by Mark Musa
né lagrima però discese ancora
da’ be’ vostr’occhi, ma disdegno et ira.
45
Il mio adversario in cui veder solete
gli occhi vostri ch’ Amore e ’l Ciel onora
colle non sue bellezze v’innamora
più che ’n guisa mortal soavi et liete.
Per consiglio di lui, Donna, m’avete
scacciato del mio dolce albergo fora:
misero esilio! avegna ch’ i’ non fora
d’abitar degno ove voi sola siete.
Ma s’ io v’era con saldi chiovi fisso,
non dovea specchio farvi per mio danno
a voi stessa piacendo aspra et superba.
Certo, se vi rimembra di Narcisso,
questo et quel corso ad un termino vanno—
ben che di sì bel fior sia indegna l’erba.
44
The man in Thessaly with hands so anxious
to turn it crimson bathed in civil blood,
wept for the death of his own daughter’s husband
recognized by his features known to all;
the shepherd, too, who broke Goliath’s brow
wept hard for his rebellious family
and changed expression over the good Saul
whence the wild mountain has much cause to grieve;
but you whom pity never can discolor
and who always have your defenses ready
against Love’s bow which does not hit its mark,
you see me torn a thousand times to death
and not a tear as yet have I seen fall
from your fair eyes, only disdain and anger.
45
My enemy in which you often see
those eyes of yours that Love and Heaven honor
enamors you with beauties not its own
but sweet and happy supernaturally.
On his advice, lady, you have expelled me
from the sweet place that I had made my home:
miserable exile! though I may not be
worthy to dwell where you alone reside.
But since I had been fixed there by strong nails,
no mirror should have made you harsh and proud
against me since you pleased yourself therein.
Indeed, if you recall to mind Narcissus,
both this and that course lead to the same end—
although no grass is fit for such a flower.
46
L’oro et le perle e i fior vermigli e i bianchi
che ’l verno devria far languidi et secchi
son per me acerbi et velenosi stecchi
ch’ io provo per lo petto et per li fianchi.
Però i dì miei fien lagrimosi et manchi,
chè gran duol rade volte aven che ’nvecchi;
ma più ne colpo i micidiali specchi
che ’n vagheggiar voi stessa avete stanchi.
Questi poser silenzio al signor mio
che per me vi pregava, ond’ ei si tacque
veggendo in voi finir vostro desio;
questi fuor fabbricati sopra l’acque
d’abisso et tinti ne l’eterno oblio
onde ’l principio de mia morte nacque.
47
Io sentia dentr’ al cor già venir meno
gli spirti che da voi ricevon vita;
et perché naturalmente s’aita
contra la morte ogni animal terreno,
largai ’l desio che i’ teng’ or molto a freno
et misil per la via quasi smarrita
però che di e notte indi m’invita
et io contra sua voglia altronde ’l meno,
et mi condusse vergognoso et tardo
a riveder gli occhi leggiadri ond’ io
per non esser lor grave assai mi guardo.
Vivrommi un tempo omai, ch’ al viver mio
tanta virtude à sol un vostro sguardo;
et poi morrò, s’ io non credo al desio.
46
The gold and pearls, the flowers red and white
that winter should have weakened and dried up
are only bitter, poisonous thorns for me
that I feel in my breast and in my sides.
And so my days will be tearful and short,
for seldom does great sorrow grow in years;
but I accuse those murderous mirrors more
that you, loving yourself, have tired out.
And they imposed silence upon my lord
who prayed to you for me, and he was speechless
to see that your desire was for you;
such mirrors were constructed on Hell’s waters
and tempered in forgetfulness eternal
whence the beginning of my death was born.
47
I felt within my heart already failing
those spirits that receive their life from you;
and since against death it is nature’s rule
for every mortal animal to fight,
I freed desire, that now I keep in check,
and put it on the path I almost lost
(though night and day it calls me to be there,
against its will I lead it somewhere else),
and then he led me, late and full of shame
to see again your lovely eyes which I,
not to offend them, carefully avoid.
I’ll have a little longer now to live,
for one glance has such power for my life;
I’ll die then if I don’t obey desire.
48
Se mai foco per foco non si spense
né fiume fu giamai secco per pioggia,
ma sempre l’un per l’altro simil poggia
et spesso l’un contrario l’altro accense,
Amor, tu che’ pensier nostri dispense,
al qual un’aima in due corpi s’appoggia,
perché fai in lei con disusata foggia
men per molto voler le voglie intense?
Forse sì come ’l Nil d’alto caggendo
col gran suono i vicin d’intorno assorda,
e’l sole abbaglia chi ben fiso ’l guarda,
cosi ’l desio che seco non s’accorda
ne lo sfrenato obietto vien perdendo,
et per troppo spronar la fuga è tarda.
49
Perch’ io t’abbia guardata di menzogna
a mio podere et onorato assai,
ingrata lingua, già però non m’ài
renduto onor, ma fatto ira et vergogna;
ché quanto più ’l tuo aiuto mi bisogna
per dimandar mercede, allor ti stai
sempre più fredda, et se parole fai
son imperfette et quasi d’uom che sogna!
Lagrime triste, et voi tutte le notti
m’accompagnate ov’ io vorrei star solo,
poi fuggite dinanzi a la mia pace!
Et voi, sì pronti a darmi angoscia et duolo,
sospiri, allor traete lenti et rotti!
Solo la vista mia del cor non tace.
48
If fire by fire has never been extinguished
nor river ever dried up by the rain,
but always things alike grow with their like,
and often contrasts will increase each other,
Love, you the ruler of our every thought,
on whom depends one soul within two bodies,
why in my soul, contrarily, do you,
by wanting much, strengthen desire less?
Perhaps, just as the Nile that falls from high
with its great sound deafens all those nearby,
as sun dazzles the one who stares at it,
so a desire that is not in proportion
loses itself in something too immense,
and too much spurring can slow down the flight.
49
Though I have always kept you from all lies
as best I could and paid you greatest honor,
ungrateful tongue, you, nonethele
ss have never
repaid the honor, but brought me shame and anger;
the more I am in need of your assistance
to ask for mercy, all the more you grow
still colder, and should you utter some words,
they are broken, as spoken in a dream.
Tears full of grief, you too through all those nights
are with me when I’d rather stay alone,
then you desert me when my peace is present!
And you, so quick to bring me grief and pain,
my sighs, at that point come forth slow and broken!
Only my look breaks silence for the heart.
50
Ne la stagion che ’l ciel rapido inchina
verso occidente, et che ’l di nostro vola
a gente che di là forse l’aspetta,
veggendosi in lontan paese sola
la stanca vecchiarella pellegrina
raddoppia i passi et più et più s’affretta;
et poi così soletta
al fin di sua giornata
talora è consolata
d’alcun breve riposo, ov’ ella oblia
la noia e ’l mal de la passata via.
Ma, lasso, ogni dolor che ’l di m’adduce
cresce qualor s’invia
per partirsi da noi l’eterna luce.
Come ’l sol volga le ’nfiammate rote
per dar luogo a la notte, onde discende
dagli altissimi monti maggior l’ombra,
l’avaro zappador l’arme riprende
et con parole et con alpestri note
ogni gravezza del suo petto sgombra;
et poi la mensa ingombra
di povere vivande
simili a quelle ghiande
le qua’ fuggendo turto ’l mondo onora.
Ma chi vuol si rallegri ad ora ad ora,
ch’ i’ pur non ebbi ancor, non dirò lieta,
ma riposata un’ora,
né per volger di ciel né di pianeta.
Quando vede ’l pastor calare i raggi
del gran pianeta al nido ov’ egli alberga
e ’mbrunir le contrade d’oriente,
drizzasi in piedi et co l’usata verga,
lassando l’erba et le fontane e i faggi,
move la schiera sua soavemente;
poi lontan da la gente
o casetta o spelunca
di verdi frondi ingiunca,
ivi senza pensier s’adagia et dorme.
50
It is the time the rapid heavens bend
toward the West, the time our own day flees
to some expectant race beyond, perhaps,
the time an old and weary pilgrim-woman
feeling the loneliness of foreign lands,
doubles her pace, hastening more and more;
and then at her day’s end,
though she is all alone,
at least she is consoled
by resting and forgetting for awhile
the labour and the pain of her past road.
But, oh, whatever pain the day brings me
grows more and more the moment
the eternal light begins to fade from us.
When the sun’s burning wheels begin to flame,
in order to give way to night, and shadows
are now cast deeper by the highest mountains,
the avid workman packs away his tools
and with the words of mountain songs he clears
the weight of that day’s labour from his chest;
and then he spreads his table
all full of meager food
like acorns of whose praises
the whole world sings and manages to shun.
But let who will find joy from time to time,
for I’ve not had, I will not say a happy,
but just one restful hour,
for all the turning of the sky and stars.
And when the shepherd sees the great sphere’s rays
are falling toward the nest in which it dwells
and in the east the country turning dark,
he stands up straight and with his trusty crook,
he leaves the grass and springs and beech’s shade,
moving his flock quietly on its way;
then far away from people
a hut or kind of cave
he weaves out of green leaves,
and there without a care he lies and sleeps.
Ahi crudo Amor, ma tu allor più m’informe
a seguir d’una fera che mi strugge
la voce e i passi et l’orme,
et lei non stringi che s’appiatta et fugge.
E i naviganti in qualche chiusa valle
gettan le membra, poi che ’l sol s’asconde,
sul duro legno et sotto a l’aspre gonne.
Ma io, perché s’attuffi in mezzo l’onde
et lasci Ispagna dietro a le sue spalle
et Granata et Marrocco et le Colonne,
et gli uomini e le donne
e ’l mondo et gli animali
acquetino i lor mali,
fine non pongo al mio ostinato affanno;
et duolmi ch’ ogni giorno arroge al danno,
ch’ i’ son già pur crescendo in questa voglia
ben presso al decim’ anno,
né poss’ indovinar chi me ne scioglia.
Et perché un poco nel parlar mi sfogo,
veggio la sera i buoi tornare sciolti
da le campagne et da’ solcati colli.
I miei sospiri a me perché non tolti
quando che sia? perché no ’l grave giogo?
perché dì et notte gli occhi miei son molli?
Misero me, che volli
quando primier sì fiso
gli tenni nel bel viso
per iscolpirlo, imaginando, in parte
onde mai né per forza né per arte
mosso sarà fin ch’ i’ sia dato in preda
a chi tutto diparte!
né so ben anco che di lei mi creda.
Canzon, se l’esser meco
dal matino a la sera
t’à fatto di mia schiera,
tu non vorrai mostrarti in ciascun loco;
et d’altrui loda curerai sì poco
ch’ assai ti fia pensar di poggio in poggio
come m’à concio ’l foco
di questa viva petra ov’ io m’appoggio.
But, ah, cruel Love, you drive me on to chase
the voice, the steps, the prints of a wild beast
who is destroying me;
you do not catch her: she crouches and she flees.
And sailors on their ship when sun is set
in some protected cove let their limbs drop
upon hard boards and sleep beneath coarse canvas.
But I, though sun may dive into the waves
and leave behind his back all that is Spain,
Granada and Morocco and the Pillars,
and though all men and women,
animals and the world
may come to calm their ills—
yet I cannot end my insistent anguish;
it pains me that each day augments my grief,
for here I am still growing in this love
for nearly ten years now,
wondering who will ever set me free.
And (to relieve my pain a bit by talking)
I see at evening oxen coming home,
freed from the fields and furrows they have ploughed—
why, then, must I not be free of my sighs
at least sometimes? Why not my heavy yoke?
Why day and night must my eyes still be wet?
Oh what I did that time
when I fixed them upon
the beauty of her face
to carve it in my heart’s imagination
whence neither by coercion nor by art
could it be moved—not till I am the prey
of one who all does part!
And could she even then I am not sure.
My song, if being with me
from morning until night
has made you join my party,
you will not show yourself in any place
and will care little to be praised by others—
it will suffice to think from hill to hill
how I have been consumed
by fire of the living stone I cling to.
51
Poco era ad appressarsi agli occhi miei
la luce che da lunge gli abbarbaglia,
che, come vide lei cangiar Tesaglia,
così cangiato ogni mia forma avrei.
Et s’ io non posso trasformarmi in lei
più ch’ i’ mi sia (non ch’ a mercé mi vaglia),
di qual petra più rigida s’intaglia
pensoso ne la vista oggi sarei,
o di diamante, o d’un bel marmo bianco
per la paura forse, o d’un diaspro
pregiato poi dal vulgo avaro et sciocco;
et sarei fuor del grave giogo et aspro
per cui i’ ò invidia di quel vecchio stanco
che fa co le sue spalle ombra a Marrocco.
52
Non al suo amante più Diana piacque
quando per tal ventura tutta ignuda
la vide in mezzo de le gelide acque,
ch’ a me la pastorella alpestra et cruda
posta a bagnar un leggiadretto velo
ch’ a l’aura il vago et biondo capel chiuda;
tal che mi fece, or quand’ egli arde ’l cielo,
tutto tremar d’un amoroso gielo.
51
Had it come any closer to my eyes,
the light that dazzles even from afar,
then, just as Thessaly saw how she changed
so I would have changed every part of me.
And if I cannot change into her form
more than I have (not that it wins me mercy),
today I would be like the hardest piece
of stone to cut, my face chiseled in care,
a diamond or some lovely marble, white,
perhaps from fear, or even a piece of crystal
prized by the foolish and the greedy folk;
and I’d be free of the harsh, heavy yoke
that makes me envy the old, tired man
whose shoulders cast their shade upon Morocco.
52