Petrarch (11 page)

ricercando dallato e dentro a l’acque;

et giamai poi la mia lingua non tacque

mentre poteo del suo cader maligno,

ond’ io presi col suon color d’un cigno.

Così lungo l’amate rive andai,

che volendo parlar, cantava sempre,

mercé chiamando con estrania voce;

né mai in sì dolci o in sì soavi tempre

risonar seppi gli amorosi guai

che ’l cor s’umiliasse aspro et feroce.

Qual fu a sentir? ché ’l ricordar mi coce.

Ma molto più di quel ch’ è per inanzi

de la dolce et acerba mia nemica

è bisogno ch’ io dica,

ben che sia tal ch’ ogni parlare avanzi.

Questa che col mirar gli animi fura

m’aperse il petto el’ cor prese con mano,

dicendo a me: “Di ciò non far parola.”

Poi la rividi in altro abito sola,

both of them changed me into
what I am
:

from living man
they turned me
to green laurel

that does not lose its leaves in the cold season.

The way I felt
when I became aware

of the transfiguration of my body

and saw my hair turning into those leaves

I once had
hoped to make into my crown
,

and both the feet I stood on, moved and ran

(as
every limb
responds to the soul’s power)

changing into two roots above the waves

not of Peneus
but
a prouder river
,

and both my arms transformed into two branches!

Nor do I feel
less fear

all covered in
white feathers
later on

when, struck by lightning and by death, my hope,

presuming to ascend too high, had fallen;

for since I did not know just when or where

I would recover it, alone, in tears,

I would go searching night and day that place

where I had lost it,
near and in the waters
;

and never from then on was my tongue silent

while I could speak about
that evil fall
,

and with the swan’s song
I took on its color
.

And so I went along
the shores I loved
,

and wanting to express myself, I sang

with a strange voice
, constantly begging mercy;

but I could never make my amorous cries

resound in tones so sweet or soft enough

to bring her harsh, cruel heart to condescension.

What I felt then
, if thinking back, still burns!

But much more
than what I have told about

that sweet yet bitter enemy of mine

I feel I must reveal,

although she is
beyond
what words can say.

This one, who with a glance can steal a heart,

opened my breast and took my heart in hand,

saying to me:
“Say not a word about this.”

Then I saw her alone
in other garb

tal ch’ i’ non la conobbi, o senso umano!

anzi le dissi ’l ver pien di paura;

ed ella ne l’usata sua figura

tosto tornando fecemi, oimè lasso!

d’un quasi vivo et sbigottito sasso.

Ella parlava sì turbata in vista

che tremar mi fea dentro a quella petra,

udendo:
“
I’ non son forse chi tu credi.”

E dicea meco: “Se costei mi spetra

nulla vita mi fia noiosa o trista;

a farmi lagrimar, signor mio, riedi.”

Come non so, pur io mossi indi i piedi,

non altrui incolpando che me stesso,

mezzo tutto quel dì tra vivo et morto.

Ma perché ’l tempo è corto

la penna al buon voler non po gir presso,

onde più cose ne la mente scritte

vo trapassando, et sol d’alcune parlo

che meraviglia fanno a chi l’ascolta.

Morte mi s’era intorno al cor avolta

né tacendo potea di sua man trarlo

o dar soccorso a le vertuti afflitte;

le vive voci m’erano interditte,

ond’ io gridai con carta et con incostro:

“Non son mio, no; s’ io moro il danno è vostro.”

Ben mi credea dinanzi agli occhi suoi

d’indegno far così di mercé degno,

et questa spene m’avea fatto ardito;

ma talora umiltà spegne disdegno

talor l’enfiamma, et ciò sepp’ io da poi,

lunga stagion di tenebre vestito;

ch’ a quei preghi il mio lume era sparito,

ed io non ritrovando intorno intorno

ombra di lei né pur de’ suoi piedi orma,

come uom che tra via dorma,

gittaimi stanco sovra l’erba un giorno.

Ivi accusando il fugitivo raggio

a le lagrime triste allargai ’l freno

and did not know her, oh, who understands!

And full of fear I told her
what the truth was
,

and she resuming her accustomed form

quite
quickly turned me
into (oh, my grief)

a hardly living, baffled piece of stone.

She spoke with
so much anger
on her face,

it made me tremble in that stone to hear

“
Perhaps I am not what you think I am
.”

I told myself: “
If she were
to unrock me,

no life could be as sad or hard as this;

come back and make me weep again, my lord.”

I know not how, but I got out of there,

blaming no one
but my self
all that day

I walked away half living and half dead.

But since
my time is short
,

my pen cannot keep up with my good will,

so,
many things recorded in my mind

I overlook and tell only of those

that stun the mind of anyone who listens.

Death had now wrapped itself
around my heart,

and silence could not take it from her hands,

or give assistance to my hurting powers.

To use
my spoken voice
had been denied me

and so I shouted out with
pen and paper
;

“
I’m not mine
, no! If I die, it’s
your fault
.”

I thought
by doing this
that I, unworthy,

would in her eyes be worthy of her mercy,

and in such hope I found boldness to try;

but sometimes meekness will put out disdain,

sometimes inflame it
—this I found out later,

when for a long time
I was wrapped in darkness
;

for
with my prayers
my light had disappeared,

and I, who found nowhere, nowhere the slightest

trace of herself, not even of her feet,

just like the tired traveler,

collapsed weary upon the grass one day.

And there, accusing her
fugitive ray
,

to desperate tears of mine I gave free rein

et lasciaile cader come a lor parve;

né giamai neve sotto al sol disparve

com’ io senti’ me tutto venir meno

et farmi una fontana a piè d’un faggio;

gran tempo umido tenni quel viaggio.

Chi udì mai d’uom vero nascer fonte?

e parlo cose manifeste et conte.

L’aima ch’ è sol da Dio fatta gentile—

che già d’altrui non po venir tal grazia—

simile al suo fattor stato ritene;

però di perdonar mai non è sazia

a chi col core et col sembiante umile

dopo quantunque offese a mercé vene.

Et se contra suo stile ella sostene

d’esser molto pregata, in lui si specchia,

et fal perché ’l peccar più si pavente;

ché non ben si ripente

de l’un mal chi de l’altro s’apparecchia.

Poi che Madonna da pietà commossa

degnò mirarme et ricognovve et vide

gir di pari la pena col peccato,

benigna mi redusse al primo stato.

Ma nulla à ’l mondo in ch’ uom saggio si fide;

ch’ ancor poi ripregando i nervi et l’ossa

mi volse in dura selce, et così scossa

voce rimasi de l’antiche some,

chiamando Morte et lei sola per nome.

Spirto doglioso errante mi rimembra

per spelunche deserte et pellegrine

piansi molt’ anni il mio sfrenato ardire,

et ancor poi trovai di quel mal fine

et ritornai ne le terrene membra,

credo per più dolore ivi sentire.

I’ segui’ tanto avanti il mio desire

ch’ un dì, cacciando sì com’ io solea,

mi mossi, e quella fera bella et cruda

in una fonte ignuda

si stava, quando ’l sol più forte ardea.

and let them fall
whenever they decided
.

Snow never disappeard beneath the sun,

as I felt myself melt entirely

and
turn to fountain
where
the beech tree
grows.

For a long time I traveled
the wet road
.

Who ever heard
of man turned into fountain?

And yet I speak of
clear and well-known things
.

The soul that God alone created noble—

for grace like this could come from no one else—

is similar to her own Creator’s state;

therefore,
she never stops forgiving
one

who with humility in heart and face,

though he offended countless times, begs mercy.

And if,
unlike herself
, she is insistent

on one’s insistent prayer, she mirrors Him

in order that the sinning
be more feared
;

for one about to sin

again does not repent well of his sin.

After my lady, who was moved by pity,

agreed to look at me, and knew and saw

that
punishment was equal
to the sin,

she graciously
restored
my old condition.

But
wise men count on nothing
in this world:

for when I begged again, my bones and nerves

she turned to hardest stone
, and I was left

a voice shaken from its old, heavy self,

calling
for Death and only her by name
.

A mournful wandering spirit (I remember)

through unfamiliar and
deserted caves
,

I bewept for many years my unleashed boldness,

and still again from that ill
I found freedom

and I assumed once more my living form

to suffer greater pain therein, I think.

And my desire I
pursued
so far

that one day, hunting as I often would,

I came upon that
cruel and lovely beast

naked within a fountain

when the sun strikes the
hottest time of day
.

Io perché d’altra vista non m’appago

stetti a mirarla, ond’ ella ebbe vergogna

et per farne vendetta o per celarse

l’acqua nel viso co le man mi sparse.

Vero dirò; forse e’ parrà menzogna:

ch’ i’ senti’ trarmi de la propria imago

et in un cervo solitario et vago

di selva in selva ratto mi trasformo,

et ancor de’ miei can fuggo lo stormo.

Canzon, i’ non fu’ mai quel nuvol d’oro

che poi discese in preziosa pioggia

si che ’l foco di Giove in parte spense;

ma fui ben fiamma ch’ un bel guardo accense,

et fui l’uccel che più per l’aere poggia

alzando lei che ne’ miei detti onoro;

né per nova figura il primo alloro

seppi lassar, ché pur la sua dolce ombra

ogni men bel piacer del cor mi sgombra.

I, since
no other sight
can please me more,

stood gazing at her, but she felt ashamed

and
to revenge herself or else to hide

she
splashed some water
up into my face.

I’ll tell the truth
, though it may seem
a lie
!

I felt myself ripped
from my very image

and quickly turned into a solitary,

wandering deer
that moves from wood to wood,

and still
I flee the rage
of
my own hounds
.

Canzone
, never was I that golden cloud

that once descended in a
precious rain

so as to quench in part Jove’s burning flame;

but surely I was
flame lit by Love’s glance
,

I was
the bird that rises
highest through the air

raising the one whom in my words I honor;

and no strange shape could ever make me leave

the first laurel
, for still its lovely shade

clears every
lesser pleasure
from my heart.

Se l’onorata fronde che prescrive

l’ira del ciel quando ’l gran Giove tona

non m’avesse disdetta la corona

che suole ornar chi poetando scrive,

i’ era amico a queste vostre dive

le qua vilmente il secolo abandona;

ma quella ingiuria già lunge mi sprona

da l’inventrice de le prime olive,

ché non bolle la polver d’Etiopia

sotto ’l più ardente sol, com’ io sfavillo

perdendo tanto amata cosa propia.

Cercate dunque fonte più tranquillo,

ché ’l mio d’ogni liquor sostene inopia

salvo di quel che lagrimando stillo.

Amor piangeva et io con lui tal volta,

dal qual miei passi non fur mai lontani,

mirando per gli effetti acerbi et strani

l’anima vostra de’ suoi nodi sciolta;

or ch’ al dritto camin l’à Dio rivolta,

col cor levando al cielo ambe le mani

ringrazio lui che’ giusti preghi umani

benignamente sua mercede ascolta.

Et se tornando a l’amorosa vita

per farvi al bel desio volger le spalle

trovaste per la via fossati o poggi,

fu per mostrar quanto è spinoso calle

et quanto alpestra et dura la salita

onde al vero valor conven ch’ uom poggi.

If the
illustrious branch
that
can control

the wrath of heaven
when great Jove thunders down