Authors: Mark Musa
Petrarch (58 page)
while those
cruel, impious lights
were almost all dispersed throughout the heavens.
A lovelier day the sun had never opened,
the air and earth rejoicing, and the waters
of all the seas and rivers were at peace.
Amid such
friendly lights
a cloud off in the distance
troubled me,
one which I fear will be resolved in tears,
if Pity does not change
the heavens’ course.
“When she came down into our lovely life,
which truly was not worthy of her presence,
cosa nova a vederla,
già santissima et dolce ancor acerba,
parea chiusa in or fin candida perla.
Et or carpone, or con tremante passo,
legno, acqua, terra o sasso
verde facea, chiara, soave, et l’erba
“con le palme o coi pie’ fresca et superba,
et fiorir coi belli occhi le campagne,
et acquetar i venti et le tempeste
con voci, ancor non preste,
di lingua che dal latte si scompagne:
chiaro mostrando al mondo sordo et cieco
quanto lume del Ciel fusse già seco.
“Poi che crescendo in tempo et in virtute
giunse a la terza sua fiorita etate,
leggiadria né beltate
tanta non vide ’l sol, credo, giamai,
li occhi pien di letizia et d’onestate,
e ’l parlar di dolcezza et di salute.
Tutte lingue son mute
a dir di lei quel che tu sol ne sai:
“si chiaro è ’l volto di celesti rai
che vostra vista in lui non po fermarse,
et da quel suo bel carcere terreno
di tal foco ài ’l cor pieno
ch’ altro più dolcemente mai non arse;
ma parmi che sua subita partita
tosto ti fia cagion d’amara vita.”
Detto questo, a la sua volubil rota
si volse in ch’ ella fila il nostro stame,
trista et certa indivina de’ miei danni;
ché dopo non molt’anni
quella per ch’ io ò di morir tal fame,
canzon mia, spense Morte acerba et rea,
che più bel corpo occider non potea.
a wondrous thing
to see,
already sweet and holy though unripe,
she was pure
pearl enclosed in finest gold
.
First crawling
then with her first trembling steps
the trees and waters and the earth and stone
she made turn green or clear or soft, and grass
turn fresh and proud
by touch of hand or foot,
and with her lovely eyes burst fields in bloom,
and she could quiet down the winds and storms
made by a tongue that had been barely weaned:
clearly she showed a world so deaf and blind
how much of Heaven’s light was part of her.
“And then when she grew up in years and virtue,
reaching her third
, her age of blossoming,
so much beauty and charm
the sun, I think, has never seen before,
her eyes so full of joy and shining truth
and all her words of sweetness and salvation.
And
every tongue is dumb
to tell of her
So bright her face shines with celestial light
that your
eyes cannot look
for long at it,
and for her earthly prison of such beauty
your heart rages with flame
the way no other heart has
burned more sweetly
;
but I’m afraid that her sudden departure
will soon make
life for you a bitter thing
.”
She said this, then to her
revolving wheel
she turned, the one with which she
spins our thread
,
that
sad and certain prophet
of my losses:
after not many years
that one for whom I
starve for death
to come,
my song, perverse and bitter Death extinguished—
a body lovelier he could not kill.
Or ài fatto l’estremo di tua possa,
o crudel Morte, or ài ’l regno d’Amore
impoverito, or di bellezza il fiore
e ’l lume ài spento et chiuso in poca fossa;
or ài spogliata nostra vita et scossa
d’ogni ornamento et del sovran suo onore;
ma la fama et ’l valor, che mai non more,
non è in tua forza: abbiti ignude l’ossa,
ché l’altro à ’l Cielo, et di sua chiaritate
quasi d’un più bel sol s’allegra et gloria;
et fi’ al mondo de’ buon sempre in memoria.
Vinca ’l cor vos tro in sua tanta vittoria,
angel novo, lassù di me pietate,
come vinse qui il mio vostra beltate.
L’aura et l’odore e ’l refrigerio et l’ombra
del dolce lauro et sua vista fiorita,
lume et riposo di mia stanca vita,
tolto à colei che tutto ’l mondo sgombra.
Come a noi il sol, se sua soror l’adombra,
così l’alta mia luc’ è a me sparita;
i’ cheggio a Morte incontra Morte aita,
di sì scuri penseri Amor m’ingombra.
Dormit’ ài, bella Donna, un breve sonno,
or se’ svegliata fra li spirti eletti
ove nel suo Fattor l’alma s’interna;
et se mie rime alcuna cosa ponno,
consecrata fra i nobili intelletti
fia del tuo nome qui memoria eterna.
Now you have worked your
power to the limit
,
cruel Death
, now Love’s domain you have made poor,
now beauty’s light and flower you have killed
and have enclosed it in a
meager grave
.
And now
you have despoiled
our life and taken
all ornament from it and its high honor,
but fame and
worth, which never dies
, are not
within your power—yours are
the naked bones
,
for
Heaven has the rest
, and in its brightness
glories with joy
as in a brighter sun
,
and all good souls
will not forget her
here.
In such great victory
let your heart
take
,
new angel there above, pity on me
as all your beauty took me down on earth.
The aura
, fragrance, coolness, and the shade,
the sight of the sweet laurel
in full bloom,
the light and place
to rest my weary life,
he took away
who empties the whole world.
As
sun when covered
by its sister moon
vanishes, so my bright light disappeared.
I call on Death to help me combat Death—
with such dark thoughts Love
fills my body’s weight
.
A short sleep
you have slept,
my lovely lady
,
and now amid the chosen souls awakened,
there where
a soul becomes one
with its Maker;
and if my poetry
has any power
,
your name among all
noble minds
will be
immortalized to endless memory here.
L’ultimo, lasso, de’ miei giorni allegri
(che pochi ò visto in questo viver breve)
giunto era, et fatto ’l cor tepida neve,
forse presago de’ dì tristi et negri.
Quai à già i nervi e i polsi e i penser egri
cui domestica febbre assalir deve,
tal mi sentia, non sappiend’ io che leve
venisse ’l fin de’ miei ben non integri.
Li occhi belli, or in Ciel chiari et felici
del lume onde salute et vita piove,
lasciando i miei qui miseri et mendici,
dicean lor con faville oneste et nove:
“Rimanetevi in pace, o cari amici;
qui mai più, no, ma rivedremne altrove.”
O giorno, o ora, o ultimo momento,
o stelle congiurate a ’mpoverirme!
o fido sguardo, or che volei tu dirme,
partend’ io per non esser mai contento?
Or conosco i miei danni, or mi risento,
ch’ i’ credeva (ahi, credenze vane e ’nfirme!)
perder parte, non tutto, al dipartirme:
quante speranze se ne porta il vento!
Ché già ’l contrario era ordinato in Cielo—
spegner l’almo mio lume ond’ io vivea—
et scritto era in sua dolce amara vista;
ma ’nnanzi agli occhi m’era post’ un velo
che mi fea non veder quel ch’ i’ vedea,
per far mia vita subito più trista.
The last, alas
, of all my happy days,
of which I have seen few in this short life,
had come and
turned my heart to melting snow
,
perhaps foretelling
dark, sad days to come.
As one who feels
a fever coming on
can feel his nerves and pulse and
thoughts grow weak
,
so I felt, though I did not know how swift
the end of my
imperfect good
was coming.
The lovely eyes, now bright and glad in Heaven,
in light that pours with life and with salvation,
leaving my eyes down here
wretched and poor
,
announced to them with
splendor chaste and new
:
“Now rest assured, dear friends, not here, no never,
but
somewhere else
we will see one another.”
O day
, O hour, O that final moment,
O
stars conspired
to impoverish me!
O faithful glance
, what did you want to tell me
when I left
never to know joy again?
I know my losses now,
now I’m aware
,
for I thought—ah, groundless and
unstable thoughts
—
to lose a part
, not all, when I departed.
How many hopes are swept off by the wind!
Already Heaven had ordained the opposite:
extinguish the rich light by which I lived—
it was inscribed on her
sweet, bitter look
,
but there before my eyes
was placed a veil
that made me not see what I
truly saw
to make my life,
all of a sudden
, sadder.
Quel vago, dolce, caro, onesto sguardo
dir parea: “To’ di me quel che tu poi,
che mai più qui non mi vedrai da poi
ch’ avrai quinci il pe’ mosso a mover tardo.”
Intelletto veloce più che pardo,
pigro in antivedere i dolor tuoi,
come non vedestu nelli occhi suoi
quel che ved’ ora, ond’ io mi struggo et ardo?
Taciti, sfavillando oltra lor modo,
dicean: “O lumi amici che gran tempo
con tal dolcezza feste di noi specchi,
“il Ciel n’aspetta; a voi parrà per tempo,
ma chi ne strinse qui dissolve il nodo,
e ’l vostro, per farv’ ira, vuol che ’nvecchi.”
Solea da la fontana di mia vita
allontanarme et cercar terre et mari,
non mio voler ma mia Stella seguendo,
et sempre andai (tal Amor diemmi aita)
in quelli esilii, quanto e’ vide amari,
di memoria et di speme il cor pascendo.
Or, lasso, alzo la mano et l’arme rendo
a l’empia et violenta mia fortuna
che privo m’à di sì dolce speranza;
sol memoria m’avanza,
et pasco ’l gran desir sol di quest’una,
onde l’alma vien men fraie et digiuna.
Come a corner tra via, se ’l cibo manca,
conven per forza rallentare il corso,
scemando la vertù che ’l fea gir presto;
così mancando a la mia vita stanca
That yearning, sweet dear honest glance of hers
would seem to say: “
Take all you can
from me,
for never shall you
see me here again
once you have moved
a reluctant foot
away.”
O intellect more swift than any
panther
,
but in foreseeing all your grief
too slow
,
how could you not have seen within her eyes
what you see now
which makes me burn and suffer?
In silence
they were
sparkling more than ever
,
saying: “O friendly lights who for so long
and with such sweetness
made of us your mirrors
,
“Heaven awaits us—to you it seems too early,
but He who bound us here dissolves the knot,
and yours
to make you angry
he lets age
.”
I used to leave behind
my life’s own fountain
and travel far in search through land and sea
following not my will
but my
star’s calling
,
and I went always (Love gave me such help)
into those exiles (he’s known
none more bitter
)
feeding my heart on memory and hope.
But now I raise my hands,
surrender arms
to the cruel, violent fortune that is mine,
that has deprived me of so much sweet hope.
my great desire feeds on this alone,
and so my frail and starving soul is failing.
A runner on his course, if he lacks food,
is forced to slow his pace when all the strength
that made him run so fast
diminishes
,
so as my weary life feels itself lacking
quel caro nutrimento, in che di morso
die’ chi ’l mondo fa nudo e ’l mio cor mesto,
il dolce acerbo e ’l bel piacer molesto
mi si fa d’ora in ora; onde ’l camino
si breve non fornir spero et pavento.
Nebbia o polvere al vento,
fuggo per più non esser pellegrino:
et così vada s’ è pur mio destino.
Mai questa mortal vita a me non piacque
(sassel Amor con cui spesso ne parlo)
