by Mark Musa
extraordinary charm, unusual,
and singing that is heard within the soul,
a heavenly walk, a loving spirit glowing,
breaking all hardness, making pride bend low,
those lovely eyes that turn all hearts to stone,
so strong they brighten night, light the abyss
and take a body’s soul to give to others,
with speech all full of sweet and lofty insights,
with sighs that tenderly are interrupted:
by such magicians I had been transformed.
214
Anzi tre dì creata era alma in parte
da por sua cura in cose altere et nove
et dispregiar di quel ch’ a’ molti è ’n pregio;
quest’ ancor dubbia del fatal suo corso,
sola pensando pargoletta et sciolta,
intrò di primavera in un bel bosco.
Era un tenero fior nato in quel bosco
il giorno avanti, et la radice in parte
ch’ appressar nol poteva anima sciolta;
ché v’eran di lacciuo’ forme sì nove,
et tal piacer precipitava al corso,
che perder libertate ivi era in pregio.
Caro, dolce, alto et faticoso pregio
che ratto mi volgesti al verde bosco,
usato di sviarne a mezzo ’l corso!
Et ò cerco poi ’l mondo a parte a parte
se versi o petre o suco d’erbe nove
mi rendesser un dì la mente sciolta.
Ma, lasso, or veggio che la carne sciolta
fia di quel nodo ond’ è ’l suo maggior pregio
prima che medicine antiche o nove
saldin le piaghe ch’ i’ presi in quel bosco
folto di spine, ond’ i’ ò ben tal parte
che zoppo n’esco, e ’ntravi a sì gran corso!
Pien di lacci et di stecchi un duro corso
aggio a fornire, ove leggera et sciolta
pianta avrebbe uopo et sana d’ogni parte.
Ma tu, Signor, ch’ ài di pietate il pregio,
porgimi la man destra in questo bosco,
vinca ’l tuo sol le mie tenebre nove.
Guarda ’l mio stato a le vaghezze nove
che ’nterrompendo di mia vita il corso
m’àn fatto abitador d’ombroso bosco;
rendimi, s’ esser po, libera et sciolta
l’errante mia consorte, et fia tuo ’l pregio
s’ ancor teco la trovo in miglior parte.
214
Three days ago a soul was put in place
where it could care for things lofty and new,
despising that which many people prize;
she, still uncertain of her fated course,
alone and thoughtful, innocent and free,
in springtime walked into a lovely wood.
A tender flower was born inside that wood
the day before, its root fixed in a place
that no soul could come near it and be free;
for there were snares there of a type so new,
and such great pleasure hastening one’s course,
that losing freedom there was like a prize.
Dearest and sweet lofty, laborious prize,
that quickly made me turn to the green wood
and often makes us stray in our mid-course.
I later searched the world from place to place
for verses, stones, or juice of herb that’s new,
that might someday make my mind once more free.
But now I see that my flesh will be free
from its own knot which is its greatest prize
before all medicines ancient or new
can heal the wound I got inside that wood
all thick with thorns, whereby it was my place
to come out lame, once entered with great course.
All full of snares and thorns is the hard course
I must complete, where a light foot that’s free
is needed—one that’s whole in every place.
But you, Lord, who possesses pity’s prize,
give me your right hand here inside this wood,
let your sun win my shadow that is new.
Look at my state from beauty that is new,
which has, in interrupting my life’s course,
made me a dweller of a shadowy wood;
give me, if it can be, unbound and free
my wandering consort; let yours be the prize
if I find her with you in a better place.
Or ecco in parte le question mie nove:
s’ alcun pregio in me vive o ’n tutto è corso,
o l’alma sciolta o ritenuta al bosco.
215
In nobil sangue vita umile et queta,
et in alto intelletto un puro core,
frutto senile in sul giovenil fiore,
e ’n aspetto pensoso anima lieta
raccolto à ’n questa donna il suo pianeta—
anzi ’l Re de le stelle—e ’l vero onore,
le degne lode e ’l gran pregio e ’l valore
ch’ è da stancar ogni divin poeta.
Amor s’è in lei con onestate aggiunto,
con beltà naturale, abito adorno
et un atto che parla con silenzio,
et non so che nelli occhi che ’n un punto
po far chiara la notte, oscuro il giorno,
e ’l mel amaro, et addolcir l’assenzio.
Now see in part my doubts all strangely new:
if some worth lives in me or ran its course,
if my soul’s free or held back in the wood.
215
In noble blood a quiet, humble life,
and high intelligence in a pure heart,
wisdom of age in flower of its youth,
with thoughtful aspect in a happy soul,
in her this lady’s planet has collected—
by King of stars, that is—and the true honor,
praises deserved, and the great worth, her value
enough to wear out any divine poet.
Love with her couples in her honesty,
with natural beauty and with gracious bearing,
with attitude that speaks out in its silence,
and something in her eyes which suddenly
can light the night and make the day turn dark,
make honey bitter and the wormwood sweet.
216
Tutto ’l dì piango; et poi la notte, quando
prendon riposo i miseri mortali,
trovomi in pianto et raddopiarsi i mali;
così spendo ’l mio tempo lagrimando.
In tristo umor vo li occhi consumando
e ’l cor in doglia; et son fra li animali
l’ultimo, si che li amorosi strali
mi tengon ad ogni or di pace in bando.
Lasso, che pur da l’un a l’altro sole
et da l’una ombra a l’altra ò già ’l più corso
di questa morte che si chiama vita!
Più l’altrui fallo che ’l mi’ mal mi dole,
ché pietà viva e ’l mio fido soccorso
vedem’ arder nel foco et non m’aita.
217
Già desiai con sì giusta querela
e ’n sì fervide rime farmi udire
ch’ un foco di pietà fessi sentire
al duro cor ch’ a mezza state gela,
et l’empia nube che ’l rafredda et vela
rompesse a l’aura del mi’ ardente dire,
o fessi quell’altrui in odio venire
che’ belli (onde mi strugge) occhi mi cela.
Or non odio per lei, per me pietate
cerco; ché quel non vo’, questo non posso,
tal fu mia stella et tal mia cruda sorte.
Ma canto la divina sua beltate
che quand’ i’ sia di questa carne scosso
sappia ’l mondo che dolce è la mia morte.
216
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All day I weep; and then at nighttime when
all miserable mortals stop to rest
I find myself in tears, my pains have doubled:
and so all of my time I spend in weeping.
With their sad moisture I wear out my eyes,
with grief my heart; among all living things
I rank the worst, because those loving arrows
forever keep me exiled from my peace.
Alas, for from one sun until another,
from one night to the next, I have already
run through most of this death which is called life!
More for her fault I grieve than for my ills,
for living pity, the help I placed my faith in,
can see me burn in fire and give no aid.
217
I wanted once by means of just complaint
and in such fervid verse to raise my voice
and set pity aflame and make it felt
in the hard heart that’s frozen in midsummer;
and break the cruel cloud cold and veiling it
with all the aura of my flaming words,
or make her hateful to all others, she
who hides those lovely eyes that make me melt.
Not hate for her, pity for me I seek;
I don’t want hate, and pity I can’t have;
such was my star, such my crude destiny.
But I shall sing of all her godlike beauty
so that when I am shaken from this flesh
the world will know how sweet a death was mine.
218
Tra quantunque leggiadre donne et belle
giunga costei ch’ al mondo non à pare,
col suo bel viso suol dell’altre fare
quel che fa ’l dì de le minori stelle.
Amor par ch’ a l’orecchie mi favelle,
dicendo: “Quanto questa in terra appare
fia ’l viver bello; et poi ’l vedrem turbare,
perir vertuti e ’l mio regno con elle.
“Come Natura al ciel la luna e ’l sole,
a l’aere i venti, a la terra erbe et fronde,
a l’uomo et l’intelletto et le parole,
“et al mar ritollesse i pesci et l’onde:
tanto et più fien le cose oscure et sole
se Morte li occhi suoi chiude et asconde.”
219
Il cantar novo e ’l pianger delli augelli
in sul dì fanno retentir le valli,
e ’l mormorar de’ liquidi cristalli
giù per lucidi freschi rivi et snelli.
Quella ch’ à neve il volto, oro i capelli,
nel cui amor non fur mai inganni né falli,
destami al suon delli amorosi balli,
pettinando al suo vecchio i bianchi velli.
Così mi sveglio a salutar l’aurora
e ’l sol ch’ è seco, et più l’altro ond’ io fui
ne’ primi anni abagliato et son ancora.
I’ gli ò veduti alcun giorno ambedui
levarsi inseme, e ’n un punto e ’n un’ora
quel far le stelle et questo sparir lui.
218
However many lovely, charming ladies
she finds around her, she who has no equal,
with her fair face she makes of all the others
what daybreak makes of all the lesser stars.
It seems that Love is whispering in my ear,
saying: “As long as she is on this earth,
life will be good; and then we’ll see it darkened
and virtues die and with them goes my realm.
If Nature took from the heavens sun and moon,
the wind from air, the grass and leaves from earth,
the intellect and words away from man,
and from the sea removed its fish and waves:
so much and more will things be dark, deserted,
were Death to come to close and hide her eyes.”
219
The new song sung and weeping of the birds
at break of day is echoed in the valleys
as is the murmuring of liquid crystal
that flows down through the clear, fresh, rapid streams.
The one whose face is snow, whose hair is gold,
whose love contained no failings or deceit,
awakens me to sound of loving dance,
combing her lover’s ancient fleece of white.
And so I wake to greet the dawn and sun
with her, and more that other sun which I
was dazzled by in youth and still am now.
Some days I’ve seen the two of them together
rising, and at the same time, instantly,
him make the stars, as she makes him, vanish.
220
Onde tolse Amor l’oro et di qual vena
per far due treccie bionde? e ’n quali spine
colse le rose, e ’n qual piaggia le brine
tenere e fresche, et die’ lor polso et lena?
onde le perle in ch’ ei frange et affrena
dolci parole oneste et pellegrine?
onde tante bellezze et si divine
di quella fronte più che ’l ciel serena?
Da quali angeli mosse et di qual spera
quel celeste cantar che mi disface
si che n’avanza omai da disfar poco?
Di qual sol nacque l’alma luce altera
di que’ belli occhi ond’ io ò guerra et pace,
che mi cuocono il cor in ghiaccio e ’n foco?
221
Qual mio destin, qual forza o qual inganno
mi riconduce disarmato al campo,
là ’ve sempre son vinto? et s’ io ne scampo,
meraviglia n’avrò; s’ i’ moro, il danno.
Danno non già, ma pro, sì dolci stanno
nel mio cor le faville e ’l chiaro lampo
che l’abbaglia et lo strugge e ’n ch’ io m’avampo,
et son già ardendo nel vigesimo anno.
Sento i messi di Morte ove apparire
veggio i belli occhi e folgorar da lunge;
poi s’ aven ch’ appressando a me li gire,
Amor con tal dolcezza m’unge et punge
ch’ i’ nol so ripensar, non che ridire,
ché né ’ngegno né lingua al vero agiunge.
220
Where did Love get the gold and from what mine
to make the two blond tresses? What thorns yielded
the roses, and what meadow gave its frost
tender and fresh, to grant them life and breath?
From where the pearls with which he breaks and tempers
sweet words so chaste, so extraordinary?
From where so many beauties so divine
upon that face more tranquil than the heavens?
And from what angels, from what sphere, did he
send that celestial singing that consumes me,
leaving little of me left to be consumed?
And from what sun was born the high, kind light
of those fair eyes declaring war and peace
that burn my heart in fire and in ice?
221
What fate of mine, what force or what deceit
is leading me, unarmed, back to the field
where I am always conquered? Should I escape
I’ll be surprised, and if I die, ashamed.
Not really shame, but gain; inside my heart
so sweetly are the sparks and the bright lightning
that stun, tormenting it—in it I blaze
and still am burning for the twentieth year.
I feel Death’s messengers when I see coming
those lovely eyes that sparkle from afar;
if she turns them toward me as she approaches,
Love with such sweetness wounds and cures my wounds,
I can’t recapture it, no less explain,
for neither wit nor tongue can touch the truth.
222
“Liete et pensose, accompagnate et sole,
Donne che ragionando ite per via:
ove è la vita, ove la morte mia?
perché non è con voi com’ ella sòle?”
“Liete siam per memoria di quel sole,
dogliose per sua dolce compagnia
la qual ne toglie invidia et gelosia
che d’altrui ben quasi suo mal si dole.”
“Chi pon freno a li amanti o dà lor legge?”
“Nessun a l’alma; al corpo, ira et asprezza;
questo or in lei, talor si prova in noi.
“Ma spesso ne la fronte il cor si legge,
sì vedemmo oscurar l’alta bellezza
et tutti rugiadosi li occhi suoi.”
223
Quando ’l sol bagna in mar l’aurato carro
et l’aere nostro et la mia mente imbruna,
col cielo et co le stelle et co la luna
un’angosciosa et dura notte innarro:
poi, lasso, a tal che non m’ascolta narro
tutte le mie fatiche ad una ad una,
et col mondo et con mia cieca fortuna,
con Amor, con Madonna et meco garro.
Il sonno è ’n bando et del riposo è nulla,
ma sospiri et lamenti infin a l’alba
e lagrime che l’alma a li occhi invia.
Vien poi l’aurora et l’aura fosca inalba,
me no; ma ’l sol che ’l cor m’arde et trastulla,
quel po solo adolcir la doglia mia.
222
“Happy yet sad, in company yet alone,
Ladies who walk along in conversation,
where is the life, where is that death of mine?
Why is she not with you as usual?”
“We’re happy to be thinking of that sun,
and sad that jealousy and envy takes
her lovely company from us and grieves
at another’s good as if at its own harm.”
“Who can hold lovers back or give them rules?”
“The soul, no one; the body, wrath and rigor;
you see it now in her, sometimes in us.
“Often the heart can be read through the face,
and thus we saw her lofty beauty darkened,
those eyes of hers all watery with dew.”