{"id":192,"date":"2012-05-15T14:47:33","date_gmt":"2012-05-15T21:47:33","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost:8888\/?page_id=192"},"modified":"2018-12-30T14:33:15","modified_gmt":"2018-12-30T22:33:15","slug":"after-dannuzio","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/pastis\/translations\/after-dannuzio\/","title":{"rendered":"Rain on Pines"},"content":{"rendered":"

Shh! On the verge<\/span>
\n of this thicket I hear<\/span>
\n no human words.<\/span>
\n The voices I hear
\n<\/span>emerge<\/span>
\n as droplets loom<\/span>
\n on leaves.<\/span>
\n Listen. Rain<\/span>
\n strewn from scattered clouds<\/span>
\n falls on brittle<\/span>
\n pods<\/span>
\n of tarmarind,<\/span>
\n on needles<\/span>
\n of scabrous pine,<\/span>
\n on myrtle divine.<\/span>
\n Rain wets the effulgent<\/span>
\n bloom<\/span>\u00a0of broom,<\/span>
\n fragrant tufts of juniper,<\/span>
\n our idyllic faces,<\/span>
\n our bare<\/span>
\n hands.<\/span>\u00a0Rain
\nsoaks<\/span>\u00a0the spare<\/span>
\n fabric with which our flesh<\/span>
\n is clad, thoughts here<\/span>
\n disclosed afresh,<\/span>
\n the alluring fable<\/span>
\n which deluded you,<\/span>
\n Hermione,<\/span>
\n now deluding me.<\/span><\/p>\n

Do you hear? Rain falls<\/span>
\n on lonely growth,
\n<\/span>its sound
\n<\/span>upon boughs both<\/span>
\n thick and sparse<\/span>
\n and various in the air.<\/span>
\n Listen. Cicada calls<\/span>
\n respond to this lament,<\/span>
\n their cry<\/span>
\n quelled neither by heat<\/span>
\n nor this ashen sky.<\/span>
\n The pine<\/span>
\n has one sound, myrtle<\/span>
\n another, juniper<\/span>
\n yet another, each<\/span>
\n an instrument<\/span>
\n ployed by numerous<\/span>
\n plangent fingers.<\/span>
\n Immersed in this choir<\/span>
\n we sylvan sprites<\/span>
\n live out similar,<\/span>
\n vital branching lives.<\/span>
\n And like a leaf<\/span>
\n your exalted<\/span>
\n face is soft<\/span>
\n with rain, the hair<\/span>
\n on your head as odorous<\/span>
\n as the lambent broom,<\/span>
\nO creature so earthly<\/span>
\n who bears the name:<\/span>
\n Hermione ….<\/span><\/p>\n

Listen, listen:
\n<\/span>the polyphony of
\n<\/span>cicadas in the air
\nbit by bit subsides
\nas weeping rain
\nswells into
\n<\/span>a plangent dirge
\nwhich emerges
\nfrom distant dark
\n<\/span>damp depths.
\nThat churr dwindles.
\nOnly a trembling
\nsostenuto hangs,
\n<\/span>wavers, swells,
\n<\/span>quavers, fades.
\nNot the sea\u2019s voice
\nbut the silver rain\u2019s
\n<\/span>cleansing thrum,
\nits patter’s timbre
\n<\/span>treble or bass
\ndepending on the leaves.
\nListen.\u00a0The daughter
\nof air\u00a0is hush
\nbut the\u00a0daughter
\nof distant silt,
\n<\/span>a frog, croaks
\n<\/span>from deep shadows
\n— who knows where,
\nwho knows where?
\nAnd rain falls
\non your lashes,
\nHermione ….<\/p>\n

Rain falls on
\n<\/span>your dark lashes,
\n<\/span>as if you weep,
\n<\/span>but from pleasure,
\ndrops almost of sap
\nseeping through bark.
\nFor the fresh scent\u00a0
\n<\/span>of life dwells within us,
\n<\/span>your heart
\n<\/span>an untouched peach
\n<\/span>within your breast,
\neyes within their lids
\nsprings stirring in grass,
\nteeth green almonds
\nin their sockets.
\nSo we pass from patch to patch,
\nnow bound, now not,
\ntenuous green
\nshoots\u00a0entangling our ankles,
\n<\/span>entwining our knees
\n— who knows where,
\nwho knows where?
\nAnd it keeps raining on
\nour idyllic\u00a0<\/span>faces, our bare
\n<\/span>hands. Rain soaks
\n<\/span>the spare
\n<\/span>fabric with which our flesh
\n<\/span>is clad,
\n<\/span>thoughts here
\ndisclosed afresh,
\nthe alluring fable
\nwhich deluded me
\n<\/span>and now deludes you,
\nHermione.<\/p>\n

(After Gabriele D’Annunzio. The original Italian can be found <\/span>
\nby searching for\u00a0La pioggia nel pineto<\/em>)<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Shh! On the verge of this thicket I hear no human words. The voices I hear emerge as droplets loom on leaves. Listen. Rain strewn from scattered clouds falls on brittle pods of tarmarind, on needles of scabrous pine, on myrtle divine. Rain wets the effulgent bloom\u00a0of broom, fragrant tufts of juniper, our idyllic faces, … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Rain on Pines”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

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