(SR): Translations from the Italian
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE ITALIAN
Casalino
Vagabondo
Marettimo
The Falcon Princess
COAST OF GODS
Arrival
Reggio
The Quest
Trisolina
The Ruins
Cappucino
The Beauty
VAGABONDO
Alone, I went wandering,
From complexities without life,
From village to village,
Panoramas from view to view –
O! sighs of Viareggio,
O! skeletal cats of Calcata,
Alone, I went wandering,
From complexities without life.
Stars when I am camping,
Thoughts upon the path,
O! whale-island of Ponza,
O! comfortable city-squares,
O! beauty of Portovenere,
O! uncomplicated half-life!
CASALINO
More tranquil than the murmour of a rose,
The piazzas of Pratovecchia,
Bethlehem-twinned, harbour a sweet repose,
Calm cluster shepherds call Casalino –
Here Dante mused upon his fifth canto,
For Paulo & Francesca tears did pour,
Mixing with the streamlings of the Arno,
Flowing to ev’ry Italian shore –
A place to set poesia in store,
Where sacred sisters break the ancyent bread,
There, summoned by the grunting of wild boar
Into a place where feet have seldom tread,
Not life nor history shall help mine art,
Just fragrant music of the valley-heart.
MARETTIMO
The lofty and rugged island of Marettimo did duty in the writer’s mind for Ithaca, though, as I have said, when details are wanted they are taken from Trapani and Mt. Eryx.
Samuel Butler
One
Sublime Sicily
Heart of an ancient ocean
Kitchen of culture
Animated Trapani
Mediterranean emerald
Fisherman’s delight
Waves reflect the sun
Marettimo extends splendidly
People approach the port
Smell of baked bread
Warm panini fill my bag
Pizza for breakfast
In a gallery of trees
Birds sing sweetly
Stony landscape rises steeply
Among irregular rock
Punta Bassano
Crucifix of dead fisherman
Two
Dragon steps rise
Snake zigzags across the landscape
Pines crowd the Carcaredda
I go to the beach
Skipping boulder after boulder
Down to an arcing bay
Pink & marble rock
Amateur geology
Deep time etching
I climb the Spalmatore
Above, another planet,
Oh! When our world was young?
Sound breaks the silence
Italian jet aircraft
Curve crosses the scenes
Peace, since my soul,
This moment purifies,
Sing for Sicily
THREE
Descending with the day
From this ivy ridge
Creating tiny avalanches
Pink horizon
Sea swallows the red sun
Evening star rising
Dangerous walk
The seagulls are annoying
A fishing boat on the sea
Old Spanish Castle
Saddles the back of a turtle
Moans echo from his prison
Stars begin their reign
Goats flee as I pass
I escort the boat to the town
In the lively piazza,
I read my poem aloud
This tour of a beautiful island
THE FALCON PRINCESS
Being an account of a contest, wherein the princes of five countries attempt to win the affections of the princess of the king of Sicily’s falcons. The tournament is held upon Monte Falcano that towers over the island of Marretimo & one-by-one they are whittled down, first thro’ their personality, then speed, then ability to hunt game. Finally, the princes of Portugal & Cyprus duel, wherein the Portuguese falcon is triumphant, wins the princess & plants his national flower on the island for posterity – or how lavender arriv’d on the island of Marettimo
There is an island you should know,
Of sun & sea & showers,
Call’d marvelous Marettimo,
Where Homer mused so long ago,
& all God’s creatures grow to know
The Language of the Flowers.
Upon this island lives the king
Of Sicily’s fair Falcons,
The Guelder Roses grow each spring
About his Ash Tree, in a ring,
But still the Eagles fear his wing
From Scotland to the Balkans.
As more beautiful than Orchis
Grows his beloved daughter;
When she had pluck’d the Clematis,
To all the young Falcon princes,
He sent out royal messengers,
Inviting them to court her.
A handsome prince flew to propose
Bearing tri-petal’d Iris;
Then came on others, one with Rose,
One, Lavender, clutch’d in his claws,
One brought Bear’s Breech in spiky pose,
The last: Egyptian Lotus!
Each kiss’d the princess with soft peck
& shower’d admiration;
One gave her Mint, & one Angrec,
One Cherry Blossom, one Garlic,
But to the one with Hollyshock
She toss’d a Striped Carnation.
The king announced a tournament
Up where the island towers;
The goats broke up their government
Assinos braved the steep ascent
While local seagulls squawk’d consent
& scatter’d Zephyr Flowers.
The crowds had gather’d on a slope,
Over sea that swam to space;
The Princes hover’d at the rope,
The King took out a telescope,
Salvaged from shipwrack shorn of hope,
Then settled to watch the race.
Four Falcons flew down lightning fast
From clouds to the low sea-mist;
Touching the lone fuggazi mast,
Then Imperial Lily pass’d,
The princess cheer’d, gave to the last
The colourful Amethyst.
Three Princes hunted thro’ the day,
Swoop’d down upon ev’ry kill;
Each filling up a silver tray,
Then when the sun shed last red ray,
The princess on the least did spray
The blossom of Sweet Basil.
The King announced ’twas time to dine,
The day’s hunt put in a pile,
Wash’d down with wash’d up Tuscan wine,
The finalists both found a sign,
One pluck’d the Purple Columbine
& his rival, Cammomile.
Two Falcons face the final fray,
From Portugal & Cyprus;
The evening gloom consumes the day
Up, to the moon, assinos bray,
The Princess keeps the cold at bay,
Wrapp’d with warm Indian Cress.
Thro’ Belladonna-scented sky
Princes fought with wing & peck;
As talons lock they fall from high,
One slams on water with shock’d cry,
Returns, receiving, with a sigh,
A Bay Wreath around his neck.
The Prince of Portugal had won
His Princess’s Carnation;
As is the law of High Falcon,
The King embrac’d his future son,
Whose flower, planted with talon,
Shall join the vegetation.
So, if you ever take the time
To view Monte Falcano,
& venture on its verdant climb,
‘Tween sea & Sicily sublime,
More fragrant than a poet’s rhyme,
Does Lavender, lushly, grow.
COAST OF GODS
ARRIVAL
Calliope! Calabria!
Today I am the arch enemy of insipid verses
The chief bard of the Hyperboreans
Elected curator of Saturn’s frozen tomb
When, at the peak of my abilities as a poet
I am Italy and Italy is me
Italy! I come to you!
Let me tame your wildest muses
Illuminate the pagan catacombs
Let me revel in your lyrical tongue
For the Italian language is the most poetic language
From the mouth of Dante himself
But if only Dante had met Demosthenes
Then how much more glorious would the Italian language be!
REGGIO
I awoke at dawn on a ledge of hillside scrubland
& I was correct about that faint smell of dog shit
Thro’ morning vapors a shadowy vista
The straits of Messina & Sicily uprising
While beautiful women of Italy still sleeping
I descend along the Contrado Sarasinello
To enter the set of a film-star barista
To guzzle down that first obligatory cappuccino
Like when the standard bearer of the eleventh legion
Leaping into British waves, calling on the gods
I splash myself with cornucopias of Calabrian delicacies
Delight and amaze me with rustic elegance
I’ve only heard rumors about it in old books
You were a dream to me and now you are real;
THE QUEST
In the exquisite sweetness of stillness
Wine’s silent instruction sinking into psyche
Throwing thoughts onto the fickle winds of dreams
Snuggl’d in my tent I drift to sleep
Warm’d by this wonderful Calabrian wine;
Later in the day I find I do not like Tropea
Too many tourists, too many red onions
I decide immediately to leave for the hinterland;
Observing the similarities between two texts
An obscure sacred tragedy from the region
Serafino de Salandra’s only production
& the famous English epic by John Milton
Adam Fallen, Paradise Lost,
Whatever the truth, I hope this tour to find it!
TRISOLINA
I begin my day imagining Trisolina’s slaves
From all parts of empire, pottering about me!
Bread, salami piccante & a local red wine
My blood is fine but blood is finer still
When mixed with heavy wine! A momentous moment
Tent is up, spectacular scenery sprouts
From dolorous heave of tectonic terrain
Ancient terraces line the valley slopes
Stood upon the tectonic fault line
Between Africa & Europe, when savage groans
Form’d breathtaking gouges of gorges
Where broken homes were crack’d & abandon’d
Left to scavengers all across Calabria
Pentedattilo, Papasidero & Papilglionti.
THE RUINS
Here is a semblance of silence
Apart from bees & flies & chirping song birds
& breezes carrying dreams of Petrarch & Mazzoni
I startle a woman collecting branches
Explain I’d been camping, she is annoy’d
Tells me I should have told her last night
& I could have joined her family at the farm;
At the ruin’d town the fountain still works
Refresh’d inside & out, a small dog rushes out
Snarling, to the old woman next door
I say there is no problem, she says there is
That the dog drives her crazy with its barking
Entering timeless whistles & rustles of nature
I leave those neighbors to their endless dispute!
CAPPUCINO
I enter the bar at breakfast
Brawny men clutching thimbles of thick coffee
Turn in unison, stunn’d into instinct
A man of dark complexion, Arabic perhaps
The ritual begins, the rite of self-assertion
Of inducing calmness into prosperity
Hospitality perhaps, & say, not quite in these words
I am a horse from the deserts of north africa
Rear’d in an english stable
Chasing victory in the Palio of Siena
& above all things I am a poet
& I would like to continue my journey in peace
& can I have a cappuccino, please
& can I charge my phone here, thank you very much
THE BEAUTY
Nightingales sang before Buddha spoke
& I awoke in Italy one morn
The sound of birds & the smell of lavender
On the site of a Roman villa, smiling.
Now waiting for the bus due at midday
I buy bananas from the fruit van
A Calabrian woman stares at me
Voluptuous eyes, long curly hair
Minoan tresses, kissable lips
Unattainable today – long slalom to the coast
Suddenly emerge miles above those plains
I’d climbed from yesterday, uphill all the way,
Orange rooves covering the rich green earth
Like Autumn leaves, gyring downwards we go
Mumble Words 