Quevedo: Brevity and Nullity (From Spanish)

Brevity and Nullity
(Describing his life's brevity and how the life he has lived seems nothing)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

　"Is any life home?" Can none answer me?　
"Help!" All my yesteryears are wasted here. 　
Fate has chawed off my every day and year, 　
my hours gone under in insanity. 　
　How powerless, I cannot even see
where or how time and health have fled my gaze. 　
My life went missing. Now I just have days　
alive, beset by all catastrophe.　
　The past is gone. Tomorrow never is.  
The now spares not a second on the go.　
I am a Was, a Will, a weary Is. 　
　To now, tomorrow and the past I sew
diaper and winding-sheet, remaining this　
succession of deceased and long ago. 　

Audio of me reciting this poem in Spanish:


The Original:

Represéntase la brevedad de lo que vive y cuán nada parece lo que se vivió

   ¡Ah de la vida! Nadie me responde?
Aquí de los antaños que he vivido;
la fortuna mis tiempos ha mordido;
las horas mi locura las esconde.
   ¡Que sin poder saber cómo ni adónde,
la salud y la edad se hayan huído!
Falta la vida, asiste lo vivido
y no hay calamidad que no me ronde.
   Ayer se fue, mañana no ha llegado,
hoy se está yendo sin parar un punto;
soy un fue, y un seré y un es cansado.
   En el hoy, y mañana, y ayer, junto
pañales y mortaja, y he quedado
presentes sucesiones de difunto.

Eugenio Montale: Wind and Flags (From Italian)

Wind and Flags
By Eugenio Montale
Translate by A.Z. Foreman

The gust that lifted bitter scents
of sea to the valley's coiling angles,
and bushwhacked you, mussed up your hair
against the pale sky: a brief tangle.

The squall that glued your dress to you
and shaped you in its images
is back, since you're gone, to these stones
the mountain hefts to the abyss.

And now that drunken rage is spent, 
back to the garden comes the breeze
whose breath lulled you back on the hammock,
on wingless flights, amid the trees.

Alas time never drops the sands
the same way twice. You have in ash
an out: if it happens, not just nature
but our tale goes up in a flash.

A gush that will not quicken brings to life
before the eye, along the knoll's
flank, a group of dwellings rife
with festooned flowers and banderoles.

The world exists... amazement halts the beating
heart that yields to roving incubi, 
heralds of evening: and would deny
that starving men are celebrating.

The Original:

Vento e Bandiere

La folata che alzò l'amaro aroma
del mare alle spirali delle valli,
e t'investì, ti scompigliò la chioma,
groviglio breve contro il cielo pallido;

la raffica che t'incollò la veste
e ti modulò rapida a sua imagine,
com'è tornata, te lontana, a queste
pietre che sporge il monte alla voragine;

e come spenta la furia briaca
ritrova ora il giardino il sommesso alito
che ti cullò, riversa sull'amaca,
tra gli alberi, ne' tuoi voli senz'ali.

Ahimé, non mai due volte configura
il tempo in egual modo i grani! E scampo
n'è: ché, se accada, insieme alla natura
la nostra fiaba brucerà in un lampo.

Sgorgo che non s'addoppia, - ed or fa vivo
un gruppo di abitati che distesi
allo sguardo sul fianco d'un declivo
si parano di gale e di palvesi.

Il mondo esiste... Uno stupore arresta
il cuore che ai vaganti incubi cede,
messaggeri del vespero: e non crede
che gli uomini affamati hanno una festa.

Eugenio Montale: What You Knew (From Italian)

What You Knew
By Eugenio Montale
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

What you knew of me was just
a coat of paint,
the habit that apparels
our human fate.

And maybe behind the canvas
there was still blue
and only a seal stopped limpid
sky getting through.

Or else it was the hotheaded 
lifechange in me,
exposing a burning ember
I'll never see.

So this husk proved to be
my fundaments;
the fire unquenched for me
was named: ignorance. 

If you see a shadow, it's not
a shadow — it is who
I am. If only I could strip it off
and offer it to you.

The Original:

Ciò che di me sapeste
non fu che la scialbatura,
la tònaca che riveste
la nostra umana ventura.

Ed era forse oltre il telo
l’azzurro tranquillo;
vietava il limpido cielo
solo un sigillo.

O vero c’era il falòtico
mutarsi della mia vita,
lo schiudersi d’un’ignita
zolla che mai vedrò.

Restò così questa scorza
la vera mia sostanza;
il fuoco che non si smorza
per me si chiamò: l’ignoranza.

Se un’ombra scorgete, non è
un’ombra — ma quella io sono.
Potessi spiccarla da me,
offrirvela in dono.

Eugenio Montale: Wall (From Italian)

Wall
By Eugenio Montale
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

To sit noon out — pale, thought-enthralled —
beside a blistering garden wall
and hear among the thorn and thistle 
the blackbirds crackle and snakes rustle. 

And in the cracks of earth or on the vetch 
spy the red ants in their battalion files
now breaking ranks, now meeting up
on little lilliputian piles.

Observe between the branches faraway
pulsations of sea scales in spray
while the cicadas' quavering screaks
sound up from the bald peaks. 

And wandering in the dazzling sun
feel with sad wonderment that all 
of life, its torment and its battles,
consists in following a great wall
topped with the shards of broken bottles. 

Audio of me reciting this translation in English

Audio of me reciting this poem in Italian


The Original:

Muraglia

Meriggiare pallido e assorto
presso un rovente muro d'orto,
ascoltare tra i pruni e gli sterpi
schiocchi di merli, frusci di serpi.

Nelle crepe dei suolo o su la veccia
spiar le file di rosse formiche
ch'ora si rompono ed ora s'intrecciano
a sommo di minuscole biche.

Osservare tra frondi il palpitare
lontano di scaglie di mare
mentre si levano tremuli scricchi
di cicale dai calvi picchi.

E andando nel sole che abbaglia
sentire con triste meraviglia
com'è tutta la vita e il suo travaglio
in questo seguitare una muraglia
che ha in cima cocci aguzzi di bottiglia.

Giovanni Pascoli: Dream (From Italian)

Dream
By Giovanni Pascoli
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

I was back in my village for a moment,
back in my house. Nothing had changed. I had
come back tired like a man home from a voyage;
tired, I'd come back to my dead, to my dad. 

I felt a mighty joy, a mighty sorrow,
a tender goodness, and mute agony.
"Mom!?" "She's just back there heating up some supper
for you." Poor mom! And her I didn't see. 

Audio of me reciting this poem in Italian


The Original:

Sogno

Per un attimo fui nel mio villaggio,
nella mia casa. Nulla era mutato.
Stanco tornavo, come da un vïaggio;
stanco, al mio padre, ai morti, ero tornato.

Sentivo una gran gioia, una gran pena;
una dolcezza ed un’angoscia muta.
- Mamma? - È là che ti scalda un po’ di cena -
Povera mamma! e lei, non l’ho veduta.

Eugenio Montale: Don't Ask (From Italian)

Don't Ask
By Eugenio Montale
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Don't ask us for the word that will frame out the line 
of our formless spirit on all sides and proclaim 
it in a letterhead of fire and shine  
like a crocus lost out in a dusty plain.

Ah the man who walks his way secure
a friend to others and himself and all
indifferent if the summer dog days end
up stamping his shadow onto a peeling wall.

Don't ask us for that formula that opens worlds,
just a few twisted syllables, dry as a branch and gaunt.
Today the only thing that we can tell you is
what we are not, and what we do not want. 

The Original:

Non Chiederci La Parola

Non chiederci la parola che squadri da ogni lato
l'animo nostro informe, e a lettere di fuoco
lo dichiari e risplenda come un croco
perduto in mezzo a un polveroso prato.

Ah l'uomo che se ne va sicuro,
agli altri ed a se stesso amico,
e l'ombra sua non cura che la canicola
stampa sopra uno scalcinato muro!

Non domandarci la formula che mondi possa aprirti,
sì qualche storta sillaba e secca come un ramo.
Codesto solo oggi possiamo dirti,
ciò che non siamo, ciò che non vogliamo.

Johann Gaetner: Lullaby (From Latin)

Lullaby
Johann Gaetner
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Sleep son, go to sleep. 
Some people say
That life is beautiful. 
They don't know either way. 

Sleep son, go to sleep.
A day shall come 
When you will have
A far more plentiful calm. 

Sleep son. Go to sleep,
My boy of light.
Soon I, then you, will meet
The last and kindest night. 

The Original:

Canticulum
Johannes Gaetner

Dormi, mi fili, dormi –
sunt qui dicunt
vitam beatam esse:
dicunt, dicant, nesciunt.

Dormi, mi fili, dormi –
veniet dies
quo tibi erit
larga, largissima quies.

Dormi, mi fili, dormi –
aderit mox
mihi, tum tibi
ultima, optima nox.

John Milton: Canzon (From Italian)

Canzon
John Milton
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

In love, young men and ladies crowd and share
a laugh at me "Why write this? Why
write in a strange tongue we know not, and strain
yourself in verse of love? How do you dare? 
Speak plain, if you'd have your hopes not prove vain,
and your ambitions fall a shattered lie."
They mock me so "you've other shores to try
other streams, other waters in your reach
upon whose greening beach
now, even now, sprout leaves that never die
to wreathe your locks as laureate.
Why load your shoulders so with foreign freight?" 
I tell you, Canzon. Give them my reply: 
My lady says, and her words are my heart:
     This is the tongue love boasts of as his art. 

The Original:

Canzone

Ridonsi donne e giovani amorosi
M'accostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,
Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana
Verseggiando d'amor, e come t'osi?
Dinne, se la tua speme si mai vana,
E de pensieri lo miglior t'arrivi;
Cosi mi van burlando, altri rivi
Altri lidi t'aspettan, e altre onde
Nelle cui verdi sponde
Spuntati ad hor, ad hora la tua chioma
L'immortal guiderdon d'eterne frondi
Perche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?
Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondi
Dice mia Donna, e'l suo dir, è il mio cuore
Questa è lingua di cui si vanta Amore. 

Notker Balbulus: Heavenladder (Latin)

To wrench a phrase from Pushkin: what splendid poetry, and what disgusting theology.

Heavenladder
Notker Balbulus (9th Cent)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

A ladder rising up to heaven　 　with bane all round it 　 At its base a sharp-eye dragon 　 Stands wakeful forever on guard　 　　So that no one can climb even 　　to the first rung unmaimed 　 From its ascent an Ethiop　 Blocks all with brandished blade　 Threatening destruction　 　　While over its top rung 　　A young man leans in radiance, 　　With a gold bough in his hand 　 This is the ladder which the love of　 Christ made free for women to go　 Stomp down the dragon underfoot　 And march right past the Ethiop's blade　 　　Through every sort of bane and torment 　　And make it to the heavens' summit 　　To take the golden laurel up 　　From the emboldening King's hand 　 What good did it do you　　 Unholy serpent　　 That you managed　　 To hoodwink once a single woman　　 　　Since a virgin has brought forth 　　The incarnate 　　Lord begotten 　　Christ of God the Father　　 　 Who pried the pelf away from you　 And pierced your jaw with armlet hooks　 　　Making it an open door for 　　Eve whose race you yearn to trammel 　 So see you now the virgin maids　 Triumphant over envious you　 　　And see as married women bear　 　　Sons pleasing unto God 　 You groan and grumble　 Now at widows'　 Loyalty to their dead husbands　 　　You who inveigled 　　A maid to be 　　Disloyal to her Creator 　 Now you see women, in the battle　 Waged against you, becoming generals　 　　Women who rally their own sons to 　　Courageously vanquish all your torments 　 Even your own vessels, The whores, are purified by God now　 　　Who turns them to burnished 　　Temples for Him and Him alone 　 For these graces let us now　 Both the sinners and the just　 Glorify together　 Our Lord as a community 　 　　Praise Him who strengthens those who stand 　 　　And reaches His right hand 　　To the fallen, so at least　 　　After transgression we may rise

Scalam ad caelos subrectam 　　 　tormentis cinctam　 　 Cuius ima draco servare　 cautus invigilat iugiter　 　　Ne quis eius vel primum gradum 　　possit insaucius scandere; 　 Cuius ascensus extracto 　 Aethiops gladio 　 vetat exitium minitans,　 　　Cuius supremis innixus 　　iuvenis splendidus 　　ramum aureolum retinet 　 Hanc ergo scalam ita Christi 　 amor feminis fecit perviam　 ut dracone conculcato 　 et Aethopis gladio transito　 　　Per omne genus tormentōrum 　　caeli apicem queant capere 　　et de manu confortantis 　　regis auream lauream sumere 　 Quid tibi profecit, 　 profane serpens, 　 quondam unam 　 decepisse mulierem,　 　　Cum virgo pepererit 　　incarnatum 　　Dei Patris 　　unicum dominum Jesum; 　 Qui praedam tibi tulit et 　 armillā maxillam forat,　 　　Ut egressus Evae natis 　　fiat, quos tenere cupis? 　 Nunc ergo temet virgines　 Vincere cernis invide,　 　　Et maritatas parere 　　Filios deo placitos, 　 Et viduarum　 maritis fidem　 nunc ingemis integram,　 　　Qui creatori 　　fidem negare 　　persuaseras virgini. 　 Feminas nunc vides in bello　 contra te acto duces existere　 　　Quae filios suos instigant 　　fortiter tua tormenta vincere. 　 Quin et tua vasa　 meretrices dominus emundat　 　　Et haec sibi templum 　　Dignatur efficere purgatum. 　 Pro his nunc beneficiis　 in commune dominum　 nos glorificemus　 et peccatores et iusti,　 　　Qui et stantes corroborat 　　et prolapsis dextram 　　porrigit, ut saltem 　　post facinora surgamus

T.H. Parry Williams: This (From Welsh)

This
By T.H. Parry Williams
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

So why give a toss about Wales? It's a fluke that I got

Born in her boundaries. On a map she is not

More than a scrap of earth in on a backend border

And a bit of a nuisance to those who believe in order.

And pray tell who is it that lives out in this spot.

Only the dregs of a people? Please do not

Go rambling of race and nation and unity.

The world's had plenty of that, believe you me.

I've long been fed up with the wails and hullabaloo

Of Wales' proud Nothings making much ado.

I'll take a trip, be rid of their whole word-war,

Ride the train of mind back where I lived before.

And here I am then. Thank God for the loss.

Away from the fanatics chattering fuss.

Here's Snowdon and crew, the landscape jagged and bare,

Here's the lake and river and crag and there — right there —

Is where I was born. Between earth and sky always

There are voices and apparitions all over the place.

I'm tottering a little now. Let me tell you

Some wooziness comes upon me out of the blue

And claws of Cymreictod cut at my chest. So it is.

God help me. I cannot get away from this.

The Original:

Hon

Beth yw’r ots gennyf i am Gymru? Damwain a hap
Yw fy mod yn ei libart yn byw. Nid yw hon ar fap

Yn ddim byd ond cilcyn o ddaear mewn cilfach gefn,
Ac yn dipyn o boendod i’r rhai sy’n credu mewn trefn.

A phwy sy’n trigo’n y fangre, dwedwch i mi.
Dim ond gwehilion o boblach? Peidiwch, da chwi

 chlegar am uned a chenedl a gwlad o hyd;
Mae digon o’r rhain, heb Gymru, i’w cael yn y byd.

Rwyf wedi alaru ers talm ar glywed grwn
Y Cymry bondigrybwyll, yn cadw swn.

Mi af am dro, i osgoi eu lleferydd a’i llên,
Yn ôl i’m cynefin gynt, a’m dychymyg yn drên.

A dyma fi yno. Diolch am fod ar goll
Ymhell o gyffro geiriau’r eithafwyr oll.

Dyma’r Wyddfa a’i chriw; dyma lymder a moelni’r tir;
Dyma’r llyn a’r afon a’r clogwyn; ac, ar fy ngwir,

Dacw’r ty lle’m ganed. Ond wele, rhwng llawr a ne’
Mae lleisiau a drychiolaeth ar hyd y lle.

Rwy’n dechrau simsanu braidd; ac meddaf i chwi,
Mae rhyw ysictod fel petai’n dod drosof i;

Ac mi glywaf grafangau Cymru’n dirdynnu fy mron.
Duw a’m gwaredo, ni allaf ddianc rhag hon.