Petrarch (18 page)

dal cor, ch’ à seco le faville et l’esca,

non pur qual fu, ma pare a me che cresca.

Qual foco non avrian già spento et morto

l’onde che gli occhi tristi versan sempre?

Amor, avegna mi sia tardi accorto,

vol che tra duo contrari mi distempre,

et tende lacci in sì diverse tempre

che quand’ ò più speranza che ’l cor n’esca,

allor più nel bel viso mi rinvesca.

Because she bore
Love’s colors
in her face

a
pilgrim soul
moved my unsteady heart—

all others seemed less worthy of my honor;

and as I followed her
along green grass
,

I heard cry out in
loud voice
from afar:

“How many steps you’re wasting
in the woods
!”

Then
I sought shade
beneath a handsome beech;

full of my thought, and looking all around,

I saw how very dangerous was my voyage;

then I turned to go back
around midday
.

That fire
which I thought had been extinguished

by the cold times
and by an age less fresh

renews
the flame and suffering of my soul.

Not all those sparks died out, as I can see,

but they were merely
covered up a bit
—

I fear my second error might be worse.

By means of
tears I scatter by the thousands

the pain I feel must
drip out of my heart

that holds within it
both the sparks and tinder
,

not as before,
but I
think it grows more.

What fire
still could burn and not be killed

by floods that my sad eyes keep pouring forth?

Love, even though I realized it late,

between two opposites
wants me to struggle,

and he puts out snares of such different types

that when I hope the most to free my heart,

he captures me the more with
her fair face
.

Se col cieco desir che ’l cor distrugge

contando lore no m’inganno io stesso,

ora mentre ch’ io parlo il tempo fugge

ch’ a me fu insieme et a mercé promesso.

Qual ombra è sì crudel che ’l seme adugge

ch’ al disiato frutto era sì presso?

et dentro dal mio ovil qual fera rugge?

tra la spiga et la man qual muro è messo?

Lasso, nol so, ma sì conosco io bene

che per far più dogliosa la mia vita

Amor m’addusse in sì gioiosa spene;

et or di quel ch’ i’ ò letto mi sovene,

che ’nanzi al dì de l’ultima partita

uom beato chiamar non si convene.

Mie venture al venir son tarde et pigre,

la speme incerta, e ’l desir monta et cresce,

onde e ’l lassare et l’aspettar m’incresce;

et poi al partir son più levi che tigre.

Lasso, le nevi fien tepide et nigre,

e ’l mar senz’ onda, et per l’alpe ogni pesce,

et corcherassi il sol là oltre, ond’ esce

d’un medesimo fonte Eufrate e Tigre,

prima ch’ i’ trovi in ciò pace né triegua

o Amore o Madonna altr’ uso impari,

che m’ànno congiurato a torto incontra;

et s’ i’ ò alcun dolce, è dopo tanti amari

che per disdegno il gusto si dilegua.

Altro mai di lor grazie non m’incontra.

If,
counting all the hours
with blind desire

gnawing my heart, I tell myself the truth,

then now, while I am speaking, time is passing,

the time promised to me and to my pity.

What shadow
is so cruel to harm the seed

that is so close to the desired fruit?

And in my sheepfold
what wild beast is roaring?

Between the grain and hand
what wall exists?

Alas
, I do not know, but I know well

that Love
, to make my life more sorrowful,

has led me into such a joyous hope,

and now what I once read comes back to mind:

before the day we
finally depart

a man cannot
consider himself blest
.

Good fortune is both slow and late in coming

(desire mounts and grows and hope’s uncertain,

so waiting and forsaking both pain me),

then
swifter than a tiger
it departs.

Alas,
the snow will fall
both warm and black,

the sea waveless, the fish up in the mountains,

the sun will come to rest beyond that place

where Tigris and Euphrates share one source,

before I
find in this
some peace or truce,

or Love or lady
find another way
,

those two who
plotted wrongfully
against me;

when I taste sweet
, it’s after so much bitter,

that
through my scorn
the taste begins dissolving

and nothing else do I get from their graces.

La guancia che fu già piangendo stanca

riposate su l’un, Signor mio caro,

et siate ormai di voi stesso più avaro

a quel crudel che’ suoi seguaci imbianca;

coll’altro richiudete da man manca

la strada a’ messi suoi ch’ indi passaro,

mostrandovi un d’agosto et di gennaro,

perch’ a la lunga via tempo ne manca;

et col terzo bevete un suco d’erba

che purghe ogni pensier che ’l cor afflige,

dolce a la fine et nel principio acerba.

Me riponete ove ’l piacer si serba

tal ch’ i’ non tema del nocchier di Stige—

se la preghiera mia non è superba.

Perché quel che mi trasse ad amar prima

altrui colpa mi toglia,

del mio fermo voler già non mi svoglia.

Tra le chiome de l’or nascose il laccio

al qual mi strinse Amore,

et da’ begli occhi mosse il freddo ghiaccio

che mi passò nel core

con la vertù d’un subito splendore,

che d’ogni altra sua voglia

sol rimembrando ancor l’anima spoglia.

Tolta m’è poi di que’ biondi capelli,

lasso, la dolce vista,

e ’l volger de’ duo lumi onesti et belli

col suo fuggir m’atrista,

ma perché ben morendo onor s’acquista,

per morte né per doglia

non vo’ che da tal nodo Amor mi scioglia.

Your cheek which is by now weary from tears

rest upon one of these
, my dearest lord;

from now on be more stingy with yourself

with
that cruel one
who turns his followers pale.

With the next one
,
block to the left
the road

to messengers of his who pass that way,

and be the same in winter as in summer

for
little time is left
on the long road.

And
with the third one drink
the juice of herbs

to purge all thoughts that may afflict the heart—

sweet at the end, though the first sip is bitter.

And
put me
where all pleasure is reserved
,

where I won’t fear the
captain of the Styx
—

if my request is not presumptuous.

Although what first drew me to love is now

withdrawn not by my fault,

I’m not dissuaded from
my fixed desire
.

Within the locks of gold was
hid the noose

with which Love bound me tight,

and from those lovely eyes came that
cold ice

that went straight to my heart

with power of an unexpected splendor—

the very memory

still strips the soul of every other want.

Taken from me since then is the sweet sight,

alas, of her blond hair;

the motion of two honest, lovely eyes

in fleeing saddens me,

though through a good death
one acquires honor,

in spite of grief, of death,

I won’t have Love loose me
from such a knot
.

L’ arbor gentil che forte amai molt’anni

(mentre i bei rami non m’ebber a sdegno)

fiorir faceva il mio debile ingegno

a la sua ombra et crescer negli affanni.

Poi che, securo me di tali inganni,

fece di dolce sé spietato legno,

i’ rivolsi i pensier tutti ad un segno,

che parlan sempre de’ lor tristi danni.

Che porà dir chi per amor sospira,

s’ altra speranza le mie rime nove

gli avesser data et per costei la perde?

“Né poeta ne colga mai, né Giove

la privilegi, et al sol venga in ira

tal che si secchi ogni sua foglia verde!”

Benedetto sia ’l giorno e ’l mese et l’anno

e la stagione e ’l tempo et l’ora e ’l punto

e ’l bel paese e ’l loco ov’ io fui giunto

da duo begli occhi che legato m’ànno;

et benedetto il primo dolce affanno

ch’ i’ ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto,

et l’arco e le saette ond’ i’ fui punto,

et le piaghe che ’nfin al cor mi vanno.

Benedette le voci tante ch’ io

chiamando il nome de mia donna ò sparte,

e i sospiri et le lagrime e ’l desio;

et benedette sian tutte le carte

ov’ io fama l’acquisto, e ’l pensier mio,

ch’ è sol di lei sì ch’ altra non v’à parte.

The gracious tree that I loved hard
for years

while its fair branches still did not disdain me

brought all of my weak talent into bloom

within its shade to grow
in all my troubles
.

Then when, and I so sure of no deceit,

it turned
from sweet into a
bitter wood
,

I turned my every thought in one direction,

and now they speak only of their sad loss.

What would he say
, someone who sighs with love,

if he found my young verse had given him

another hope which he through her then loses?

“May no poet ever gather it,
nor Jove

grant it favor, and
let the sun pour anger
,

enough to dry up all of its green leaves!”

Oh
blessèd be the day
, the month, the year,

the season and the time, the hour
, the instant,

the gracious countryside,
the place
where I

was struck by those two lovely eyes that bound me;

and blessèd be
the first sweet agony

I felt when I found myself bound to Love,

the bow and
all the arrows
that have pierced me,

the wounds that reach the bottom of my heart.

And blessèd be
all of the poetry

I scattered, calling out my lady’s name,

and all the sighs, and tears, and the desire;

blessèd be all the paper upon which

I earn her fame, and every thought of mine,

only of her, and
shared with no one else
.

Padre del Ciel, dopo i perduti giorni,

dopo le notti vaneggiando spese

con quel fero desio ch’ al cor s’accese,

mirando gli atti per mio mal sì adorni,

piacciati omai col tuo lume ch’ io torni

ad altra vita et a più belle imprese,

sì ch’ avendo le reti indarno tese

il mio duro awersario se ne scorni.

Or volge, Signor mio, l’undecimo anno

ch’ i’ fui sommesso al dispietato giogo

che sopra i più soggetti è più feroce:

miserere del mio non degno affanno,

reduci i pensier vaghi a miglior luogo,

rammenta lor come oggi fusti in croce.

Volgendo gli occhi al mio novo colore,

che fa di morte rimembrar la gente,

pietà vi mosse; onde benignamente

salutando teneste in vita il core.

La fraile vita ch’ ancor meco alberga

fu de’ begli occhi vostri aperto dono

et de la voce angelica soave;

da lor conosco l’esser ov’ io sono,

che, come suol pigro animal per verga,

così destaro in me l’anima grave.

Del mio cor, Donna, l’una et l’altra chiave

avete in mano, et di ciò son contento,

presto di navigare a ciascun vento:

ch’ ogni cosa da voi m’è dolce onore.

Father of Heaven, after the lost days,

after the nights
spent in delirium

with fierce desire burning in my heart

watching gestures so lovely to my harm,

allow me now to turn within
your light

to another life,
to deeds more beautiful
,

so that now having
spread his nets in vain

my stubborn enemy
may be disarmed
.

The eleventh year is turning, my dear Lord,

of my subjection to the
pitiless yoke

harshest to those
most subject to receive it:

have mercy on my pain that is unworthy,

lead to a better place my thoughts that wander,

remind them you were
crucified today
.

Turning your eyes
and seeing
my strange color

that makes a person think of death itself,

you did so out of pity
, and so kindly

you greeted me and kept my heart alive.

The fragile life that still dwelt in my body

was openly the gift of your fair eyes

and of your voice angelic and so sweet;

I know that what I am
I owe to them

for, as the rod will to the lazy beast
,

just so they roused
the heavy soul in me
.

My lady in your hand
you hold both keys