Petrarch

by Mark Musa

  Se ’n breve non m’accoglie o non mi smorsa,

  ma pur come suol far tra due mi tene,

  per quel ch’ io sento al cor gir fra le vene

  dolce veneno, Amor, mia vita è corsa.

  Non po più la vertù fragile et stanca

  tante varietati omai soffrire,

  che ’n un punto arde, agghiaccia, arrossa, e ’mbianca.

  Fuggendo spera i suoi dolor finire

  come colei che d’ora in ora manca,

  ché ben po nulla chi non po morire.

  151

  No weary helmsman ever rushed for port

  away from black and stormy waves at sea

  as I flee from my dark and turbid trouble

  to where my surging passion urges me;

  and never has divine light conquered more

  a mortal’s sight than mine did that high ray

  of the sweet, lovely, gentle black and white

  in which Love dips in gold his sharpened arrows.

  He is not blind; I see him with a quiver,

  naked, except where shame commands a veil,

  a boy with wings, not painted but alive.

  From there he shows me what he hides from many:

  in her fair eyes I read there word by word

  all that I say of love and all I write.

  152

  This kind, wild beast, this tiger’s heart or bear’s

  that comes in human shape or form of angel,

  in tears, in laughter, amid fear and hope,

  spins me around and makes my state uncertain.

  If she won’t take me soon or let me free

  or keeps on holding me between the two,

  from that sweet poison running through my heart

  and veins I feel, Love, that my life is over.

  My frail and weary strength now is unable

  to suffer all this change, for all at once

  it burns and freezes, blushes and turns pale.

  It hopes by fleeing to end all its grief

  like one who feels he’s failing gradually,

  for he is powerless who cannot die.

  153

  Ite, caldi sospiri, al freddo core,

  rompete il ghiaccio che pietà contende;

  et se prego mortale al ciel s’intende

  morte o mercé sia fine al mio dolore.

  Ite, dolci penser, parlando fore

  di quello ove ’l bel guardo non s’estende;

  se pur sua asprezza o mia stella n’offende,

  sarem fuor di speranza et fuor d’errore.

  Dir se po ben per voi, non forse a pieno,

  che ’l nostro stato è inquieto et fosco,

  si come ’l suo pacifico et sereno.

  Gite securi omai, ch’ Amor ven vosco;

  et ria fortuna po ben venir meno,

  s’ ai segni del mio sol l’aere conosco.

  154

  Le stelle, il cielo, et gli elementi a prova

  tutte lor arti et ogni estrema cura

  poser nel vivo lume in cui Natura

  si specchia e ’l sol, ch’ altrove par non trova.

  L’opra è sì altera, sì leggiadra et nova,

  che mortal guardo in lei non s’assecura,

  tanta negli occhi bei for di misura

  par ch’ Amore et dolcezza et grazia piova.

  L’aere percosso da’ lor dolci rai

  s’infiamma d’onestate, et tal diventa

  che ’l dir nostro e ’l penser vince d’assai;

  basso desir non è ch’ ivi si senta,

  ma d’onor, di vertute. Or quando mai

  fu per somma beltà vil voglia spenta?

  153

  Go now, my sighs of warmth, to her cold heart

  and break the ice which fights against her pity,

  and if a mortal’s prayer be heard in Heaven,

  let death or mercy end my suffering.

  Go now, sweet thoughts of mine, and clearly speak

  about that which her fair gaze cannot reach;

  if still her harshness strikes us, or my star,

  then we’ll be out of hope and out of error.

  You can explain, although perhaps not fully,

  how our state is as dark and as unquiet

  as hers is full of peace and clarity.

  Now go in safety, for Love comes with you;

  and our bad fortune could come to an end

  to judge the weather by my own sun’s signs.

  154

  The stars, the heavens, the elements in contest

  put all their art, put all the utmost care

  into that living light which Nature mirrors

  and sun which finds its equal nowhere else.

  This feat is so sublime, so new and charming,

  that mortal sight cannot feel safe with it;

  it seems that Love within her lovely eyes

  is raining grace and sweetness beyond measure.

  The air that’s struck by those sweet rays of hers

  burns with her chastity, becoming such

  that our own thought and words it far surpasses;

  no base desire can be felt therein,

  only virtue and honor. Now when and ever

  was vile desire quenched by highest beauty?

  155

  Non fur ma’ Giove et Cesare sì mossi

  (a folminar colui, questo a ferire)

  che pietà non avesse spente l’ire

  e lor de l’usate arme ambeduo scossi:

  piangea Madonna, e ’l mio signor ch’ i’ fossi

  volse a vederla et suoi lamenti a udire,

  per colmarmi di doglia et di desire

  et ricercarmi le medolle et gli ossi.

  Quel dolce pianto mi depinse Amore,

  anzi scolpio, et que’ detti soavi

  mi scrisse entro un diamante in mezzo ’l core,

  ove con salde ed ingegnose chiavi

  ancor torna sovente a trarne fore

  lagrime rare et sospir lunghi et gravi.

  156

  I’ vidi in terra angelici costumi

  et celesti bellezze al mondo sole,

  tal che di rimembrar mi giova et dole

  ché quant’ io miro par sogni, ombre, et fumi.

  Et vidi lagrimar que’ duo bei lumi

  ch’ àn fatto mille volte invidia al sole,

  et udi’ sospirando dir parole

  che farian gire i monti et stare i fiumi.

  Amor, senno, valor, pietate, et doglia

  facean piangendo un più dolce concento

  d’ogni altro che nel mondo udir si soglia;

  ed era il cielo a l’armonia sì intento

  che non se vedea in ramo mover foglia,

  tanta dolcezza avea pien l’aere e ’l vento.

  155

  Both Jove and Caesar never were so moved,

  the one to wound, the other one to thunder,

  that pity would not put their anger out

  and shake them both from their accustomed arms:

  my lady wept and my lord wanted me

  to see her there and listen to her sorrow,

  to fill me full of grief and with desire

  to move me to the marrow of my bones.

  Love painted that sweet flow of tears for me,

  he sculpted them, and all those gracious words

  he wrote in diamond deep inside my heart,

  where with his powerful and skillful keys

  he still returns and often he draws forth

  the precious tears, the long and heavy sighs.

  156

  I saw on earth angelic qualities

  and heavenly beauties unique in the world,

  and to recall them pains and pleases me,

  for all I see seems shadow, smoke, and dreams.

  And I saw those two lovely lights in tears

  both envied by the sun a thousand times,

  and I heard words pronounced amid deep sighing

  that
would make mountains move and rivers stop.

  Love, wisdom and worth, pity and sorrow

  made out of tears a sweeter symphony

  than any other heard throughout the world;

  the heavens were so entranced by harmony

  that not a leaf upon its branch dared move,

  so full of sweetness was the air and wind.

  157

  Quel sempre acerbo et onorato giorno

  mandò sì al cor l’imagine sua viva

  che ’ngegno o stil non fia mai che ’l descriva;

  ma spesso a lui co la memoria torno.

  L’atto d’ogni gentil pietate adorno

  e ’l dolce amaro lamentar ch’ i’ udiva

  facean dubbiar se mortal donna o diva

  fosse che ’l ciel rasserenava intorno.

  La testa or fino, et calda neve il volto,

  ebeno i cigli, et gli occhi eran due stelle

  onde Amor l’arco non tendeva in fallo;

  perle et rose vermiglie ove l’accolto

  dolor formava ardenti voci et belle,

  fiamma i sospir, le lagrime cristallo.

  158

  Ove ch’ i’ posi gli occhi lassi o giri

  per quetar la vaghezza che gli spinge,

  trovo chi bella donna ivi depinge,

  per far sempre mai verdi i miei desiri.

  Con leggiadro dolor par ch’ ella spiri

  alta pietà che gentil core siringe;

  oltra la vista, agli orecchi orna e ’nfinge

  sue voci vive et suoi santi sospiri.

  Amor e ’l ver fur meco a dir che quelle

  ch’ i’ vidi eran bellezze al mondo sole,

  mai non vedute più sotto le stelle;

  né sì pietose et sì dolci parole

  s’udiron mai, né lagrime si belle

  di sì belli occhi uscir mai vide ’l sole.

  157

  That day forever more so cruel and honored

  sent to my heart its image so alive

  there is no wit or style that can describe it;

  but often I recall it with my mind.

  Her attitude, adorned with gracious pity,

  the bittersweet lamenting that I heard,

  caused me to wonder were she mortal woman

  or goddess, for she cleared the sky around her.

  Her head fine gold, her face was like warm snow,

  her eyebrows ebony, her eyes two stars

  from where Love never bent his bow in vain;

  pearls and red roses where the gathered grief

  was transformed into ardent, lovely words,

  her sighs a flame, her tears as though of crystal.

  158

  Any place I rest or turn my weary eyes

  to quiet the desire that impels them,

  I find there one who draws the lovely lady

  to keep desire in me always green.

  With gentle sorrow she seems to inspire

  profound pity that wrings a noble heart;

  and more than sight my ears seem to imagine

  her living voice and all her holy sighs.

  Love and the truth were on my side to say

  these beauties seen were unique in the world

  and never seen again beneath the stars;

  nor words so sweet and so compassionate

  were ever heard, nor tears so lovely seen

  under the sun pour from such lovely eyes.

  159

  In qual parte del Ciel, in quale Idea

  era l’esempio onde Natura tolse

  quel bel viso leggiadro in ch’ ella volse

  mostrar qua giù quanto lassù potea?

  Qual ninfa in fonti, in selve mai qual dea

  chiome d’oro sì fino a l’aura sciolse?

  quando un cor tante in sé vertuti accolse?

  ben che la somma è di mia morte rea.

  Per divina bellezza indarno mira

  chi gli occhi de costei giamai non vide,

  come soavemente ella gli gira;

  non sa come Amor sana et come ancide,

  chi non sa come dolce ella sospira

  et come dolce parla et dolce ride.

  160

  Amor et io, sì pien di meraviglia

  come chi mai cosa incredibil vide,

  miriam costei quand’ ella parla o ride

  che sol se stessa et nulla altra simiglia.

  Dal bel seren de le tranquille ciglia

  sfavillan sì le mie due stelle fide

  ch’ altro lume non è ch’ infiammi et guide

  chi d’amar altamente si consiglia.

  Qual miracolo è quel, quando tra l’erba

  quasi un fior siede, o ver quand’ ella preme

  col suo candido seno un verde cespo!

  Qual dolcezza è ne la stagione acerba

  vederla ir sola coi pensier suoi inseme,

  tessendo un cerchio a l’oro terso et crespo!

  159

  From what part of the heavens, from what Idea

  did Nature take the model to derive

  that lovely charming face by which she chose

  to show down here her power up above?

  What fountain nymph, what woodland goddess ever

  let such fine hair of gold flow in the breeze?

  How did a heart collect so many virtues

  the sum of which is guilty of my death?

  Who seeks for divine beauty seeks in vain

  if he has not yet looked upon those eyes

  and seen how tenderly she makes them move;

  he does not know how love can heal and kill

  who does not know the sweetness of her sighs,

  the sweetness of her speech, how sweet her smile.

  160

  Love and myself as full of wonderment

  as one who sees the unbelievable,

  marvel to see her speak or laugh, the one

  who stands alone resembling no other.

  From the fair heaven of her tranquil brows

  those dual lights I trust in sparkle so

  that no light’s left to guide and to inflame

  whoever hopes to follow noble love.

  What miracle when she upon the grass

  sits like a flower or when her white breast

  presses against the greenness of a bush!

  What sweetness when in the unripened season

  you see her walking with her thoughts alone,

  weaving a wreath for her bright curly gold.

  161

  O passi sparsi, o pensier vaghi et pronti,

  o tenace memoria, o fero ardore,

  o possente desire, o debil core,

  oi occhi miei (occhi non già, ma fonti);

  o fronde, onor de le famose fronti,

  o sola insegna al gemino valore;

  o faticosa vita, o dolce errore,

  che mi fate ir cercando piagge et monti;

  o bel viso, ove Amor inseme pose

  gli sproni e ’l fren ond’ el mi punge et volve

  come a lui piace, e calcitrar non vale;

  o anime gentili et amorose,

  s’ alcuna à ’l mondo, et voi, nude ombre et polve:

  deh, ristate a veder quale è ’l mio male!

  162

  Lieti fiori et felici, et ben nate erbe

  che Madonna pensando premer sòle,

  piaggia ch’ ascolti sue dolci parole

  et del bel piede alcun vestigio serbe,

  schietti arboscelli et verdi frondi acerbe,

  amorosette et pallide viole,

  ombrose selve ove percote il sole

  che vi fa co’ suoi raggi alte et superbe,

  o soave contrada, o puro fiume

  che bagni il suo bel viso et gli occhi chiari

  et prendi qualità dal vivo lume:

  quanto v’invidio gli atti onesti et cari!

  Non fia in voi scoglio omai che per costume

  d’arder co la mia fiamma non impari.

  161<
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  O useless steps, O thoughts charming and quick,

  O binding memory, O burning love,

  O powerful desire, O failing heart,

  O my eyes (eyes no more, but fountains),

  O leafy bough, honor of famous brows,

  O single symbol for those dual values,

  O weary life of mine, O my sweet error

  which forces me to search the shores and hills,

  O lovely face where Love has put together

  both spurs and rein with which he pricks and turns me

  as pleases him (and kicking back is useless),

  O loving souls who love in graciousness,

  if there are any, all you shades and dust,

  ah, stay awhile and see what pain is mine.

  162

  Flowers joyful and glad, fortunate grass

  on which my lady used to walk in thought,

  shore that would listen to her words of sweetness

  conserving traces of her lovely foot,

  trees straight and slender, branches young and green,

  violets pale and delicately lovely,

  forests of shade on which the sunlight strikes

  and makes you tall and proud with her own rays,

  O gentle countryside, O river pure

  that bathes her lovely face and her bright eyes

  and takes its quality from her live light:

  how much I envy you her fair, dear presence!

  There’s not a stone among you now that is

  not learning how to burn with flame like mine.

  163

  Amor, che vedi ogni pensero aperto

  e i duri passi onde tu sol mi scorgi,

  nel fondo del mio cor gli occhi tuoi porgi

  a te palese, a tutt’ altri coverto.

  Sai quel che per seguirte ò già sofferto,

  et tu pur via di poggio in poggio sorgi

  di giorno in giorno, et di me non t’accorgi,

  che son sì stanco e ’l sentier m’è troppo erto.

  Ben veggio io di lontano il dolce lume

  ove per aspre vie mi sproni et giri,

  ma non ò come tu da volar piume.

  Assai contenti lasci i miei desiri