Francis Danby, The Deluge, 1840 One among many, I too a tree struck down by God’s flight. (Transl. by D. Foglia) Uno dei tanti, anch’io un albero fulminato dalla fuga di Dio. This is a personal translation. Please contact me if you know another English translation. Go back to album – G. Caproni
Claudio Filippini (b. 1953), After the rain It rained all night on summer’s memories. In the dark we left inside a mournful thundering of stones, standing on the banks we lifted torches to explore bridges, their danger. Pale at dawn we saw swallows on the lines soaked, still spying secret farewell nods – & ground-level …
Antonia Pozzi – Morte di una stagione / Death of a season Read More »
Erté (1892-1990), Blossom umbrella It snowed a lot on my destiny a pouring and happy rain as the one of saints. Any land would have been fine but the grandeur of madness was my biggest cult. In Turin I planted out secret roots I came up with a commandment which I have never obeyed and …
Alda Merini – Ha nevicato molto sul mio destino / It snowed a lot on my destiny Read More »
John William Waterhouse, Boreas, 1903 You said: death, silence, solitude, like love, life. Words of our provisional images. And the wind rose light each morning and the season colored with rain and iron passed over the rocks, over our mewed-up murmur of the damned. The truth is distant still. And tell me, man cleft upon …
Salvatore Quasimodo – Colore di pioggia e di ferro/Colors of rain and iron Read More »
Andrea Tavernier, Last drops, 1898 The rain’s already with us, tossing silent air. The swallows skim spent waters, close by the Lombard lakes, fly like gulls at little fish; beyond the garden enclosures, the scent of hay. Again a year is burned, without lament, without a cry upraised to win us – suddenly – a …
Salvatore Quasimodo – Già la pioggia è con noi/Already the rain is with us Read More »
Adolf Hiremy-Hirschl, Seaside cemetery, 1897 Day after day: the evil words and the blood and gold. I see in you, my fellow creatures, monsters of the earth. Pity has fallen at your sting and the gentle cross has left us. I can’t go back to my Elysium. At the sea’s edge and in the savaged …
Salvatore Quasimodo – Giorno dopo giorno/Day after day Read More »
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