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Sunday, December 27, 2015

"Liguria" by Vincenzo Cardarelli; "Liguria," by Vincenzo Cardarelli, English version, translated by LiteraryJoint


Fishing Boats on the Beach at Saintes-Maries, June 1888, Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, The Netherlands.     Fischerboote am Strand_von Saintes-Maries .           


 

Liguria


Liguria is a graceful land.
The burning rock, the polished clay
quicken with the wine leaves in the sun.
The olive tree is a giant. At springtime
everywhere the ephemeral mimosa appears.
Shadow and sun perform in succession
along those deep valleys
which hide from the sea,
along the paved roads
that climb up, through fields of roses
wells and parceled lands,
skirting farms and walled vineyards. 
In that arid land the sun crawls
upon the stones like a serpent.
There are days when the sea
is a garden in full bloom.
Messages are borne in the wind.
Venus is once again born
by the gusts of the mistral.
Oh churches of Liguria, like ships
about to be launched!
Open to the winds and waves
Ligurian graveyards!
A red sadness colors you 
when in the evening, similar to a flower
that is wilting, the great light
fades away and dies.


From the collection "Opere Complete" 1962, 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.
 

Liguria


E' la Liguria una terra leggiadra.
Il sasso ardente, l'argilla pulita
s'avviano di pampini al sole.
E' gigante l'ulivo. A primavera
appar dovunque la mimosa effimera.
Ombra e sole s'alternano
per quelle fonde valli
che si celano al mare,
per le vie lastricate
che vanno in su, fra campi di rose,
pozzi e terre spaccate,
costeggiando poderi e vigne chiuse.
In quell'arida terra il sole striscia
sulle pietre come un serpe.
Il mare in certi giorni
è un giardino fiorito.
Reca messaggi il vento.
Venere torna a nascere
ai soffi  del maestrale
O chiese di Liguria, come navi
disposte ad essere varate!
O aperti ai venti e all'onde
liguri cimiteri!
Una rossa tristezza vi colora
quando di sera, simile a un fiore
che marcisce, la grande luce
si va sfacendo e muore.



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