Journal of Italian Translation - Brooklyn College - Academic Home ...

Joseph Tusiani / Giosuè Carducci
and, swollen with warm blood, the sea withdraws: the sad wailing
of the two wretched women shakes the rocky coast.
Oh, far away from the ways of mortal hard anguish and labor,
island of heroes, island of maidens sweet and fair,
isle of the poets! There the ocean whitens around them,
and strange birds fly across the purple-tainted sky.
The endless reverberant epic passes, and causes the laurels
to tremble like a storm of May on the waving plains;
or as when mighty Wagner blends with melodious metals
a thousand souls: the hearts of mortals suddenly shake.
Ah, but of all new poets, no one arose on that island
but you, perhaps, O Shelley, titanic spirit closed
in female features: from the dire embraces of Thetis
Sophocles took you on wing amid the heroes’ choir.
O heart of hearts, oh, over this urn that encloses you frozen,
blossoming Spring is fragrant, is once more warm and bright.
O heart of hearts, the sun, divine father, enwraps you
with all his flaming loves, O poor and silent heart.
Fresh in the vast air of Rome, the pines are, this morning, aquiver:
but you, where are you, poet of this our world set free?
Where are you? Do you hear me? My tearful glances are fleeing
beyond the Aurelian walls over the plaintive plain.
In the Vicinity of San Guido
Cypresses, tall and straight, to Bolgheri
come from San Guido in a double row:
like youthful giants, they surrounded me,
eager to talk of things of long ago.
They recognized me, and, “At last! At last!
You have come back,” they murmured, meekly bent.
“Oh, why don’t you get off? Why don’t you rest?
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