I'm not ready to let Sibilla go just yet, y'all! I decided to translate another poem by her that is set on a hill, because who doesn't love a good hill? I think this is a very beautiful poem, and a slightly more difficult one to translate, so I played around with it a bit; I hope you will forgive me. This translation is a bit of a work in progress. The subject matter: a woman reflects on the wistful beauty of the city of Assisi, in Umbria, home to St. Francis, St. Clare and some stunning views. I love thinking of Sibilla Aleramo as a bit of a Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, just female and clever enough to wander in the spring and not the bloody foggiest time of year.
As usual, find the original Italian below. Buona lettura!
PS: I don't want to go all travel agency on you, but PLEASE go to Assisi if you ever get the chance. It really is a wistfully magical place.
FROM ASSISI
On the hill she stands,
Alone,
Facing this, silent knot of the world.
A wind descends silvery green.
She hears absent waters breathing.
She listens to Songs foolish and beloved,
They speak of the sources of smiles, of airy kisses,
Passing delights.
Alone, in the shifting light,
She holds them, almost ripe, in her arms or on her wings,
Sister and swallow,
So that we may lose nothing of our springs.
DA ASSISI
Sul colle una sta,
sola,
dinanzi a questo, nodo silente del mondo.
Vento scende verde d'argento.
Ode respiro d'assenti acque.
Cantici cari dissennati ascolta,
di sorrisi sorgivi, di baci ariosi,
volatili delizie,
e le tiene, quasi creature in grappolo,
sola ne lo svariar de le luci,
fra le braccia o tra l'ali,
rondine e sorella,
che nulla si sperda di nessuna primavera.
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