The dead open the eyes of the living.
I morti verze i oci ai vivi.
Pain comes on horseback, but goes away on foot.
El mal vien a cavalo, e po' el va via a piè.
Pain does not ask permission.
El mal no domanda permesso.
In Memoriam
His name was
Mohammed Sceab
descendant
of emirs of the nomads
he killed himself
because he no longer had
a homeland
He loved France
and changed his name
He was Marcel
but he was not French
and he did not know any more
how to live
In the tents of his people
where they listen to the chant
of the Koran
sipping coffee
And he did not know how
to get away from
the chant
of his defection
I went with him
together to the landlady of the hotel
where we lived
in Paris
at number 5 rue des Carmes
a sloping dingy alley
He rests in the graveyard of Ivry
a suburb that always
looks like the day
the carnival comes down.
And perhaps only I
still know
that he was alive.
--Giuseppe Ungaretti (1888-1970)
Si chiamava
Moammed Sceab
discendente
di emiri di nomadi
suicida
perchè non aveva più
Patria
Amò la Francia
e mutò nome
Fu Marcel
ma non era Francese
e non sapeva più vivere
nella tenda dei suoi
dove si ascolta la cantilena
del Corano
gustando un caffè
E non sapeva
scioglere
il canto
del suo abbandono
L'ho accompagnato
insieme alla padrona dell' albergo
dove abitavamo
a Parigi
dal numero 5 della rue des Carmes
appassito vicolo in discesa
Riposa nel camposanto d'Ivry
sobborgo che pare
sempre in una giornata
di una
decomposta fiera.
E forse io solo
se ancora
che visse.
30 September 1916
The tree to which you stretched out
your little hand,
the green pomegranate
with its beautiful vermilion flowers,
in the silent lonely garden
all the gold is turning green again
and June is restoring it
with light and heat.
You, flower of my
beaten and withered plant,
you, of my useless life
the last, unique flower,
you are in the cold earth,
you are in the black earth;
the sun will not liven you again
nor love awaken you.
--Giosuè Carducci (1835-1907)
Pianto antico
L'albero a cui tendevi
la pargoletta mano,
il verde melograno
da' bei vermigli fior,
nel muto orto solingo
rinverdì tutto or ora
e giugna lo ristora
di luce e di calor.
Tu fior de la mia pianta
percossa e inaridita,
tu de l'inutil vita
estremo unico fior,
sei ne la terra fredda,
sei ne la terra negra;
nè il sol più ti rallegra
nè ti risveglia amor.
Broken is the high column
Broken is the high column and the green laurel
that made a shade for my weary thought;
I have lost what I do not hope to find again
from the far north to the far south,
from the Indian Ocean to the Atlantic.
Death, you have taken my double treasure from me,
that made me live happy and walk haughtily.
Neither earth nor empire can restore it
nor oriental jewel nor force of gold.
But since Fate consented to this,
what more can I do than have a sad soul,
wet eyes forever, and a bent head ?
O our life that is so beautiful to see,
how you lose quickly in a morning
what you acquired with great pains over many years!
--Petrarch (1304-1374)
Rotta è l’alta colonna e’l verde lauro
che facean ombra al mio stanco pensero
perduto o quel che ritrovar non spero
dal borrea a l'austro, o dal mar indo al mauro.
Tolto m'ai, Morte, il mio doppio thesauro,
che mi fea viver lieto et gire altero,
et ristorar nol po terra ne impero,
ne gemma oriental, ne forza d'auro.
Ma se consentimento e di destino,
che posso io piu, se no aver l'alma trista,
humidi gli occhi sempre, e 'l viso chino?
O nostra vita ch'e si bella in vista,
com perde agevolmente in un matino
quel che 'n molti anni a gran pena s'acquista!
From Sedulia: Petrarch was talking about his patron Cardinal Colonna and his great love, Laura, who both died in 1348 in the great plague. The next poem reminds me in its beginning of Petrarch’s poem. It is a famous poem in China because of its author.
Reply to Li Shuyi [The Immortals]
(to the tune of “Die Lian Hua”)
I lost my proud poplar, you your willow,
Poplar and willow soar to the Ninth Heaven.
They ask Wu Gang what he has,
He brings out a cassia wine.
The lonely moon goddess shakes out her wide sleeves,
in the vast infinite emptiness she dances for the faithful souls.
Suddenly it is reported that on earth the tiger has been caught.
Tears fly like heavy rain.
May 11, 1957
--Mao Zedong (1893-1976)
蝶恋花
答李淑一
我失骄扬君失柳，
杨柳轻飏直上重霄九。
问讯吴刚何所有，
吴刚 捧出桂花洒。
寂寞嫦娥舒广袖，
万里长空且为忠魂舞。
忽报人间曾伏虎，
泪飞顿作倾盆雨
一九五七年五月十一日
Da Li Shuyi
Wo shi jiao yang jun shi liu,
yang liu qing yang zhi shang zhong xiao jiu.
wen xun Wu Gang he suo you,
Wu Gang ju chu gui hua jiu.
Kou mo Chang E shu kuang xiu,
wan li chang kong qie wei zhong hun wu.
Hu bao ren jian ceng fu hu,
lei fei dun zuo qing pen yu.
Mao’s young wife Yang Kaihui was executed by the Guomindang in 1930, refusing to denounce her husband. Li Shuyi’s husband Liu had also been killed by the Guomindang. Yang means Poplar; Liu means Willow. Wu Gang is the woodcutter servant of Chang E, the moon goddess. He has the Sisyphean task of cutting down a constantly regrowing cassia tree. The guihua is supposedly translated by “sweet osmanthus” but I think Mao is referring to the cassia tree because of the legend.
Later, from Sedulia:
Since I first published this post I have read Mao: The Unknown Story, by Jung Chang, author of Wild Swans, and I feel ambivalent about leaving up Mao's poem. He was an evil man, at least at the end, and Jung Chang makes the case that he did not try to rescue Kaihui even though he was nearby, partly because he had taken another wife; but I don't think he was a bad poet. So I will leave it up. The poem is very well known in China.
And it has made me mute, who was such a talker:
my heart has entered into such a great abyss
that I can find scarcely anyone to listen
with whom I can talk about this.
From De la diversità de contemplazione de croce
…E me fatt’ha muto,
che fui parlatore:
en sì grande abisso
entratè el mio core,
ch’io non trovo quasi
auditore
con chi ne possa de
ciò ragionare.
Then
At that time—in a most distant time
I was very happy; not now:
but how much sweetness comes to me
from so much sweetness then!
fled, that will fly by,
you cannot, my thoughts, you cannot
carry anything with you but that year!
peer, that is with no return,
life was vain appearance
before and after that day!
that in truth it passed by untouched,
but beautiful in this way, that I was so
happy, happy, at that point!
--Giovanni Pascoli (1855-1912)
Allora
Allora… in un tempo
assai lunge
felice fui molto; non
ora:
ma quanta dolcezza giunge
dolcezza d’allora!
fuggirono, che
fuggiranno,
non puoi, mio
pensiero, non puoi,
portare con te, che
quell’anno!
compagno, ch’è senza
ritorno;
la vita fu van
partenza
si prima si dopo quel
giorno!
che in vero passò non
raggiunto,
bello così, che molto ero
felice, felice, a quel
punto!
