"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 touch, on NOOK Book, on Kobo, and 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.