Quiete

August 1, 2009

Quiete
[poem by Giuseppe Ungaretti; translation by Dan Stone]

L’uva è matura, il campo arato,

Si stacca il monte dalle nuvole.

Sui polverosi specchi dell’estate
Caduta è l’ombra,

Tra le dita incerte
Il loro lume è chiaro
E lontano.

Colle rondini fugge
L’ultimo strazio.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Quiet

The grapes are ripe, the field plowed,

The mountain emerges from the clouds.

The shadow has fallen
Across the dusty mirrors of summer,

Between uncertain fingers
Their light is pale
And distant.

With the swallows escapes
The final anguish.

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