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Thursday, January 15, 2015

"Sera di Gavinana" by Vincenzo Cardarelli; English version: Evening of Gavinana, by Vincenzo Cardarelli, translated in English by LiteraryJoint

Presented below is "Sera di Gavinana" (Evening of Gavinana), one of the most well known lyrics by Italian poet Vincenzo Cardarelli (pseudonym of Nazareno Caldarelli, May 1, 1887 - June 18, 1959.)

The Appennines and the  medieval hamlet of Gavinana (San Marcello Pistoiese) inspired "Sera di Gavinana"
by Vincenzo Cardarelli.

 

Evening of Gavinana


Here is the evening and the rain stops
on the Tuscan Apennines.
As the clouds descend to the valley,
huddled here and there
like mist nests amongst the intricate trees,
the mountains grow purple in color.
A sweet wandering then
to whom during the day toils
and in himself, in disbelief, wallows.
From the busy hamlets, here below, comes
a glad and thick jabber in which
one perceives the declining day
and the imminent rest.
Mingled with it is the throbbing, the high and dry
pounding of the truck on the wide
white road that crosses the mountains.
And everything in the evening,
crickets, church bells, springs,
becomes a concert and a prayer,
trembles in the clear air.
And how shiner is,
in the hour that has no other light,
the blanket of your hips, Apennines.
On your fields that climb in wide turns,
this green liquid, that peeks again
amongst the sun's deceits at every downpour,
to the wind it changes colors, and enraptures me,
along the  restless path,
and tenderly hushes
the vagabond soul.

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.

Follows the original version in Italian, by Vincenzo Cardarelli.

Sera di Gavinana


Ecco la sera e spiove
sul toscano Appennino.
Con lo scender che fa le nubi a valle,
prese a lembi qua e là
come ragne fra gli alberi intricate,
si colorano i monti di viola.
Dolce vagare allora
per chi s'affanna il giorno
ed in se stesso, incredulo, si torce.
Viene dai borghi, qui sotto, in faccende,
un vociar lieto e folto in cui si sente
il giorno che declina
e il riposo imminente.
Vi si mischia il pulsare, il batter secco
ed alto del camion sullo stradone
bianco che varca i monti.
E tutto quanto a sera,
grilli, campane, fonti,
fa concerto e preghiera,
trema nell'aria sgombra.
Ma come più rifulge,
nell'ora che non ha un'altra luce,
il manto dei tuoi fianchi ampi, Appennino.
Sui tuoi prati che salgono a gironi,
questo liquido verde, che rispunta
fra gl'inganni del sole ad ogni acquata,
al vento trascolora, e mi rapisce,
per l'inquieto cammino,
sì che teneramente fa star muta
l'anima vagabonda.

Dalla raccolta "Poesie", di Vincenzo Cardarelli, 1936.

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