All morning I’ve had this Rain around me. Rudely, I kept on saying: Leave me alone! So it drew back, but soon there it was again as sad and loving as a little daughter. Rain. On my back. Stuck there like a wing. I reproached it: Here, you shameless, useless thing! Think of the tears of some market gardener and water the flowers. What do you find in me? Meanwhile a heatwave was burning everywhere which the rain ignored. And kept on until there were children whirling all around me as if I were some kind of water-sprinkler. Then I became crafty. Went in a cafe. Sat myself down at a quiet corner table. But there was the Rain again. Through the glass. Motioning towards me, like a beggar. So I went outside. And at once my face felt a wet slap. Immediately (sorry and bold together) the Rain licked my lips, smelling warm as a wet puppy. I must have looked stupid. As I tied a damp headscarf round my neck. The Rain sat splayed on my shoulders like a monkey. And the town was embarrassed by the whole thing. While the Rain was delighted to find me helpless. It tickled my ear gently with a child’s finger. And all the while everywhere else dried out. Except me. I was soaked to the skin.
( Transl. by Elaine Feinstein)
Tutto il giorno la pioggia non mi lascia. “Vattene!”, io le dico rozzamente; fa quattro passi indietro, poi, devota, mesta mi segue come una bambina. Come un’ ala, la pioggia alla mia schiena s’è incollata. “Vergognati!”, le dico; “L’ortolano t’ invoca lacrimando, corri dai fiori! Che hai trovato in me?” Intanto in giro regna un’ afa cupa; dimenticando ogni altra cosa al mondo, la pioggia è qui con me, mentre d’ intorno mi danzan i bambini, quasi fossi la macchina per innaffiare i prati. M’ infilo in un caffé, dentro una nicchia. Alla finestra, come un accattone, mi aspetta. Ed all’ uscita mi castiga con uno schiaffo umido sul viso; ma subito la pioggia audace e triste mi lascia sulle labbra un bacio fresco, che ha il profumo del cucciolo bagnato. Son buffa col mio fradicio scialletto legato al collo, mentre sulla spalla siede la pioggia come una bertuccia, e la città si turba; con un dito mi solletica un lobo. Tutto è secco. Io sola son bagnata fino alle ossa.
