Thursday, July 27, 2017
-- for Erin
Waking in the embrace of a friend,
who gives, after my death in her,
this best, dawn-lit survival back again,
where she is waiting as tender as a mother,
I look at my past through this ardor and see
nothing that she hasn't given, and I believe
it is she who created for me
this entire life I've been granted to live.
What joys have I had alone, elsewhere?
I recall but one:
I saw almond trees in flower, all in flower,
where the earth was brown....
-- Rainer Maria Rilke
De s'éveiller entre les bras de l'amie
qui après ma mort en elle,
me donne encore cette suprême survie
matinale qu'elle attend presque maternelle,
Je n'ai jamais rien eu qu'elle ne m'eût donné;
mon ardeur rétrospective
me fait croire que c'est elle qui crée
toute ma vie successive.
Quelle joie avais-je par moi-même ailleurs?
Je ne me rappelle qu'une:
des amandiers en fleurs que j'ai vus, tout en fleurs,
contre une terre brune...
Monday, July 10, 2017
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Unattributed photo from Petrarch's house at Arqua, in the Euganean Hills
Epitaph for Petrarch's Cat, Embalmed and Mounted
Antonio Quarenghi (17th century)
The Tuscan poet burned with a twin love,
but yet his Laura was second to me.
Why laugh? Her heavenly beauty was enough
to make her worthy --- so was my fidelity.
She inspired verses and genius for his poems,
which, thanks to me, were no cruel rodents' prey.
Alive, I drove the mice from his sacred tomes,
lest words be food when the master was away.
Dead, I strike fear in those cowards just as well,
my faithfulness still quick in this lifeless shell.
Etruscus gemino vates ardebat amore:
Maximus ignis ego; Laura secundus erat.
Quid rides? divinæ illam si gratia formæ,
Me dignam eximio fecit amante fides.
Si numeros geniumque sacris dedit illa libellis
Causa ego ne sævis muribus esca forent.
Arcebam sacro vivens à limine mures,
Ne domini exitio scripta diserta forent;
Incutio trepidis eadem defuncta pavorem,
Et viget exanimi in corpore prisca fides.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Dream ended, I went out, awake
To new snow fallen in the dark,
Stainless on road and field, no track
Yet printed on my day of work.
I heard the wild ones muttering,
Assent their dark arrival made
At dawn, gray dawn on dawn-gray wing
Outstretched, shadowless in that shade,
Down from high distances arrived
Within the shelter of the hill;
The river shuddered as they cleaved
Its surface, floated, and were still.
-- Wendell Berry
This Day: Collected and New Sabbath Poems
Friday, March 17, 2017
Mourning statues at the Staglieno Cemetery in Genoa
Creative Commons license via Pixabay
An Epitaph for Erotion, a Child of Five
Here, in early dark, Erotion sleeps through death.
Her thieving, sixth winter reft her away.
Who governs this field, after my last day,
please keep the yearly rites for her frail wraith ---
then your house and people will thrive, the one
grieving thing in all your acres be this stone.
Hic festinata requiescit Erotion umbra,
Crimine quam fati sexta peremit hiems.
Quisquis eris nostri post me regnator agelli,
Manibus exiguis annus iusta dato:
Sic lare perpetuo, sic turba sospite solus
Flebilis in terra sit lapis iste tua.