho ricevuto dagli amici. Ma bisogna essere predisposti. Io non lo sono. Anche quando litigo, mi hanno insegnato a sistemare le cose entro sera. Non mi piace essere cattiva, preferisco essere in pace con me stessa. Elisabetta Pellini 41 anni. In edicola con sorrisi!
Una volta i bambini da grandi volevano fare il calciatore o la ballerina. Ora sognano di diventare chef. Credo che sia una questione di ambiente. Vivevamo in un campo profughi a Trieste, un ex campo di concentramento. Si faceva la fila, interminabile, per un tozzo di pane e un cucchiaio di minestra. Eppure anche di quel cibo ho un ricordo dolce: I vostri concorrenti sono straordinari. Sono davvero dei fenomeni o siete voi che li istruite?
Sul set ci sono sempre tre cuochi che li preparano e insegnano loro dei piccoli trucchi, le cose di base. Il primo piatto che ha cucinato? Ha fatto tutto da autodidatta? Agli inizi ho aiutato i cuochi del mio ristorante e imparato da loro, ma poi ho fatto degli stage. I suoi figli, cresciuti in un ristorante, sanno cucinare? La prego, glielo dica lei che in Italia non li mangia nessuno Ormai anche qui riusciamo ad avere tutto, sa?
Suo figlio Joe quando si arrabbia lancia i piatti. Lo ha imparato da lei? Io non ho mai fatto quelle cose, al massimo qualche volta lo inseguivo con la scopa. La canzone cita apertamenteFedezeloaccusa con queste parole: Mafapartedelgioco dei rapper memorabili disFide tra i nomi celebri della scena italiana risposto in radio di nonsaperechifosse Fedez.
Il piccolo cerca di farsi valere sul grande per mostrare la sua forza. Ma il primo caso di dissing italiano risale 20 anni fa. Ma poi lo stesso Fibra avrebbe gruppo rap di quegli anni, gli Articolo Mentre parliamo ci raggiunge la moglie, Paola Toeschi, gentile e ospitale: Gli chiedo quanto conti per lui la famiglia. A terra alcune chitarre che fanno parte della sua enorme collezione. Sulle mensole non si contano le statuine, i libri e i cd, gli scatti di famiglia. I due si sono sposati il 18 aprile In alto a destra, la cover del nuovo disco.
Con i Pooh Dodi ha vinto ben 14 Telegatti: Il casco utilizzato per le gare in auto, una passione che ha condiviso per molti anni con il suo grande amico Giorgio Faletti. Questa collezione raccoglie tutti i grandi successi dei Pooh dal fino a oggi. Il portaritratti sulla sua scrivania contiene le foto dei suoi quattro figli: Sara, Serena, Daniele e Sofia. Nel la Fender gli ha dedicato un esemplare: Quello era un periodo in cui le cose giravano evidentemente in modo diverso I Pooh sono la mia estrazione.
Ma davvero ci siamo presi due anni di pausa per lavorare alla ricorrenza. E come potrebbe essere diversamente? Ci battono solo i Rolling Stones Anastasia, Bartok e Pollicina 19 maggio: Ortone, Robots e Fantastic Mr. Moltiplica il divert Collezionali tutti! E al suo fianco proprio Nanni la punzecchia: Ad acuire il disagio, la malattia della madre Giulia Lazzarini e un divo indisponente John Turturro. Ancora una volta, Nanni trae linfa da esperienze personali la malattia della madre, i dilemmi da regista per parlare a tutti.
Paolo Fiorelli mia madre chi sorride e chi no sopra, John Turturro 58 anni. LysE Goodbye Il dj e produttore franco-italiano sta scalando le classifiche con questa seducente hit pop-dance. Tra i produttori ci sono anche Kanye West, Diplo e Avicii. Oltre alle sue canzoni, nel disco sono contenuti anche brani di artisti come Emis Killa, Emma e Vecchioni. In edicola con Sorrisi!
Tra gli artisti inclusi nella raccolta troviamo anche Avicii, Aronchupa e Bob Sinclar. In edicola con Sorrisi. Charlie Puth Classifica degli album ottenuta mediante un campione di 3. Bruno mars 5 fourfIveseConds Rihanna, K. Inunagirandoladipersonaggideliziosieintrighi,glieventiprenderanno una piega inaspettata. Masha e orso autori vari, Liscianigiochi. Gfk, dal 30 marzo al 5 aprile. Certamente non si tratta di pillole dietetiche magiche. Una volta che i miei clienti provano Zuccarin, ritornano da me, spesso portando amici e conoscenti. Poi, mettiamo il pollo in una teglia rivestita con carta da forno e riempiamolo con la nostra farcitura, facendo attenzione che sia ben distribuita in ogni sua parte.
A questo punto prepariamo un condimento di olio ed erbe aromatiche fresche tritate salvia, rosmarino, timo con cui spennelliamo bene il pollo su tutta la superficie. Doppia festa a Teolo Padova. Migliaia di carciofi cucinati dai migliori ristoratori locali secondo ricette originali e serviti nelle grandi tavolate allestite nelle piazze. Friggete per 6 minuti in olio bollente. Nel sono state oltre mila le Teresa in Italia con 30 mila Teresina e perfino una ventina di Tereso , decimo nome femminile per diffusione nella graduatoria del secolo guidata da Maria e da Anna.
Silvia, rimembri il tuo vero nome? E, divenuto adulto, provava una certa ripugnanza a persuadersi che il nome Teresa potesse appartenere a una giovane bella e amabile. Se invece il ricordo ci riporta a persone amabili, giovani e simpatiche, allora tutto cambia. Il personaggio nella foto nome e cognome Lo ha condotto, tra il e il , Carlo Conti dalla Cittadella del Carnevale di Viareggio due parole Guido, giornalista sportivo Mediaset Adriana Oliveira lo rappresentava come Miss Esposte senza soste Iniziali di Iacchetti Epico sceneggiato Rai del Lo ha presentato Nicola Savino nel Animali televisivi di Italia 1 Iniziali di Solenghi, membro del Trio Terza di Antonella e quarta di Clerici Il celebre tenente impersonato da Peter Falk Rende le azioni meno veloci, in cinematografia 2.
Una delle Arpie 3. Prefisso per vita 4. Extra Altra Tensione 5. Le hanno Roma e Rimini 6. Telecom Italia Mobile 7. Avverbio di luogo 8. Federazione in breve 9. Un moschettiere di Dumas Electric Light Orchestra Gruppo di stelle del Toro Libero in centro Donne giudicate colpevoli Esse senza esse Il mare che bagna Catania Abilitava professori di ginnastica sigla Compiono gesta memorabili Iniziali della Fallaci Caos in centro Principio di ibernazione Sopravvissuta ancora una volta, la Ragazza di Fuoco accetta di divenire simbolo e capo della resistenza.
Perle di benessere Equilibra ha selezionato i migliori oli della tradizione popolare creando tre nuovi integratorialimentari. Racchiusi in perlevegetaliper offrirti un nuovo e prezioso rituale di Benessere. Gli integratori non vanno intesi come sostituto di una dieta variata e di uno stile di vita sano.
Ecco i temi delle sei nuove puntate che prendono avvio sabato 18 aprile su Raitre. A cominciare dalla visita al magnifico Tunnel borbonico, un percorso fatto costruire da Ferdinando II di Borbone nel Un viaggio nella nostra evoluzione. Danilo Gallo aspassonellastoriaconalbertoangela sempRe sul campo Alberto Angela 53 anni davanti a un carro armato americano sherman della seconda guerra mondiale utilizzato in trasmissione per ricostruire lo sbarco di anzio. RETE 4 ore Ce la faranno Flavia Pennetta e le sue compagne a prevalere sulle due star americane e restare nel World Group? Su questo libro verteranno le domande di Geppi Cucciari e Piero Dorfles alle due classi di liceo classico in gara: Il leggendario attore interpreta un capitano che, inseguito dagli indiani, cerca rifugio nelle paludi della Florida.
Si occupa di loro Carla Gozzi nel suo nuovo programma che debutta oggi. Allora non perdete la seconda puntata del nuovo show di Antonella Clerici: Lo show, in onda da Shanghai Cina , promette grandi emozioni. Ma la tanto sospirata scappatella si trasforma ben presto in un brutto guaio. Nel ebbe inizio il processo: Cose mai viste Temperatura Rossellini 8 2. L MM il demonio It. L MMM gli ultimi It.
L MMM banditi a orgosolo It. Uno viene catturato e portato in ospedale: I racconti della settimana 1. Torna Pietro Macellaro con la sua pasticceria agricola. L MMM il gattoanovecode It. Alberto Angela 52 parla dello sbarco alleato ad Anzio, sulla costa laziale, nel Qui si imbatte nella misteriosa Simone Lawrence Baker viene trovato morto con un punteruolo nel cuore.
Ma durante il gioco vengono commessi veramente due omicidi e una terza persona scompare John il Rosso ha colpito ancora. L MM Loscugnizzo It. Presto la ragazza ha una sorpresa: Ma Hipolito e Quintina sono irremovibili nelle loro posizioni e alla donna non resta che far buon viso a cattivo gioco Game Si conclude la prima settimana di doppia conduzione del game show. Al timone del programma, da domenica 12 aprile, Paolo Bonolis ha affiancato infatti Gerry Scotti. Phoenix Un giovane newyorkese appena uscito dal carcere rientra in famiglia.
IT sabato18 aprile Le sorelle Ginger e Brigitte, disperse nellaforesta,trovanorifugioinun villaggio indiano completamente distrutto. Intanto, i lupi mannari sono in agguato. Adamson mtv 8 Gamecon Gerry Scotti, Luca Laurenti Semifinale gara 1 1 Ma i nazisti resistono Un giorno vengono richiamati a sfidarsi sul ring per il match decisivo, abbandonato negli Anni 80 dal primo.
Van helSIng Usa di S. Il leggendario cacciatore di vampiri Van Helsing arriva in Transilvania: Si leva alle 6. La trentenne Beatrix si diletta a disegnare delle bellisime storie per i ragazzi e non pensa al matrimonio. Joe - la nasCita dei CoBra Usa L MM diamoCi una mossa! Migliaia i casi clinici trattati con successo, che lo rendono uno dei maggiori esperti internazionali in questo campo.
Auto Trofeo Pirelli gara1 dir. Ne sono rimasti colpiti anche il noto industriale Michele Mainaghi e sua figlia Beatrice. Stefania Sandrelli in un film di Antonio Pietrangeli che mostra le ombre del cinema italiano negli Anni La gara, trasmessa in diretta su Sky, va in onda su Raidue in differita di cinque ore. Aryadna Gaia, ultima arrivata nel cast della telenovela spagnola, interpreta la vera Aurora, figlia della sfortunata levatrice e di Tristan. Nel cast, anche Mariangela Melato. Regia di Lina Wertmuller. RAI 4 ore Nei chilometri del percorso da Maastricht a Valkenburg i corridori affrontano ben 34 salite.
Oggi si sfidano il team classificatosi al primo posto in questa stagione e il comune ripescato attraverso sorteggio. Scattano le indagini, ma Tom deve tenere sotto controllo il fidanzato della vittima, che vuole farsi giustizia da solo. Lilli gruber, giornalista 58 ; Kate hudson, attrice 36 ; marisa Laurito, attrice 62 ; alessandro preziosi, attore Si comincia da Singapore.
Letture per la chiesa ambrosiana: Patrizio Roversi e Daniela Ferolla scendono in Irpinia per capire le molteplici tracce etnografiche di questa terra, collocata geograficamente in Campania, ma con radicatetradizionipugliesi,lucane,molisane,sannite. Dal parco eolico di Bisaccia fino ad Aquilonia, ricostruita dopo il terremoto del E poi riappare sua sorella Bea Lunetta Savino Inoltre, le sperimentazioni non autorizzate del Policlinico di Modena, le province, la tv albanese. Quarto appuntamento del Mondiale sul circuito di Assen 4.
Purtroppo il capo della polizia locale ha deciso di perseguitarlo. WillisBen e Katie stanno attraversando una fase delicata del loro rapporto. Decidono allora di approfittare delle vacanze dei figli per sperimentare la separazione. Questi, interrogato da Patrick, promette rivelazioni su John il Rosso e sul rapimento di Kristina.
Un omicida scarcerato per mancanza di prove viene ucciso. Una giornalista invita Jane a partecipare a un programma tv incentrato sul caso. L MM da parte degli amici: Laredazionedelprogrammahaintervistatoilmedievalista Franco Cardini e il filologo Mahmoud Salem Elsheikh. Il reportage segue uno stormo di oche delle nevi, in volo attraverso il Nord America, che incrocia la sua rotta con la maestosa aquila calva.
Fernando CarlosSerrano , cercandodiottenereipossedimentidelpadre, contatta un avvocato e Elena chiede un anticipo al suocapoperpagareidebiti, ma lui cerca di approfittare della situazione. Intanto, Giulio scopre il problema di Elena e cerca di aiutara. Tizianatentailsuicidio,mentre Alberto viene arrestato. Il giornalista lombardo cerca di distinguersi nel panorama televisivo italiano, analizzando il contrasto tra i cittadini e il potere politico. Tenero e ingenuo, viene adottato dalla famiglia di Kim. Accompagnato da Pitagora e Hercules, si mette sulle tracce della giovane Un anno di storia italiana: Purefoy Mtv 8 Neri rai 5 23 L MM la nave Dei Sogni: Ma, nonostante il successo al lavoro, la donna conduce una vita solitaria e Gli scienziati devono indagare sulla scoperta di una nave spaziale intrappolata tra i ghiacci.
Hudson LMM Helen Harris, giovane single in carriera, si trova costretta a occuparsi dei suoi tre nipoti. A darle una mano arriva il pastore Dan Jenkins, preside della scuola dei ragazzi C 1 Palermo - Genoa dir. Auto Gara 1 diretta Gara 2 diretta Monkey - una donna da salVare G. L MMM stoker G. Marco has been much praised and often reprinted. Note on translation G. Belli, writing sonnets in Romanesco in the early nineteenth cen- tury, gave an example for Italian poets with his sonnets that showed how dialect could convey the energy of conversation more effectively than stan- dard language.
We translators of dialect into English in the United States do not have dialects to convey that energy precisely, so we try to make our verse sound like people talking. This would seem impossible for A Stick in the Eye, a story over twenty-seven centuries old, but Roberti helps with his deft details and his sudden shifts of style, and makes translating his poem a pleasure, though difficult. You call your country Greater Greece, because you dine on greater grease I guess--and stronger wine! Tell me what your name is. Anyone will swear I am. But are you single?
Do you have a wife? Hitched to the single life. Then the poor fool fell, fell like a stone, like a bull with his throat cut in the Colosseum at a festival. Some promised they were able to slip him a little gift beneath the table; and others talked about friends in high places. Like it or like it not, when all talk ended, all that the lottery threw up were four pathetic bastards no one ever protected. E mentre Lui strillava la natura diventava rugosa e penzierosa: Chi te fa piagne come un regazzino?
Nessuno che me leva, sarvognuno, tutto er punto de vista personale Furious, frantic, fast, Ulysses struck it deeper and turned it like a merry-go-round. At once that moribund volcano hurled forth great eye fragments and little wads of jell out of his monster brain. He yelled a yell enough to raise goose pimples on the world. As he was screaming, Mother Nature frowned, wrinkling her great face, and started to stir and raised up mountains from the level ground. Beholding earth beneath them relandscaped, many a luminous, uneasy star turned into a comet and escaped.
Are you all right? Why have you pulled your cave door shut and hid yourself away from us and out of sight? No One, god damn it! Then, hey, shut the fuck up and quit your belly aching. E le stelle me dicheno: He has published two po- etry chapbooks: His poetry has been included in numerous anthologies and published in local, regional and national magazines and newspapers. His principal works include: Note on translation The dialect I have translated is referred to by local people as Lancianese, that is the language of Lanciano, a city of 30, inhabitants in Abruzzo.
Although people familiar with Abruzzese dialects in general have proved helpful, at times I needed to consult with people who grew up in Lanciano in order to obtain the full flavor of a particular word or expression. Lancianese, like all languages, has evolved over time. Some words and expressions are now extinct. Only go backwards or even better stay nailed to the spot where you find yourself!
Love and song My love, I would compose for you a song one of those hammered and forged in fire, polished the way it should be and blended with notes that are shiny and passionate. I speak and afterwards you speak And what do we say? My Life My life: A sky that often has a hole that at certain times makes like a small window: A wind that, sometimes, if it stops leaves the dry leaves by my feet; What do you find that is good? Of a rose the only thing that you can pick up is a leaf! A brooklet, even that at times, leaves the stains of melancholy and goes, without getting dirty with mud, singing all by itself along the way.
The Song To those who no longer sing, the spirit of life is tasteless To those who sing more, the voice of the heart gets more flavor Concetta I Concetta, your petticoat is too hot swinging every which way as you walk! Cuncette, nche ssu passe vacce piane: Lanciane Bande e campane! Concetta, step more softly as you go: Concetta, my God, why are you running? Take it easy as you walk or the folds of your dress will not fall right! Lanciano Bands and bells! Here is my dear Lanciano exactly the way it is. Snow All ruffled and with those tiny eyes soaked through and through, that wee bitty sparrow under that snowfall, wretched little thing, looked up at the sky and gave out a cry.
He looked for pity from saints and angels at least to keep the snow off of the roof? Bagpipes Snow falls and I hear the sound of footsteps; it is really him, it is the piper that, when I was a kid, just seeing him for me was a good time beyond compare! But how goes it, if one -- is the bagpipe and the other one -- is the song one sings why, why, do the oncoming years go by more than the festival shines through my tears?
He has published articles on Luzi, Montale, Tobino, and film. His translation focuses on Paolo Ruffilli and Davide Rondoni. In these ca- pacities, Rondoni has his finger on the pulse of Italian poetry. Three problems present themselves. First, as a translator, I feel humbled and unnecessary: Second, in this lyric unpretentiousness, cultural- linguistic differences arise.
How does one reproduce the cadences that follow a rhythm found somewhere between thought and dialogue? How does one translate a word that simultaneously exists as the beginning of a new thought as much as it exists as a continuation of a previous thought? Central Park, fine autunno, alberi di seta elettrica e color sangue nel freddo azzurro del cielo che salgono si aprono poi piano che si spengono, ombra che sta venendo, aria che si oscura.
Io chiedo a Oonagh: Senti che grida di barche invisibili. Cosa succede in questa poesia? And it starts, the frosty crown of the skyscrapers, to glisten on the more somber throng in the streets. You hear the shouts from invisible boats. In the dark bay. What is it that happens in this poem? Ripartirai con un lieve turbamento, quasi un ricordo e i silenzi delle scansie di oggetti, dei benzinai, dei loro berretti, sentirai alle tue spalle leggero divenire un canto.
Non ho avuto gradoni di pietra su cui disteso perdere sotto il sole il lume della mente, addormentando. My son, my traveler, your hell, your virtue might be your dog-like or angel-like hearing that detects the turning of the planets and a pill falling into a cup two floors below, where two seniors citizens attend to each other. This roaring love will be your father, your real one.
Stop off for a spell in this highway rest-area, from the darkness it will be a pleasure to see you again I had avenues, wide, noisy streets, tall trajectories of by-passes, the open arms of a poor mother veins through which all sorts of things come into the city. I had tree-lined avenues or swift bouts of vertigo between steel walls and tinted glass. But during the night, when night does come, they recast themselves, new avenues shadowy, lonely avenues, when tall streetlamps illuminate them and the latest adverts fade out.
Then they move delicately, branching, perhaps the whole city turns on itself; some end at a castle, others at a cathedral, others dissolve beneath the orange lights of a highway junction — the avenues breath in the night with their wide black plane-trees, their subway gates and sad, singsong lullaby sleeping over the children. E mentre lui cadeva tu bruciavi maternamente. And as he fell you burned maternally.
But your arms on the windowsill before turning back to carbon and in a recollection were comets, Brooklyn bridges of love in the night outside of Milan. And I have taken them [from you, lady, leave those arms to this faraway dance, to the music that I and you from two shores in the shadows eternally share. The guy who for the whole trip stares at the sealed bag in front of him, the girl with the dyed hair and a pierced lip who wants to tell her life story to a stranger.
Leggo nella rivista delle Ferrovie: Materia che non crede a se stessa — come questi viaggiatori, nel sonno che ingigantisce i vagoni nella sera. I read in the Railway magazine: Matter that does not believe in its own being — like these travelers, in a slumber that amplifies the train cars in the evening. She was also awarded an NEA in translation. Raffaele Carrieri was born in Taranto, and lived a vaga- bond life in his teens and early twenties. He was only 15 when he was wounded, a serious injury to his left hand. He went back to Taranto, but after a brief stay, he sailed again around the Mediterranean visiting various ports including those along the coast of Africa.
He worked at many jobs to support him- self, and on his return to Italy, worked as tax collector for two years. It was during these two years that he started writing poetry, the poems that were collected in Lamento del gabelliere In he went to Paris where he lived for several years among the poets and painters of the time, and where he started writing articles about his travels. He settled for good in Milan , and worked as art critic.
In addition to several books of poetry, some of which won awards, including the Premio Viareggio, he wrote many books of art criticism, and biographies and studies of poets, sculptors and painters. Translating Carrieri In the poems that I translated Carrieri uses many of his briefly in- habited identities as masks, creating a multiplicity of selves: At times, he even identifies with the inanimate. The adolescent search for identity is given body, substance, voice. And all the personae have some- thing in common but are also different.
In translating his work, the challenge was in creating a voice that sounded like the Carrieri in my head: A man who often looks over his shoulder, and narrowly escapes; who comes face to face with death and is seriously wounded, his wounded, damaged hand giving him yet another identity. But also a weary man of no age, or even old, who expects nothing, wants nothing. The challenge was to create this voice, but also to preserve the variation in tone from poem to poem, the simplicity or complexity of narrative, the muted mu- sic.
Their short takes and sharp images. Their impatient, hurried runs. Also, the shade and connotations are slightly different in English. In poems such as these, there is no room to move. Like the poet, I put my trust in the image. Vedevo sul comodino La ciotola di latte Riempirsi di tenebra E questo ancora vedere E distinguere il bianco Dal nero mi dava piacere. Altro non ricordo Di quella sera. Piccola morte So questo, era un soldato Con un paio di scarpe nuove Che accanto gli stavano A vegliarlo giorno e notte. Each of us knew It was the last evening. My eye and the bowl Were links In the same chain.
The day after I survived the other. Small Death I know this: He was shot in the chest And every time he coughed He turned his sky-blue eyes To look at the shoes That watched like dogs The infirmary cot. He died at five in the morning Saying only these words: Non ho niente Non ho niente Proprio niente Che sia mio.
Anche le mani Hanno cessato Di essere mie. Even my hands Have ceased to be mine. They belong to this bony gun which in the dark resembles me. Waiting for Nothing Light has not been my friend On the earth nor water my sister. The amiable rain water That like a mother puts to sleep The old tax collector And the young frog. I would have liked to close the sky Like a simple door To remain all day Hidden in the grass Waiting for nothing.
Journal of Italian Translation Poems in English by Rina Ferrarelli translated into Italian Dreamsearch I was back in that other country again last night those narrow streets familiar and strange. I walked on the worn stone in the shadow of houses looking for a door looking for a face and again I woke up too soon. Back to the Source Granite and river stone worn by walking, wide sloping steps with short rises the steep descent but not the straight path of a torrent sharp turns and small wide bends where walls jut out alleys come in I always go up in my dreams upstream back to the source.
At your features, your expression. She wanted you to smile off the frame, inside the frame and sometimes you did. Divestiture She unpinned the folds of white linen eloquent of place, loosened the loops and braided knots, and combed her hair into a bun. She untied her apron, took off one by one the pleated skirts, the black jacket with wide velvet cuffs, the padded camisole, the long shirt articulate with lace.
Then stepped into a dress skimpier than a slip, and naked, exposed like that, my grandmother came to America. Linens Plain weaves, twills and herringbones, woven at home linen on linen, linen on cotton. Some are still uncut—a band of warp threads separating one napkin, one towel from the other—but most are decorated with needlepoint lace. Nei tuoi lineamenti, la tua espressione. Gli altri sono tutti ricamati ad intaglio.
My mother, the more delicate one, the one who wanted to get away, sat where the light fell on her hands, and pulling out the weft threads her sister had worked into a tight fabric, restructured the space with floss, white on white openwork borders, arabesqued windows. Rough- or fine-textured, the linens I was saving were meant to survive soaking in hot water and ashes, milling on the rocks.
I machine wash them and when the weather is good, hang them outside, the way women still do over there, stretching them into shape while damp. Most are holding up well; a few show signs of wear, but not from use. It was keeping them safe in a trunk for so many years that weakened the fabric.
The Bridge Progress has finally come to the forgotten South. A new superstrada wide and straight as none before bypasses the shelf of road the sharp-angled bridge. The cross by the roadside reminds the few of us who remember fewer all the time of the men who died there hitting the rocks of the stream when their truck went off the road. Seven men who knew how to do without how to turn in a small place taking nothing for granted. The bridge is crumbling purple flowers grow out of the wall.
Ruvidi o fini, i panni che conservavo erano fatti per superare le prove del ranno e delle pietre. Sette uomini che sapevano far senza, che si muovevano nello stesso piccolo spazio senza prendere niente per scontato. Il ponte si sta sgretolando, fiori viola spuntano dal muro. Broomflowers Chrome yellow against green stems in bunches on the reddish dirt even-spaced rows like a pattern on a quilt. Is this new or have I forgotten as I forgot the nightingale singing in the trees below the wall— what did I know then about nightingales— the row of stones holding the tiles down at the edge of the roof?
On the breeze a whiff of their scent, delicate pleasing.
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The sun is down now, the sky turning indigo, but their yellow endures on the slope below the parapet. Inside rough bouquets in earthenware jars. Le ginestre Luccicano gialle contro i fusti verdi a mazzi sulla terra rossiccia file diritte e uguali come i disegni delle coperte nostrane. Dentro casa mazzi alla buona in vasi di terracotta. Italian Translation of Poems by W.
Ha lavorato per 30 anni presso la Inland Steel Com- pany di Chicago. Dal al ha lavorato come tutore in Francia, Portogallo e Majorca. Ma soprattutto rimane un poeta che ci sorprende, che continuamente sorpassa le frontiere di una facile ammirazione. Montale , Litania del perduto Prato , testo a fronte in inglese. Life, when all has been lost and the blame falls on the one who did not throw the rock, the blind man who without that singular limb the leg ripped from the belly in spite of the others, all three straight and strong cannot make his own dog return.
Echo falling from the past whale beached upon the future, maybe remedy to an everyday life such conditional going in peace at the end of the rite. Musicista, traduttrice, scrittrice in italiano, inglese e francese, ha pubblicato racconti e soprattutto poesie: Variazioni belliche , Serie ospedaliera , Documento , Impromptu , Sleep , in inglese.
Conto di farla finita con le forme, i loro bisbigliamenti, i loro contenuti contenenti tutta la urgente scatola della mia anima la quale indifferente al problema farebbe meglio a contenersi. Giocattoli sono le strade e infermiere sono le abitudini distrutte da un malessere generale. Toys are streets and nurses are habits destroyed by a general sickness.
Estinguere la passione bramosa! Piazza Nicolai-Merwin-Rosselli-Bigon without passion or wanting to forget it I who burned with passion the passion extinguished in the burning I who burned with pain at seeing passion thus extinguished. To extinguish covetous passion! To distinguish passion from the true yearning for extinguished passion extinguish everything that is extinguish everything that rhymes with is: Extinguish the passion for self! She is also profoundly interested in poetry and has published three vol- umes: On occasion of the 40th anniversary of the Vajont tragedy, she edited the commemorative volume Vajont.
I corpi allungati Salgono le voci al Dio piangente lamento, anime e lance sotto la gola, inchiodano corazze e morsi nel violetto senza pace. Voce solitaria la parola del mondo mi grida dentro, quasi urla. Piazza Nicolai-Merwin-Rosselli-Bigon The Long Bodies Voices lift up to the plangent God lament, souls and lances beneath the throat, nailing breastplates and clamps in the violet without peace.
The mists wrap around the hills prayers, drops of water on the stones. A lonely voice the word of the world that rips me within, almost yells. Others populate the echo of human depth feeding itself on the time and the place, without end. Dressed in black the long bodies are almost lost in the drawn faces of a people consumed by the look of one who is begging for justice no longer in the hour of death but of forgiveness.
Grottesco come stare seduti sul ramo di un albero a parlare da soli. Non so se vale la pena fingere che tutto sia ideale. Forse esclude la ragione ma il campo si allarga ovunque ci sia una misura di grandezza, e mentre ci si illude si perdono le radici. Vorresti il tuo albero quercia di luce con le radici strette nella terra.
It is so incredibly distant maybe never a part of this world across what fissure will the camel come to pass? Reality unravels sleepwalking across a surreal landscape, bugs everywhere — blossoming lies with an overview in perspective ascetic glaciers, surviving lymph. Oak Tree or Leaf August flies off like a leaf across the tree tops with someone who blows beneath it to make it fly. That silvery filament binding spirits to the earth fades away into thin air.
You would like your tree as an oak made of light with roots dug deep into the ground. Insistente il falsetto si fa stridulo sapendo di mentire io tu e gli altri. Mattone su mattone costruisci il castello invisibile con le tante serrature a manico. Non rimane che un feticcio di polvere. Voragine di corvo strapiomba il sereno ma non spezza le radici. Il gesto sonoro segna soltanto una melodia malata. The half-lie scratches insistently aware of its falsehood me you and the others.
You pronounce the promise: Brick on brick you build the invisible castle filled with handles and latches. Not even one cloud. What to believe in if all is smoke that pertains to pale longitudes to implausible structures like eddies in the storms? A fetish of dust hangs behind. The musical touch signals no more than a sickened note dissonance that does not frighten the donkey, its bray makes no sense even if nightly the moon lights up its pelt. In the end what can happen? His translation of Giovanni Raboni will be published this year by Chelsea Editions.
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Giovanni Raboni, born in Milan in , worked as an editor and critic. His many volumes of poetry are gathered in Tutte le poesie , which was followed by a final collection, Barlumi di storia, in He died in September Giovanni Raboni T he more I have read, thought about, and translated the poetry of Giovanni Raboni, the more convinced have I become that he is one of the great poets, and perhaps the single greatest Italian poet, of our time.
Raboni, I believe, more than fulfills all of these expectations, and it is this depth and variety in his work that I have tried to communicate, both in the book-length selection I am preparing and in the cross-section of that manuscript presented here. In keeping pace with it, I have tried also to keep pace with the smaller effects on which the larger ones often depend—not just the hendecasyllabic undercarriage and the rhymes where they occur , but also the parallelisms, the alliteration, the abrupt tonal shifts, the restless enjambment that characterizes so many of the sonnets, and so on.
Technique, of course, is merely a means to an end, and it is the ends that I have tried most to reflect—the striking and often quirky angle of insight peculiar to his vision and now and then simply peculiar ; the passionate moral, social, and political concern; the preoccupation, at times almost an obsession, with illness and death; the tenderness of late love.
These are the things that impress us most forcefully and remain with us most deeply as we watch Raboni bear witness to the private pains and joys of his life and to the public shames and outrages of his times. Qui, diceva mio padre, conveniva venirci col coltello Ma quello che hanno fatto, distruggere le case, distruggere quartieri, qui e altrove, a cosa serve? Se mio padre fosse vivo, chiederei anche a lui: Lezioni di economia politica Cosa vuoi che ti dica. Uno come lui, capisci, era per forza il nostro uomo con i suoi colletti rotondi e duri, la spilla, le scarpe da vampiro.
E ti ricordi, non ne perdevamo una: Down here, my father said, you were well advised to carry a knife with you Ah yes, the Canal is just a few steps away, the fog was thicker back then, before they covered it Does it seem good to you? Is this the way? Lessons of Political Economy What do you want me to tell you? Bambino morto di fatica ecc. Little Boy Dead of Exhaustion Etc. And you, if by some chance you were to faint, if no one else was there then you might bleed to death.
For which behavior, you sentimentally suggest, he really should be thanked, no amiable or brutal quack having lifted a single finger there to willingly according to our will scrape it away. Personcina Quando dorme se lo chiami muove un orecchio solo. Succhia latte nei sogni dalla sua mamma morta. Con le zampe assapora scialli e maglioni. Usa un libro per cuscino. With love, do you see? He adores the taste of coffee grounds. He savors with his paws shawls and thick pullovers.
He sleeps on leaves. He uses a book for a head cushion. Gli addii Ogni tanto mi sforzo di ricordarli: Strano gioco, ho paura, e assai poco redditizio. He quivers, green eyes marking the to and fro of pigeons. The Farewells Every once in a while I try to recall them all, the vegetable thief, the madman, and la servante au grand coeur, the physican, etc. How much time has gone by! It hardly serves to swallow sedatives, to numb the nerves and brain, the problem really is the soul, the soul that wants no peace, the stubborn soul insatiable in its burning swoops and swerves through ever more laughably difficult drops and curves in chasms or labyrinths, and we know the soul is not just immortal but immortally immature.
I feel them, lighter than the air, as they graze me, split the goodness of the air, not exiles but commuters of the air in transit between fog and gold. Yes, it is true the curtain is still raised, and every evening there is still a show— but now there are no winners in our plays, no losers, and no blood, and no bouquets. And while you appear preoccupied by a variety of more innocuous tasks, you still permit your eyes to charm and warm themselves in it, brave and foolish as they are What am I saying?
Was he a Fascist? Of course he was—the way that those who pounded him were one of them from Masnago and the rest from Induno: Never would those of us who were from those parts be so atrociously innocent again. He is a poet and essayist whose interests range from contem- porary poetry to photography, to cinema and music. He teaches at the Uni- versity of California, San Diego.
Most of his life was however spent in Rome, where he was a teacher. His works, carefully exploration into the sparcity of language and expression, generally have dealt with human relations resultant from war, deracination, existential and spiritual conflict. His poetry has been recognized with major prizes in Italy: His literary activity included translation from the French of the works of Proust, Baudelaire, Celine, de Maupasant, Genete and Apollinaire.
He came to me deliberately of this I am certain to make a gift of it. I can no longer find trace of it. I see again in the leaving day the thin face whitefluted. The sleeve in lace. The grace, so gentle and germanic in its offering. A wind of impact - an air almost siliceous chills now the room. Is it the blade of a knife? Torment beyond the glass and wood - closed - of the shutter? I can no longer find sign of it.
I ask the morgana. Conosco le cretacee porte che danno sul mare. Ma i cardini della nascita? I cardini della morte? Parts - remote - the dawning mouth, but does not speak. She cannot - nothing can - anwer. I no longer hope to find her. I have too jealously irrecoverably hidden her. Reasons The reasons for light. I know the cretaceous doors that lead to the sea. But the reasons for birth? The reasons for death? Era, la sua ragione eversa, la sola Cosa non persa? Was, his ruined reason, the only Thing not lost? Unaware He was under the illusion, having found the accurately lost object again, of having gained something.
It was a momentary joy. And he was left troubled. Almost like someone who suddenly finds himself stripped of an income. He, unaware that anything found again is - always - a loss. But the hard living bodies? The two compact masses taut - almost steelescent? Where the two projecting people?.
It is therefore - the place of every conjunction - perpetual parallax? Inventions Those impalpable voices almost transparent. The blue of all those black eyes - non existent? Distant - always more distant - from itself, the mind has lost the name of it. Incorporeal - aphonic - couriers of extinguished notes. A former Wallace Stegner Fellow and the recipient of recent fellowships from the NEA and the Guggenheim Foundation, he teaches creative writing and translation at the University of Arkansas.
His website is www. Guido Gozzano was born in Turin in and died there in , after a long battle with tuberculosis. That label, coined by a critic as a slight, suggests a particular attitude toward the past, as if the long day of Italian culture were winding down and nothing remained but dim and fading traces, twilight pieces. In a land that had produced Rome and the Renaissance, Dante and Leopardi, such an attitude was perhaps inevitable and was, in any case, pervasive; it was precisely this sort of passatismo against which the futuristi would shortly rebel.
Though not typical of his best- known work, it is profoundly beguiling. The final line also suggests parallels with another famous journey: Giovanni Pascoli was born in in San Mauro di Romagna a town later renamed San Mauro Pascoli in his honor and died in Bologna, where he had followed Carducci as professor of Italian literature, in His personal life was famously full of tragedy: In he published his first collection of poems in Italian and also won the first of thirteen gold medals for his Latin poetry from the Royal Dutch Academy.
The title of his first book, Myricae, is neatly emblematic of this aspect of his poetics: Subsequent books include Poemetti Shorter poems, , Canti di Castelvecchio Songs from Castelvecchio, , Poemi conviviali Convivial Poems, , and several others. It is not without fascination, but part of its fascina- tion surely lies in our knowledge that it is based on actual events. But both also suffer from melodrama that verges on mawkishness.
It was such qualities that I tried hardest to convey. Invano le galee panciute a vele tonde, le caravelle invano armarono la prora: Appare talora di lontano tra Teneriffe e Palma, soffusa di mistero: La segnano le carte antiche dei corsari. Radono con le prore quella beata riva: But loveliest of all, the Unfound Isle: The island was not there. In vain the sails of the stout galleys swelled, in vain they fitted out their caravels: Occasionally it appears between La Palma and Tenerife, beguiling.
Their vessels glide along its blessed shore; the dense green sacred forest scents the air; over the nameless flowers, huge palms soar; cardamom weeps, the rubber trees perspire The Unfound Isle, announced by fragrances, like courtesans And like vain semblances, when pilots sail too near it vanishes, turning that shade of blue that distance is. Sussurravano i pioppi del Rio Salto. I cavalli normanni alle lor poste frangean la biada con rumor di croste. Con su la greppia un gomito, da essa era mia madre; e le dicea sommessa: The poplars whispered by the Salto River. The Norman horses, each in its stall, fed on fodder, crunching it like crusty bread.
Beyond them stood the wild mare, who was foaled upon a piney coast, salt-licked and cold; her nostrils carried still that tang of shore, and still her cocked ears heard the ocean roar. This is what she said: The man has left a little boy behind first born of eight who never handled reins. And though your flanks are spurred by hurricanes, heed his small hand.
And heed his childlike speech, though in your heart there lies a barren beach. The gray mare turned her bony head to see my mother as she spoke so mournfully: I know you loved him, too! He would have died alone there, but for you. E tu capisci, ma non sai ridire. Stava attenta la lunga testa fiera. Ma parlar non sai!
Tu non sai, poverina; altri non osa.
BTA - Bollettino Telematico dell'Arte / Testi / btahtml
Ti voglio dire un nome. E tu fa cenno. You brought him back, reins trailing at your feet. The shot in your ears, in your eyes the flame, along the whispering poplar road, you came. You bore him through the dying of the day so we might hear some last word he might say. In her pain, My mother threw her arms around that mane. O dearest mare, O mare so dapple-gray, you bore him home, the man who went away, who never can come home!
Good though you be, you cannot others dare not speak to me. You saw the killer, yes, you know him well— who is it? Give me some signal. God will show you how. The horses were no longer champing meal; asleep, they dreamed the rolling of the wheel. They did not stamp their hooves upon the hay: The editor will select one poem for each poet and provide both the English and the Italian trans- lation thus acting as a bridge between them. In this manner two poets, whose approach to poetry may be quite different, will be conversing through the translator. In he was awarded the Feltrinelli Prize for Italian poetry.
His most recent books are the novel Astoria Guernica , winner of the American Book Award in , a collection of poems: What does it matter that this is a desert? The water is a form of liquidity. The gangsters are my leaders insofar as I am an Italian in America. Desert lakes glitter with pumped cash. In the Biblioteca San Marco I have read manuscript codices. The water climbs the marble stairs in the entrance halls. We used to go to the Bronx just to make our confessions.
The Cadillacs would silently turn the corner of Allerton Avenue. Gangsters in cherrywood coffins would slide into the church. The Island of San Michele in the lagoon is the cemetery. That water eats everything. After a few decades the graves are empty. Venetians one after another have lain in the same graves.
In America it is the cities we bury. The money eats them the way water eats corpses. I laghi del deserto luccicano di denarocontante pompato. Alla Biblioteca San Marco ho letto codici e manoscritti. Alghe appese a ogni pietra delle fondamenta della biblioteca. Albert Anastasia fu assassinato su una sedia da barbiere allo Sheraton.
Aveva un fratello prete alla chiesa di Santa Lucia nel Bronx. Noi andavamo nel Bronx solo per confessarci. Gangster incapsulati in bare di ciliegio entravano ed uscivano da quella chiesa. Dopo appena qualche decennio le tombe si svuotano. In theory, the different versions should convey what is known as the kernel meaning, that is, the basic message contained in the original text. This section of Ital- ian Journal of Translation will test this theory by asking our readers to trans- late a text chosen by the editors, using whatever style or approach they consider best.
The submissions will then be printed with the original text. We will try to publish as many entries as possible, space allowing. For this issue, I selected the following poem by Guido Gozzano. Send your version of this poem and write a paragraph describing your approach. You may submit additional poems or short prose texts that in your estimation pose challenging problems.
Sendyour submissions to me or Luigi Bonaffini. Naturalized in , he is the translator of classics of Italian of poetry into English verse, and a poet in his own right. He is the author of collections of verse in English Rind and All, ; The Fifth Season, ; Gente Mia and Other Poems, ; Collected Poems , , in Latin Carmina latina, ; Carmina latina II, , in Italian among others, Il ritorno, , and in his Gargano dialect sixteen titles between and , and of an autobiography in three volumes, La parola difficile , La parola nuova , La parola antica Note on Translation Of the two hundred and more Italian poets I rendered into English, no one posed problems that no translator - so I thought - would ever solve.
Pulci, Michelangelo, Tasso, and Leopardi seemed at first so untranslatable to me that even the most felicitous approximation would diminish them. Its haunting musicality, in which the subtly shifting dactyls and spondees recreate the magic of the Homeric hex- ameter, is at times so ethereal, so rarefied, so hypnotic as to make the boldest translator utterly afraid of any attempt at a possible rendering of its enchant- ment.
One thing is certain: This translation first appeared in Canadian Journal of Italian Studies: Io Fidia, primo, ed Apelle guidai con la mia lira. Here to the valley mid the airy hills of Bellosguardo, in the quiet shade of countless youthful cypresses, where I have raised to the three Goddesses an altar surrounded by an ever-limpid stream and solemnly watched over as a shrine by fateful laurel trees where through the vine less verdant writhes, O my Canova, come: Sculptor of Deities, along with me maybe so let me hope you will soon breathe a newer life into the Graces hewn out of the marble by your hand.
I, too, breathe into phantoms an eternal soul; I loathe the line that sounds yet fails to live, for Phoebus said to me: Splendea tutto quel mar quando sostenne su la conchiglia assise e vezzeggiate dalla Diva le Grazie: Glad, the Ionian waves first welcomed them— the waves that, friendly to the beauteous sand as well as to its hospitable moss, longingly come from Cythera each day to my maternal hills where as a child the deity of Venus I adored.
To the Antenorian shores, last refuge of the household Gods of Troy and of my ancestors, will I commend my song and bones; to thee alone my thought, for with the Graces no one can converse who impiously forsakes his native land. A holy town is Zante. Most beautiful is Zante.
British ships pour ample treasures on her; from the sky the timeless sun sheds its most vital rays on her alone while Jove grants lustrous clouds, wonder of olive-groves, and boundless hills teeming with vines: The whole sea shone the very day it held the three fair Graces balanced on a shell and sweetly fondled by the Goddess: Con mezze in mar le rote iva frattanto lambendo il lito la conchiglia, e al lito pur con le braccia la spingean le molli Nettunine.
Ivi per sorte vagolando fuggiasche eran venute le avventurose, e corsero ministre al viaggio di Venere. Thus a most hallowed ritual was born— libating milk out of white-rose-trimmed cups and singing hymns beneath the cypress shade while casting on the holy altar pearls with the first blossom that announces April. No suppliant song nor hymeneal dance but lengthy ululations of wild hounds resounded through the isle, with din of darts and men at fight over the vanquished bear and cries of wounded hunters in between.
In vain had Ceres to those ruthless brutes given her plough; in vain had she, one day, begged from beyond Euphrates Bassareus, a youthful god, to soften the hard rock with gentleness of tendrils. In great ire within its narrow groove the sacred tool was left to rust while tendrils were devoured before their recent bunches stood a chance to ripen purple in the autumn sun.
Videro il cocchio e misero un ruggito, palleggiando la clava. Al petto strinse sotto al suo manto accolte, le tremanti sue giovinette, e: Ti sommergi, o selva! Venere disse, e fu sommersa. Abbellitela or voi, Grazie, che siete presenti a tutto, e Dee tutto sapete. To Cynthia they belonged: Suddenly Iris, who views with Zephyrs in their flight, sat down as charioteer and onward aimed toward the Laconian isthmus.
Cythera was not yet queen of the encircling gulf: Seeing the chariot, they wildly roared, wielding their clubs in anger. Hence a delirious readiness to fight instinctively lies dormant in us all, which, if the pitying Graces curb it not, often rekindles and most wretchedly flaunts as its trophy but fraternal bones. Ah, these may I not see now that in Italy they bleach unburied in the golden wheat. But who, of all the Gods, could ever tame those beast-like humans? And what help had he here on this earth upon the very dawn Venus released her Graces to the World? High and horrendous is the tale of it, of which a timid echo Fame disclosed to us still groping in our native dark.
Embellish it, you Graces who were there, and, being Goddesses, know all things well. When Father Jove distributed the stars among the Gods, he kept the brightest one, gave Cytherea the fairest, and Athena the highest of them all: Ah non ti fossi irato Amor! Ma quando eri per anche delle Grazie non invido fratello Sparta fioriva. E Amicle terra di fiori non bastava ai serti delle vergini spose; dal paese venian cantando i giovani alle nozze. But with no deity, forlorn and lost the little globe of this our earth lay still with all its children born for war and prey and, after a brief season, doomed to die.
Why did you then yield, Love, to anger? If you still afflict the Graces so, how will you win my heart? To save themselves from all your might, O Love, stark-naked maidens with great toil and sweat hardened their limbs in fighting manliness. And yet, so long as envy failed to force you against the Graces, your own sisters, Sparta flourished in splendor. Nor could Amyclae, land of wreaths, provide as many buds as there were virgin brides: Also near, Brisea lies, whence the Taygetus heard the loud-exultant clangor of the rites whereby a female chorus, strengthened by the interceding Graces, soothed Lyaeus.
But where, chaste Goddesses, oh, tell me where you saw the primal altar dear to you, so that, if never shall I find its like upon this earth, I may at least feel in me the old religion of its dazzling site. Utterly veiled, proceeding toward the lofty Dorion scanning far Arcadia, my Goddesses reached Thuria: Alpheus withdrew his waves, thus laying at their feet an easy ford that to this very day a pilgrim crosses worshiping in awe — a portent that to all the Greeks revealed the mighty sky: When their hymn ended, Cytherea shone in her unclouded deity: Shunning all human vestiges, and deaf to vulgar poets whose unskillful lyre lures them in vain, through woods they wander still, invisible and silent all of them.
Siate immortali, eternamente belle! The envious Goddess scans the unsown fields and the wide-frozen seas that steersmen shun, and at this very moment maybe treads on arms and banners through the Scythian land and on Italian still unburied braves. Cynthia, whereupon, swore timeless faith to the three Graces from that very day, ever to watch with them over the hearts of candid girls as well as candid lads. Let the Elysian Fields—should there be need— be your sole friendly haven; ever smile on bards whose laurel wreaths are purely earned, on freedom-minded princes, on young mothers who do not yield their babes to alien breasts, on naive maidens innocently thrust by hidden love on an untimely pyre; and smile on youngsters fallen for their land.
Be beautiful, and live for evermore! In tears they watched her go, and as from high above at them she waved they heard this final message: Harmony heard her come and with her joy moved the entire universe to song, for every time sweet Venus shares the bliss of her abode again, dear Harmony along the starry ways applauds the one whose tender sovereignty reshaped the world.
Lágrimas de cristal
As a young lonesome maiden in her room, watching ecstatic in the spotless sky the splendent Moon and every silent star, feels the inspiring Deity and sits down at her harpsichord which, in her new excitement, with her feet and hands and eyes she fast attunes to the awaiting note; but, if deep in her heart Love comes to rouse remembrances of joy, her fingers run less rapid on the keyboard, causing soon the tender melody that lies concealed right at the vocal bottom of the wood to wander slow and feeble in the air: And ever since men felt within their souls an incantation, all their thoughts shone bright, and every novel thing they heard or saw in beauty grew and most delighted them if but they tried to imitate its awe.
When with the Graces all the fleeting Hours colored with varied lights the countryside, and small birds followed them with carefree sounds of rivulets and forests, mortal eyes began to copy all those happy hues and, while the ocean floor was storm-harassed or agitated by still warring Mars, looking on rills and woods, they could enjoy but painted wings and rustic scenery.
Easily Art, which heeded Harmony, made matter elegant: For where you sat the Graces sat with you, and on those features, on that very face such graceful beauty their live breathing left, such gentle feelings with their gentle song did they inspire to her nakedness, instead of your true friend you recognized Venus herself within the marble core.
Impatiently this erring hymn of mine shuns the most gracious minds eager to hear; yet, my fair Sisters, I cannot depart while this my thought dictates much prouder songs. But whither shall I ever follow you if Fate has snatched you from your native Greece, and Italy, your second home, can boast but of your beauty, heedless of your might? Come, Deities, and oh, dear Goddesses, upon the earth cast your maternal tenderness again. So here in Italy the greatest minds will from Olympus draw their harmony, for, as you cannot give a greater gift, give us, O Graces, but your happy smile.
Happier was Urania when the Graces adorned her lengthy peplos with their hands. Mark the beginning of the rite, you lads, and from the garlands on the threshold strewn the uninitiated keep away. No obscene magic here, no wicked praise, no poisoned dart avails: Dear to the Graces is the virgin voice and timid offering: Love promises great bliss, bestows but tears. Lay on this altar turtle-doves along with roses and three chalices of milk, bright-garlanded; and till the sacred rite invites you to the song, in silence wait: A cieca duce siete seguaci, o miseri!
Out of the restless airy strings break forth, like rays of sun by sudden tempest torn, mercy and mirth together: Ah, more than Fortune, still another God abhors sweet peace and fights the innocent. Hearing her boast, on wings ablaze the God prepares his sudden vengeance: Just as when Eurus with his joyous breath rouses the restless Larius at dawn, and soon the boatman at that murmur sings the nearing lutes rejoice, and languidly the flutes of loving lads and nymphs reply from wandering gondole: Ah voi narrate come aveste quel dono!
Oh, tell us how that gift was yours alone. Who else, O Graces, can embellish fame for us, still groping in this earthly dusk; who else but you, who were already there, and, being Goddesses, know all things well? Once more to see the Graces since their birth bright Dawn had climbed four times the eastern sky: Till Phoebus sang a hymn-repleted song, He phrophesied how bards would take the soul from him, from his glad sisters the sweet lyre from Love the weeping that would lure a gentle spirit to ruth, from young Lyaeus life devoid of cares, from Pallas good advice, and from all Gods the laurel afterwards; but from the Graces would the honey flow, inspiring gracious feelings apt once more to reconcile with Heaven this our earth.
Unreachable to all the Deities, in the last heaven shines a lonely flame which its own fire makes eternal: Now tell, O lads, and you, sweet maidens, tell unto what mortal man, unto what lass the Goddesses most kindly gave, one day, most of that honey. A blind man came first: Eolus fed them with his fire, the Sun adorned them with his spurs and, high above, speeding ahead, an eagle showed the way. The sudden fragrance of that honey sprinkled the nuptial bed of the Eolian girl: Her lyre quavered and her heart leapt up when in a chariot, drawn by sparrows, down came Venus to wipe out her every tear with her ambrosian fingers.