Franz Kafka

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Friday, December 19, 2014

"Settembre a Venezia" by Vincenzo Cardarelli; English version: September in Venice, by Vincenzo Cardarelli, translated in English by LiteraryJoint

Presented below is "Settembre a Venezia" (September in Venice), one of the most well known lyrics by Italian poet Vincenzo Cardarelli (pseudonym of Nazareno Caldarelli, May 1, 1887, June 18, 1959) 

The Grand Canal and the Church of the Salute, by Canaletto, 1730.


September in Venice

Already by September darken
in Venice the precocious sunsets
and the stones dress in mourning.
The sun's last beam is a dart
on the golden mosaics and lights up
fires made of straw, ephemeral beauty.
And quietly, behind the Procuratìe, (*)
meanwhile rises the moon.
The festive and silver lights laugh,
they keep chatting afar with trepidation
in the cool and dark air.
I look at them in fascination.
Perhaps, later on I will remember
these great nights
that are quick to come,
and their lights
that now sink me a bit into despair
(to me, always estrange and distant!)
more beautiful and livelier
will shine back again
in my imagination.
And it will be a true and quiet
happiness mine.
(*) Literally "procuracies,"  they are three connected buildings on St Mark's Square in Venice. They are also connected to St Mark's Clocktower.

From the collection "Poesie," by Vincenzo Cardarelli, 1936.
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 touchon NOOK Bookon Koboand as printed, traditional edition through Lulu.

Original Version in Italian:

Settembre a Venezia

Già di settembre imbrunano
a Venezia i crepuscoli precoci
e di gramaglie vestono le pietre.
Dardeggia il sole l'ultimo suo raggio
sugli ori dei mosaici ed accende
fuochi di paglia, effimera bellezza.
E cheta, dietro le Procuratìe,
sorge intanto la luna.
Luci festive ed argentate ridono,
van discorrendo trepide e lontane
nell’aria fredda e bruna.
Io le guardo ammaliato.
Forse più tardi mi ricorderò
di queste grandi sere
che son leste a venire,
e più belle, più vive le lor luci,
che ora un po’ mi disperano
(sempre da me così fuori e distanti!)
torneranno a brillare
nella mia fantasia.
E sarà vera e calma
felicità la mia.
Dalla raccolta "Poesie, di Vincenzo Cardarelli, 1936.
da PensieriParole <http://www.pensieriparole.it/poesie/poesie-d-autore/poesia-31204?f=a:891>

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