Journal of Italian Translation

Gil Fagiani/Cesare Fagiani
The more we tell them the more we desire
to tell them because every foolishness
improves the sound and becomes beautiful
because a little chat already known
is like a familiar song to the heart!
My Life
My life: cloudy sky,
an annoying wind, a Southern wind,
a brooklet of water gathering
to go ahead always among the thorns!
A sky that often has a hole
that at certain times makes like a small window:
at daytime, a velvet serenity;
at nighttime, a glance of a star.
A wind that, sometimes, if it stops
leaves the dry leaves by my feet;
What do you find that is good? Of a rose
the only thing that you can pick up is a leaf!
A brooklet, even that at times,
leaves the stains of melancholy
and goes, without getting dirty with mud,
singing all by itself along the way.
The Song
To those who no longer sing, the spirit of life
is tasteless
To those who sing more, the voice of the heart
gets more flavor
Concetta
I
Concetta, your petticoat is too hot
swinging every which way as you walk!
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