Fanciulli allo Stadio, Children at the Soccer Stadium, by Umberto Saba, English Translation

This poem concludes our presentation of "Five poems for the game of soccer", by Umberto Saba: "Children at the soccer stadium", a delicate lyric bringing back reminiscences of the merriment of youth, shadowed by the obscure premonition of corruption brought along by adult life.

Umberto Saba (1883 – 1957) was an Italian poet and novelist

Children at the soccer stadium

A spring rooster
is the voice of a child; fanciful romances
by that, and torments, it sharply cuts.

On the borders of the pitch a flag
waves solitary on a low wall.
On which, standing up, at each break, competing,
the children gave out dear names,
one by one, like arrows. It lives
within me the lovely scene; to a memory
it marries - in the evening - from my beardless days.

Unpleasant in their haughtiness
the players passed by, right there.
They would see everything, but those little ones.  


Translated by LiteraryJoint
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Original text in Italian:

"Tredicesima partita", poems about soccer, by Umberto Saba, English Translation, Thirteenth game

Portrait of poet Umberto Saba

The poet finds himself within a small group of spectators at a soccer game, numb with cold, as the sun sets on the pitch and the players; the iridescent intricacies of colors of the fleeting day that comes to an end suggest a metaphorical sundial, a bitter premonition that only a sentiment of human brotherhood may withstand.   

 

 

Thirteenth Game

On the stands a small group
tried to keep itself warm.
And when
- bound-less irradiation - the sun extinguished 
behind a house its blaze, the field
made brighter the presentiment of the night.
Up and down ran the red jerseys,
the white jerseys, under a light of
strange iridescent transparency. The wind
deflected the foot-ball, the Goddess of Fortune
blinded yet again her eyes.
So pleasant
being such a few, numb with cold,
united,
like the last men on a mountain,
to watch from up there the last game.

Translation in English by LiteraryJoint
Available as e-book on Amazon Kindle, iPhone, iPad, or iPod touch , NOOK Book and on Lulu. 

Original text in Italian:

Goal, by Umberto Saba, English Translation

The goal-keeper fallen in the vain
last defense...(Umberto Saba)

  

As we continue to present the series of poems that Umberto Saba dedicated to foot-ball, here is the well-known "Goal", in which the poet is a watchful spectator of the game, and witness of its inner secrets.

 

Goal, by Umberto Saba

The goal-keeper fallen in the vain
last defense, against the ground hides
his face, as not to see the bitter light.
His knelt team-mate, urging him
with words and gesture to stand back up,
sees eyes filled with tears.

The crowd - united in its thrill - seems to brim over
to the field.  Circled the winner,
his brothers throw themselves to his neck.
Few are moments as wonderful as this,
to whom, burnt by hatred, love
is given, under the sky, to see.

Nearby the unviolated goal the keeper
- the other one - has remained. But not his soul,
with the body that found itself alone.
His joy turns into a somersault,
into kisses that he sends from afar.
Of this merriment - he says - I am part too.

English translation by LiteraryJoint
Available as e-book on Amazon Kindle, iPhone, iPad, or iPod touch , NOOK Book and on Lulu. 

Original text in Italian:

Tre momenti, Three moments (soccer poem, Triestina), by Umberto Saba, English Translation

The sudden capture of few trivial scenes from a foot-ball game triggers a broader reflection upon existence, and the sentiment of beautiful, fleeting youth and lightheartedness.

Three moments

After running to the center of the turf, you offer
first your salute towards the stands.
Afterwards, what is born after,
that to the other side you turn, to the one
even so black that throngs, is not
a thing to be said, or that has a name.

The goal-keeper treads up and down like a sentry.
The danger is far still.
Yet if in a stormy cloud it closes in, oh then
a young wild beast crouches down
and on the alert spies on.

Merriment is in the air, merriment in every street.
If short-lived, what matters?
No offense crossed the goal line,
shouts crisscrossed like thunderbolts.
With your glory, eleven young lads,
a river-like of love embellishes Trieste.

Translation in English by LiteraryJoint
Available as e-book on Amazon Kindle, iPhone, iPad, or iPod touch , NOOK Book and on Lulu. 

Original text in Italian: