|Annual Event dedicated to the poet|
Vincenzo Cardarelli, held in Tarquinia, Italy
Continuing with our presentation of poems by Vincenzo Cardarelli, with the season of Fall as a theme, here is the remarkable October, in which the poet decidedly switches gears, when compared to Autunno (Autumn). With a change in tone, the lengthy, melancholic farewell gives space and breath to a new, mellow, voluptuous sentiment; the intimate awareness of a full maturity that precedes senility leaves behind the labored worries of youth and adulthood. Presently, the poet rejoices in the allegoric smell of the pungent odor of must and wine. It is already the time to abandon himself to a leisurely idleness, and sweet contemplation. In the vineyards, the grapes have been already harvested. 'Plundered' is the word, that evokes a loss, which nonetheless has been acknowledged, if not yet accepted. The sun is rather shiny than hot; color takes over warmth, just as rational understanding triumphs over passion in the meditative mind.
From "Vincenzo Cardarelli: The Forgotten amongst the Great. A Collection of the Best Poems by Vincenzo Cardarelli, Translated in English," available as e-book on Amazon Kindle, iPhone, iPad, or iPod touch, on NOOK Book, on Kobo, and as printed, traditional edition through Lulu.Once, it was in Summer,it was at that fire, at those ardors,that my imagination awakened.I incline now towards Autumnof a color that raptures;I love the tired seasonwhich has already harvested the grapes.No other thing resembles me more,nothing consoles me more,than this air that odorsof must and wine,of this old sun of Octobershining in the plundered vineyards.Unexpected Autumn sun,shining as in a beyond world,with tender perditionand vagabond happiness,you find us exhausted,braced for the worst and with sorrowful souls.This is precisely why we cherish you,vague, surviving sun:you know not how to bid us farewellcoming back every morninglike a renewed miracle,the prettier the more you fadeand are about to expire.And with these stunning daysyou compose your own seasonwhich is thoroughly a sweet agony.
From the collection "Poesie", 1942, by Vincenzo Cardarelli.
Original text in Italian:
Un tempo, era d’estate,era a quel fuoco, a quegli ardori,che si destava la mia fantasia.Inclino adesso all’autunnodal colore che inebria;amo la stanca stagioneche ha già vendemmiato.Niente più mi somiglia,nulla più mi consola,di quest’aria che odoradi mosto e di vino,di questo vecchio sole ottobrinoche splende nelle vigne saccheggiate.
Sole d'autunno inatteso,che splendi come in un di là,con tenera perdizionee vagabonda felicità,tu ci trovi fiaccati,vòlti al peggio e la morte nell'anima.Ecco perché ci piaci,vago sole superstiteche non sai dirci addio,tornando ogni mattinacome un nuovo miracolo,tanto più bello quanto più t'inoltrie sei lì per spirare.E di queste incredibili giornatevai componendo la tua stagionech'è tutta una dolcissima agonia.
Vincenzo Cardarelli, dalla raccolta "Poesie", 1942