'Notte e Giorno', 'Night and Day', a Poem by LiteraryJoint

A "Meridian" on the walls of Palazzo Conti-Gentili in Alatri, by Angelo Secchi, 1867.

Night/day, darkness/light, the abyss/the skies, the moon/the sun, dream/reality...all of these apparent dichotomies call upon each other and can deceive a body, in this brief poem, published today for the first time. The original text in Italian has been translated (further below) in English by its author.

Notte e Giorno

Nottetempo scorsi
l'ombra della luna
solcare mari di tenebre:
impietosa, in sogno mi elargiva
l'elemosina di un solo giorno.
Fu così che, per me,
il sole immemore
avrebbe tracciato
nel cielo terso
la sua meridiana di morte.

Copyright © 2014, LiteraryJoint  

Night and Day

Across the night, I beheld
the shadow of the moon

plowing seas of darkness:

mercilessly offering, in my dream,

the pittance of one day.
It was so that, for me,

in the terse sky,

the oblivious sun
would draw
its meridian of death.

Copyright © 2014, LiteraryJoint 

Die Vorüberlaufenden, by Franz Kafka: Passers-by, (or 'The Men Passing by') an English version

Franz Kafka's 'Die Vorüberlaufenden' appeared in 'Betrachtung', a collection of eighteen short stories  written between 1904 and 1912. An English version translated by LiteraryJoint is presented below, followed by the original text in German. 

Betrachtung, by F. Kafka, first edition, 1912

Passers-by

When at night we go for a walk, and a man, from afar already visible – as the street before us climbs uphill and there is a full moon – comes running towards us, we are not going to catch him, even if he is weak and ragged, even if someone is shouting and running after him; rather we will let him go and run off.

  For it is night, and we can't help it if the street before us is uphill in the full moon; moreover, those two may perhaps have started that chase for their amusement; perhaps, they are both chasing a third one; perhaps, the first is innocent and the second wants to kill, and we would become accomplices of a murder; perhaps, they do not even know each other and are running on their own way to bed; perhaps they are sleepwalkers, or perhaps the first one is armed.

     In the end, have we not the right to be tired, and have we not drunk so much wine? How glad we are when also the second one has disappeared from our sight.

Die Vorüberlaufenden

Wenn man in der Nacht durch eine Gasse spazieren geht, und ein Mann, von weitem schon sichtbar – denn die Gasse vor uns steigt an und es ist Vollmond – uns entgegenläuft, so werden wir ihn nicht anpacken, selbst wenn er schwach und zerlumpt ist, selbst wenn jemand hinter ihm läuft und schreit, sondern wir werden ihn weiter laufen lassen.

  Denn es ist Nacht, und wir können nicht dafür, daß die Gasse im Vollmond vor uns aufsteigt, und überdies, vielleicht haben diese zwei die Hetze zu ihrer Unterhaltung veranstaltet, vielleicht verfolgen beide einen dritten, vielleicht wird der erste unschuldig verfolgt, vielleicht will der zweite morden, und wir würden Mitschuldige des Mordes, vielleicht wissen die zwei nichts von einander, und es läuft nur jeder auf eigene Verantwortung in sein Bett, vielleicht sind es Nachtwandler, vielleicht hat der erste Waffen.

  Und endlich, dürfen wir nicht müde sein, haben wir nicht soviel Wein getrunken? Wir sind froh, daß wir auch den zweiten nicht mehr sehn.

            Die Vorüberlaufenden, by Franz Kafka, first published in 1912.

Voy a Dormir, I'm Going to Sleep, by Alfonsina Storni, English Translation

Alfonsina Storni's commemorative stamp, "Women in History" collection, Republica Argentina, 1967

I'm going to sleep

Teeth of petals, cap of dew,
hands of herbs, you dear, sweet nursemaid,
prepare for me the earthly sheets
and the quilt of carded moss.

I’m going to sleep, my nursemaid, lay me down.
Put a lamp on the nightstand for me;
or a constellation, whatever you like;
both are fine; lower it a bit.

Leave me by myself: hear the buds breaking…
rocked by a heavenly foot from above,
and a bird draws curves before you 

as to forget… Thank you. Oh, a favor:
if he calls again
tell him not to insist, that I have left…

Translation in English by LiteraryJoint, Copyright © LiteraryJoint by Alessandro Baruffi  

Original text in Spanish:

Voy a dormir

Dientes de flores, cofia de rocío,
manos de hierbas, tú, nodriza fina,
tenme prestas las sábanas terrosas
y el edredón de musgos escardados.

Voy a dormir, nodriza mía, acuéstame.
Ponme una lámpara a la cabecera;
una constelación; la que te guste;
todas son buenas; bájala un poquito.

Déjame sola: oyes romper los brotes...
te acuna un pie celeste desde arriba
y un pájaro te traza unos compases

para que olvides... Gracias. Ah, un encargo:
si él llama nuevamente por teléfono
le dices que no insista, que he salido...

Alfonsina Storni, Mar del Plata, October 1938.

Vor dem Gesetz, by Franz Kafka: Before the Law, English Translation, and Original Text in German

Originally published on the independent Jewish weekly Selbstwehr in 1915, then as part of the 1919 collection Ein Landarzt (A Country Doctor), "Before the Law" (Vor dem Gesetz) is a parable that appeared on Kafka's novel The Trial (Der Prozess.)

C.O.Bartning, Federzeichnung 1954

Before the Law

Before the law stands a doorkeeper. A countryman comes to this doorkeeper and asks for permission to be granted access to the law. But the doorkeeper answers that, for now, it is not possible. Having reflected upon it, the man asks if that would be possible later on. "Maybe, "says the doorkeeper, "but not now." Since the doorway to the law, as always, is open, and the doorkeeper shifts a bit, the man stoops as to catch a glimpse through the open door. The doorkeeper notices it and guffaws, then says: "If it is so attractive, then try and go in, in spite of my denial. Watch out though: I am powerful. And I am only the last of all doorkeepers. Doorkeepers stand at the entry of each room, and each is more powerful than the previous one. Already the sight of the third doorkeeper is unbearable to myself." The countryman had not anticipated such difficulties: the law, in his own view, shall be accessible to anyone. Yet, now, observing more closely the doorkeeper bundled in his fur, his great beak of a nose, the long and thin beard kept in the fashion of the Tartars, the man decides that it's in his own interest to wait until permission is given. The doorkeeper offers him a stool and makes him wait by the door. For days and years remains he seated right there. Many a time he tries to be let in, wearing the doorkeeper down with his prayers. The doorkeeper often puts him under interrogations, asking him about his country and many other things, but these are questions asked from a distance, the way great people do, and ultimately he always ends up telling that the entry is denied. The man, very well equipped when he began his journey, draws from all of his possessions, regardless how precious they can be, in attempt to corrupt the doorkeeper, who accepts all bribes, warning: "I only accept so that you shall not think you might have overlooked anything." During all these years, the man observes almost incessantly the doorkeeper; he forgets that there are many others, and this very first one appears to him as the only obstacle to the law. He laments over his misfortune: in the first years, he does so aloud and disregardfully, then, as he grows old, by simply mumbling to himself. He grows dumb and, having studied the doorkeeper for long years, as he spots a flea on his fur's collar, he entreats even the flea to intercede so that the doorkeeper may change his mind. In the end, the man's eyesight becomes weak, and he wonders whether indeed everything has grown darker around him, or it's simply that his eyes are betraying him. Yet, now, in the darkness, he perceives an inextinguishable gleam through the chink the law's door. He has little left to live. In his mind, before his death, all the notions gathered in such a long time draw to a single question that was never asked to the doorkeeper; so he waves at him, for the  stiffness that overwhelms his body does not allow him to get up. The doorkeeper has to greatly stoop down to him, since the difference in their heights has gradually changed to a disadvantage to the man. «What else do you want to know?» asks the doorkeeper, «you really are insatiable.»
    «All men strive to come to the law,» says the man, «then how comes that, in many years, other than me, no one has ever asked to enter?» The doorkeeper realizes how the man is at his very end, and in order to reach his already diminished sense of hearing, he shouts: «No one else could be allowed through this door, to you alone its access was reserved. And now I go and close it shut.»

From "The Tales of Franz Kafka: English Translation With Original Text In German," available as e-book on Amazon Kindle, iPhone, iPad, or iPod touch, on NOOK Book, on Kobo, and as printed, traditional edition through Lulu.  

 

Vor dem Gesetz, by Franz Kafka, 1915

Original text in German: