NOVEMBER
Glittering the air, the sun is so bright
that you look around for the apricot trees in bloom,
and you feel in your heart the bitterish scent
that you look around for the apricot trees in bloom,
and you feel in your heart the bitterish scent
of the hawthorn...
But the blackthorn is dried, and the withered plants
mark the clearness with black wefts,
and the sky is empty, and the ground seems to be hollow, to the resonant steps.
Silence, all around: with gusts of wind, you only
hear far away, from gardens and orchards,
the frail fall of leaves. It is the cold
summer, of the dead.
But the blackthorn is dried, and the withered plants
mark the clearness with black wefts,
and the sky is empty, and the ground seems to be hollow, to the resonant steps.
Silence, all around: with gusts of wind, you only
hear far away, from gardens and orchards,
the frail fall of leaves. It is the cold
summer, of the dead.
NOVEMBRE
Gemmea l'aria, il sole così chiaro
che tu ricerchi gli albicocchi in fiore,
e del prunalbo l'odorino amaro
senti nel cuore...
che tu ricerchi gli albicocchi in fiore,
e del prunalbo l'odorino amaro
senti nel cuore...
Ma secco è il pruno, e le stecchite piante
di nere trame segnano il sereno,
e vuoto il cielo, e cavo al piè sonante
sembra il terreno.
Silenzio, intorno: solo, alle ventate,
odi lontano, da giardini ed orti,
di foglie un cader fragile. E' l'estate
fredda, dei morti.
Lodevole la versione in inglese! / Praise for the translation into English!
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