come sospesi, e sogni di rovine A century ago, in early 1906, the fifty-year-old Giovanni Pascoli succeeded his ailing mentor Giosuè Carducci as Professor of Italian Literature at the University of Bologna, a position so prestigious it might as well have come with a laurel crown. Reblogged this on Paolo Ottaviani's Weblog. I knew not where, perhaps where heavy wholly submerged! It was, perhaps, a shadow I saw, a shadow roving Perhaps he heard by Giovanni Pascoli. Ed un cane uggiolava senza fine, I saw, and, on that sea that lacked both waves and beaches, echoing footsteps, neither slow nor quick, nulla ancora e nessuno, occhi, vedeste. shadow, bearing a bundle on its head. but I saw nothing, no one, looking back. I could only hear the distressed calls Pascoli uses numerous poetic elements which I have tried to respect and reproduce in the English version: Dantesque tercets (ABA BCB CDC); enjambments; personification (the visions and trees speak); metaphors; chiasmus (Asked/chiesero i sogni di rovine […] gli scheletri di piante chiesero/ asked” (vv. The father's assassination echoes in particular in one of his most popular poems, "La cavallina storna" . Change ), You are commenting using your Facebook account. Giovanni Pascoli had a tragic childhood, struck by the murder of his father and the early deaths of his mother, sister and two brothers, and the subsequent financial decline of the family. Fog (Giovanni Pascoli) Today's poem , Fog by Giovanni Pascoli (or a better Italian version ) reminds me of the fog that chokes Sacramento's streets some mornings. Io, forse, un’ombra vidi, un’ombra errante e più non vidi, nello stesso istante. But I suspect most translators of Italian poetry will continue to be drawn to the enormously seductive modernist period, with Pascoli remaining just beyond their gaze. Carducci would receive the Nobel later that year, but his grandiloquent neoclassicism had already given way to his student’s humbler, plainer style; the nineteenth century had given way to the twentieth. And I looked onto the valley: it was gone, This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. I stared into the valley: it was gone— birds in that invisible world strewn. ( Log Out / I saw—and no more saw, in the same instant. You look and all you see is fragmented pieces of a past life, the skeletons of trees and the ruins of solitary homes that dot the distance. And here and there I noticed, when I strained, the alien clamoring of small, wild voices:
Brock’s poetry has been featured in several anthologies, including Best American Poetry 2007. as if suspended, and visions of ruins At least in Italy. tutto! And here and there I noticed, when I strained, the alien clamoring of … E io laggiù guardai: Again, no: he does have an exquisite ear, but he’s not some Mallarmé pushing toward pure sound. Also By Giovanni Pascoli. non giungerà?
gray, with no waves, no beaches; all was one. E guardai nella valle: era sparito
Asked the visions of ruins: – Will A vast flat sea remained, gray, with no waves, no beaches; all was one. and no longer saw, at once, instantly. he ever come?
e, per il mar, senz’onde e senza lidi.
Is his poetry untranslatable because its virtues are inextricable from the materiality of its language? You listen and all you hear is cries, sometimes brief, sometimes incessant among the echoes of footsteps. and of silent hermitages.
And there my glance fell: Rhyme scheme: aba bcb Xcc dbd ebe fbf gbg chcXh Stanza lengths (in strings): 3,3,3,3,3,3,3,5, Closest metre: iambic pentameter Сlosest rhyme: rima Сlosest stanza type: tercets Guessed form: blank verse Metre: 1100010011 1001011101 1011110111 1111110111 010010001110 1111110111 11010100010 1001010100 010100101010 101101101001 1111110111 1111010111 1001110111 1010010111 … all of it! A vast flat sea remained, ( Log Out / nothing and no-one did you, my eyes, see. alternate, infinite. the alien clamoring of small, wild voices: Is he steeped in some strain of Italianicity that, like certain wines, simply doesn’t travel well? Chiesero i sogni di rovine: – Mai of the lost birds, the yelping of the stray,
November (Poem) The Fallen Oak (Poem)
translated by geoffrey brock Read the translator's notes I stared into the valley: it was gone— wholly submerged!
The mawkishness of several of his anthology pieces (“La cavalla storna” and “X Agosto” come to mind) may have, at one time, played better in Italy than elsewhere, but his best poems are free of that vice, and their unsettling mysteries can survive translation. the footsteps, neither near nor far away. Vidi, vocio di gridi piccoli e selvaggi; asked: – And who are you, who are never still?-. one come?” The skeletons of trees inquired: By Geoffrey Brock. ( Log Out / –. I stared into the valley: it was gone— wholly submerged! – The skeletons of trees Sommerso! His misfortune, and ours. birds that had lost their way in that vain land. I may have seen a shadow then, an errant Poem by Giovanni Pascoli. E c’era appena, qua e là, lo strano of birds lost, the whimpering of the dog, I had never seen much fog before I moved to California and it's such a phenomenon - it sits and obscures and eventually the sun does lift it. It was a vast still ocean, And a dog whimpering, incessant Born in Atlanta, Geoffrey Brock received an MFA from the University of Florida and a PhD from the University of Pennsylvania. But will he ever reach his goal? Giovanni Pascoli nacque il 31 dicembre del 1855 a San Mauro (oggi San Mauro Pascoli in suo onore) in provincia di Forlì all'interno di una famiglia benestante, quarto dei dieci figli - due dei quali morti molto piccoli - di Ruggero Pascoli, amministratore della tenuta La Torre della famiglia dei principi Torlonia, e di Caterina Vincenzi Alloccatelli. We also find reference to Dante’s Paradise: Cain with a ‘truss of thorns’ (fascio in testa) followed by his dog, (Canto XX from the second canto). 16-18); polysyndeton (and, and, neither, nor); antithesis (neither near nor distant […] neither measured nor hasty); assonance to reproduce the wild sounds in the fog (the /i:/ in vocio, gridi, piccolo, selvaggi –peal, brief, screeches); alliteration to accentuate the visions (the /s/ in sospesi, sogni, silenziosi –suspended, visions, silent); paronomasia (peste/preste and alterne/eterne to reproduce the sound of footsteps – pace, haste, alternate, infinite). Change ), You are commenting using your Google account. And there was just, here and there, the alien of ruins and of the hermit’s hidden reaches. All that remains are the cries. Though Pascoli soon lapsed into the role of “national poet,” he had by then produced a major body of innovative work, one that has been read, studied, and passionately debated ever since.
All poems are shown free of charge for educational purposes only in accordance with fair use guidelines. It is a valley over which a uniform, grey ocean extends, an ocean that floods, submerges everything and everyone.
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Numerous translations of this poem exist and can be found on the internet. grey, without waves, without shores, uniform. In The Fog. The reveries of ruins asked: “Will no Nella nebbia Giovanni Pascoli E guardai nella valle: era sparito tutto!
né seppi donde, forse a certe péste A vast flat sea remained, gray, with no waves, no beaches; all was one. Learn how your comment data is processed. as if suspended, and the reveries
And here and there I noticed, when I strained, grigio, senz’onde, senza lidi, unito.
And high above, the skeletons of beeches, peal of brief and feral screeches; His poetic moment—the last decade of the Italian nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth—is not a sexy one, nor was he part of a movement with a catchy name. Despite his stature there, he remains obscure in English. Era un gran mare piano I stared into the valley: it was gone— wholly submerged! And a dog yelped and yelped, as if in fear, If we have inadvertently included a copyrighted poem that the copyright holder does not wish to be displayed, we will take the poem down within 48 hours upon notification by the owner or the owner's legal representative (please use the contact form at http://www.poetrynook.com/contact or email "admin [at] poetrynook [dot] com"). Post was not sent - check your email addresses!
And in the sky, skeletons of beeches, Nella nebbia/In the fog by Giovanni Pascoli, Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License, Follow parallel texts: words reflected on WordPress.com, Gianni Rodari: La favola più corta/ The shortest tale, stracci sulle ginocchia/rags on knees by Giancarlo Majorino, Gianni Rodari: La testa del chiodo/ The head of the nail, Antonio Gramsci: The mouse and the mountain (a tale about determination), Il cielo è di tutti/The sky belongs to everyone by Gianni Rodari, Gianni Rodari: Filastrocca solitaria/ Solitary rhyme, Gianni Rodari: Il dittatore/ The dictator. All I could hear were the uneasy screeches Though Pascoli soon lapsed into the role of “national poet,” he had by then produced a major body of. alternating, eternal. Pascoli asks himself what life is. Man is but a shadow in that fog, appearing, disappearing.
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