Petrarch

by Mark Musa

risen to Heaven, left in that faithful dwelling

  its roots, from where with painful sounds somebody

  keeps calling out, but no one’s there to answer.

  319

  My days, swifter than any deer, have fled

  like shadows, and for me no good has lasted

  more than a wink, and few were those calm hours

  whose bittersweetness I keep in my mind.

  O wretched world, changing and arrogant,

  a man who puts his hope in you is blind:

  from you my heart was torn and now is held

  by one whose flesh and bones are turned to dust.

  But her best form, which still continues living

  and will forever live high in the heavens,

  makes me fall more in love with all her beauty;

  and as my hair is changing I think only

  what she is like today and where she dwells,

  what it was like to see her lovely veil.

  320

  Sento l’aura mia antica, e i dolci colli

  veggio apparire onde ’l bel lume nacque

  che tenne gli occhi mei, mentr’ al Ciel piacque,

  bramosi et lieti, or li ten tristi et molli.

  O caduche speranze, o penser folli!

  vedove l’erbe et torbide son l’acque

  et voto et freddo ’l nido in ch’ ella giacque,

  nel qual io vivo et morto giacer volli,

  sperando alfin da le soavi piante

  et da’ belli occhi suoi, che ’l cor m’ànn’ arso,

  riposo alcun de le fatiche tante.

  O’ servito a signor crudele et scarso:

  ch’ arsi quanto ’l mio foco ebbi davante,

  or vo piangendo il suo cenere sparso.

  321

  E’ questo ’l nido in che la mia fenice

  mise l’aurate et le purpuree penne,

  che sotto le sue ali il mio cor tenne

  et parole et sospiri anco n’elice?

  O del dolce mio mal prima radice,

  ov’ è il bel viso onde quel lume venne

  che vivo et lieto ardendo mi mantenne?

  Sol eri in terra, or se’ nel Ciel felice

  et m’ai lasciato qui misero et solo,

  tal che pien di duol sempre al loco torno

  che per te consecrato onoro et colo,

  veggendo a’ colli oscura notte intorno

  onde prendesti al Ciel l’ultimo volo

  et dove li occhi tuoi solean far giorno.

  320

  I feel the aura of old times, sweet hills

  I see appear where the fair light was born

  that kept my eyes, while it was Heavens pleasure,

  longing and glad, but now forlorn and wet.

  Oh short-lived hopes! The madness in our thoughts!

  The grass is widowed and the waters troubled,

  empty and cold the nest in which she lay,

  in which I live and would have liked to die,

  hoping to have at last from her kind feet,

  and from her lovely eyes that burned my heart

  a little rest from so much laboring.

  I served a lord who is both cruel and stingy:

  I burned as long as I could see my fire,

  now I am weeping for its scattered ashes.

  321

  Is this the nest where that phoenix of mine

  was born to wear her gold and purple feathers,

  and where she kept my heart under her wing

  and still elicits sighs and words from it?

  O primal root of my sweet malady,

  where is the lovely face that poured with light

  that kept me living, happy, while I burned?

  A sun on earth and happy now in Heaven?

  You left me here all wretched and alone,

  so always I return to that place grieving

  which I adore and honor for your sake;

  I see the black of night around those hills

  from where you made your final flight to Heaven

  and where your eyes would bring the daylight in.

  322

  Mai non vedranno le mie luci asciutte

  con le parti de l’animo tranquille

  quelle note ov’ Amor par che sfaville

  et Pietà di sua man l’abbia construtte.

  Spirto già invitto a le terrene lutte,

  ch’ or su dal Ciel tanta dolcezza stille

  ch’a lo stil onde Morte dipartille

  le disviate rime ài ricondutte:

  di mie tenere frondi altro lavoro

  credea mostrarte; et qual fero pianeta

  ne’nvidiò inseme, o mio nobil tesoro?

  chi ’nnanzi tempo mi t’asconde et vieta

  che col cor veggio et co la lingua onoro?

  E ’n te, dolce sospir, l’alma s’acqueta.

  323

  Standomi un giorno solo a la fenestra

  onde cose vedea tante et si nove

  ch’ era sol di mirar quasi già stanco,

  una fera m’apparve da man destra

  con fronte umana da far arder Giove,

  cacciata da duo veltri, un nero, un bianco,

  che l’un et l’altro flanco

  de la fera gentil mordean si forte

  che ’n poco tempo la menaro al passo

  ove chiusa in un sasso

  vinse molta bellezza acerba morte,

  et mi fe’ sospirar sua dura sorte.

  Indi per alto mar vidi una nave

  con le sarte di seta et d’or la vela,

  tutta d’avorio e d’ebeno contesta;

  e ’l mar tranquillo et l’aura era soave

  322

  Never with eyes that are not wet or mind

  that’s tranquil shall I hope to look upon

  those verses in which Love appears to sparkle

  and which the hand of Kindness has composed.

  Spirit unvanquished once by earthly strife,

  who now distills such sweetness from the heavens

  that you gave back my wandering poetry

  the style it had before Death cut it off,

  some other product of my tender leaves

  I hoped to show you. What cruel planet envied

  our union so, O noble treasure of mine?

  Who hides and takes you from me much too early,

  you whom I see by heart, honor by tongue?

  In you, sweet sigh, my soul finds its repose.

  323

  One day while at my window all alone,

  where I saw many and such strange things happen

  that merely looking at them made me weary,

  I saw a beast appear on my right side

  with human face to make Jove flare with love

  pursued by two swift hounds, one black one white,

  who dug their teeth so deep

  into both sides of such a noble beast

  that in no time they forced her to the pass

  where, trapped within the stone,

  untimely death then vanquished such great beauty,

  and I sighed from the sight of her harsh fate.

  Then out on the deep sea I saw a boat

  with silken ropes and sails made out of gold

  all wrought with ivory and ebony;

  the sea was calm, the breeze was gently blowing,

  e ’l ciel qual è se nulla nube il vela,

  ella carca di ricca merce onesta.

  Poi repente tempesta

  oriental turbò sì l’aere et Fonde

  che la nave percosse ad uno scoglio.

  O che grave cordoglio,

  breve ora oppresse et poco spazio asconde

  l’alte ricchezze a null’altre seconde!

  In un boschetto novo i rami santi

  fiorian d’un lauro giovenetto et schietto

  ch’ un delli arbor parea di paradiso;

  et di sua ombra uscian sì dolci canti

  di vari augelli et tant’ altro dilett
o

  che dal mondo m’avean tutto diviso.

  Et mirandol io fiso,

  cangiossi ’l cielo intorno, et tinto in vista

  folgorando ’l percosse et da radice

  quella pianta felice

  subito svelse, onde mia vita è trista,

  che simile ombra mai non si racquista.

  Chiara fontana in quel medesmo bosco

  sorgea d’un sasso et acque fresche et dolci

  spargea soavemente mormorando;

  al bel seggio riposto ombroso et fosco

  né pastori appressavan né bifolci,

  ma ninfe et muse a quel tenor cantando.

  Ivi m’assisi, et quando

  più dolcezza prendea di tal concento

  et di tal vista, aprir vidi uno speco

  et portarsene seco

  la fonte e ’l loco, ond’ ancor doglia sento

  et sol de la memoria mi sgomento.

  Una strania fenice, ambedue l’ale

  di porporavestita e ’l capo d’oro,

  vedendo per la selva altera et sola,

  veder forma celeste ed immortale

  prima pensai, fin ch’ a lo svelto alloro

  giunse ed al fonte che la terra invola.

  Ogni cosa al fin vola:

  and there was not a cloud to veil the sky;

  with rich and precious cargo she was laden.

  And then a sudden storm

  out of the East so shook the air and waters,

  the boat was shattered up against the rocks.

  Oh what oppressing grief:

  in short time crushed, and little space now hides,

  high riches that are second to no others!

  Within a youthful grove were flowering

  the boughs of a young, slender laurel tree

  that seemed to have been grown in Paradise;

  and from her shade there came so sweet a sound

  of different birds and so much other joy

  that it had cut me off from the real world.

  And as I stared at her

  the sky around her changed, and turning black

  it struck with lightning, and then by the roots

  that happy plant was torn

  up suddenly, and now my life is sorrow,

  for shade like this can never be regained.

  Inside that very grove a sparkling fountain

  sprang from a rock, and its fresh, loving waters

  it poured forth with a gentle murmuring.

  To that secluded place so fair and shady

  no shepherds and no boors would come, but only

  muses and nymphs singing to that clear flow.

  I sat down there, and while

  I took more sweetness from such harmony

  and from that sight, I saw a chasm open

  and sweep it all away,

  fountain and place, and I am still left grieving,

  and just the thought of it fills me with fear.

  A marvelous phoenix with both of its wings

  adorned in purple and its head in gold,

  I saw there in the woods, proud and alone.

  At first I thought it was a holy thing,

  immortal, till it reached the torn-out laurel

  and came upon the spring stolen away.

  All things rush to their end;

  chè mirando le frondi a terra sparse

  e ’l troncon rotto et quel vivo umor secco,

  volse in se stessa il becco,

  quasi sdegnando, e ’n un punto disparse,

  onde ’l cor di pietate et d’amor m’arse.

  Alfin vid’ io per entro i fiori et l’erba

  pensosa ir sì leggiadra et bella Donna

  che mai nol penso ch’ i’ non arda et treme,

  umile in sé, ma ’ncontra Amor superba;

  ed avea in dosso si candida gonna,

  si testa, ch’or et neve parea inseme,

  ma le parti supreme

  eran avolte d’una nebbia oscura.

  Punta poi nel tallon d’un picciol angue

  come fior coito langue

  lieta si dipartio, non che secura:

  ahi nulla altro che pianto al mondo dura!

  Canzon, tu puoi ben dire:

  “Queste sei visioni al signor mio

  àn fatto un dolce di morir desio.”

  324

  Amor, quando fioria

  mia spene e ’l guidardon di tanta fede,

  tolta m’è quella ond’ attendea mercede.

  Ahi dispietata Morte, ahi crudel vita!

  luna m’à posto in doglia

  et mie speranze acerbamente à spente;

  l’altra mi ten qua giù contra mia voglia,

  et lei che se n’è gita

  seguir non posso, ch’ ella no ’l consente.

  Ma pur ogni or presente

  nel mezzo del meo cor Madonna siede,

  et qual è la mia vita, ella se ’l vede.

  for, seeing all the leaves strewn on the ground,

  the trunk broken, those living waters dry,

  against herself she turned

  her beak, as if in scorn, and quickly vanished—

  pity and love then set my heart aflame.

  At last I saw through grass and flowers walking

  in thought a lady fair, so full of joy—

  to think of it sets me aflame and shaking—

  humble within herself, haughty to Love;

  and she had on a gown so very white,

  so woven that it seemed of snow and gold,

  but all the upper part

  of her was shrouded in a mist of dark.

  Then stung upon her heel by a small snake,

  as a cut flower withers,

  she left in joy and more than confident:

  ah, nothing but our tears last in this world!

  My song, you well may say:

  “These six visions just given to my lord

  have given him a sweet wish to know death.”

  324

  Love, when my hope was blossoming,

  the guerdon of such faithfulness as mine,

  taken from me was she who promised mercy.

  Ah Death that shows no pity, ah cruel Life!

  One fixes me in sorrow

  and kills my hopes before they have matured;

  the other holds me here against my will,

  and she who is now gone

  I cannot follow, Death will not allow.

  But still, always in presence

  in my heart’s very center sits Madonna,

  and she sees for herself what my life’s like.

  325

  Tacer non posso, et temo non adopre

  contrario effetto la mia lingua al core

  che vorria far onore

  a la sua donna, che dal Ciel n’ascolta.

  Come poss’ io, se non m’insegni, Amore,

  con parole mortaii aguagliar l’opre

  divine et quel che copre

  alta umiltate in se stessa raccolta?

  Ne la bella pregione onde or è sciolta

  poco era stato ancor l’alma gentile

  al tempo che di lei prima m’accorsi;

  onde subito corsi

  (ch’ era de l’anno et di mi’ etate aprile)

  a coglier fiori in quei prati dintorno,

  sperando a li occhi suoi piacer sì addorno.

  Muri eran d’alabastro e ’l tetto d’oro,

  d’avorio uscio, et fenestre di zaffiro

  onde ’l primo sospiro

  mi giunse al cor et giugnerà l’estremo;

  inde i messi d’Amor armati usciro

  di saette et di foco, ond’ io di loro

  coronad d’alloro,

  pur come or fusse, ripensando tremo.

  D’un bel diamante quadro et mai non scemo

  vi si vedea nel mezzo un seggio altero

  ove sola sedea la bella donna;

  dinanzi una colonna

  cristallina, et iv’ entro
ogni pensero

  scritto et for tralucea sì chiaramente

  che mi fea lieto et sospirar sovente.

  A le pungenti ardenti et lucide arme,

  a la vittoriosa insegna verde

  contra cui in campo perde

  Giove et Apollo et Polifemo et Marte,

  ov’ è ’l pianto ogni or fresco et si rinverde,

  giunto mi vidi, et non possendo aitarme

  preso lassai menarme

  ond’ or non so d’uscir la via né l’arte.

  325

  Silent I cannot be, but still I fear

  my tongue may not achieve my heart’s intent

  whose wish it is to honor

  its lady who is hearing us from Heaven.

  How can I, if you do not teach me, Love,

  with mortal words do justice to the work

  divine, concealed in high

  humility collected in itself?

  Not long had she been in the lovely prison

  from which she now is free, that gracious soul,

  when I first realized that she existed;

  and so quickly I ran—

  the April of my years and of that year—

  to gather flowers in the fields around

  and hoping, so adorned, to please her eyes.

  The walls were alabaster, the roof gold,

  the entrance ivory, sapphire the windows

  from where the first of sighs

  reached to my heart as will my very last,

  from where Love’s messengers burst forth all armed

  with flame and arrows, and whenever I

  think of them crowned in laurel

  again I tremble as if then were now.

  Within there could be seen a lofty throne

  of diamond squarely cut, without a fault,

  on which the lovely lady sat alone;

  in front of her a column

  crystalline where all of the thoughts inscribed

  inside of it shone through so brilliantly

  that often I was happy in my sighing.

  To the piercing, all aflame, and shining arms,

  and to that green ensign of victory

  against which in a battle

  Jove and Apollo, Polyphemus, Mars

  would lose, where tears are always fresh and green

  I saw that I had come, and helplessly

  I let myself be taken

  and have no way or means of getting out.

  Ma sì com’ uom talor che piange et parte

  vede cosa che li occhi e ’l cor alletta,