SPESSO IL MALE DI VIVERE HO INCONTRATO
Spesso il male di vivere ho incontrato:
era il rivo strozzato che gorgoglia,
era l'incartocciarsi della foglia
riarsa, era il cavallo stramazzato.
Bene non seppi, fuori del prodigio
che schiude la divina Indifferenza:
era la statua nella sonnolenza
del meriggio, e la nuvola, e il falco alto levato
What's that, you may well ask? That is a poem by the great Italian poet, Eugenio Montale. Today's prompt from the good folk over at NaPoWriMo is to take a poem in a language you're not familiar with and "translate" it into English based on how the words look and sound.
The trick for this one is to find a short poem. A haiku would be nice, but they tend to be in languages that don't use the alphabet which would be really challenging. So I'm going to play with this eight-line poem I found by Montale.
Ready? Here goes:
Space is a Malady of Life — Ha! —A Contradiction
Space is a malady of life —ha! — a contradiction:
its aura is riveting, strong; gorgeous,
its aura carted off down into the foliage
behind; its aura caved in, stranded.
Benevolent, not insipid, fjords in a prodigious dell
it shuns divine indifference:
its aura a statue that knells somnolently
in the miraculous dell; and the nova, it is false, although it levitates.
So there. Done. Strange little exercise, this one.