Three Translations of the Poet Pamela Proietti
Winter Ash
I
Giving you the missed day, the imperfections
of the case the symmetries the disorder the fusion
the minutes grown by feeding on them, blackberries
and red berries.
Holding you, the warm spot, a cover
for tired eyes and shrinking in
the closed corner waiting
timid, behind a timid smile.
Winter is a magic spell against this screen
chilled on the hand the silence
of the hours I would like the voice, instead
my head is resting on the left side
of your fantasies.
II
The season remains sealed
proud asphalt fields
sacrificed carelessness
to the ashes of the hours.
She moves awkwardly, she
disregards the age of days --
the slow animal burdened
in feverish substance lives.
Winter reveals itself, the peel
is the white light of snow:
she seeks him seeks him seeks him
If she falls
she pierces herself with his gaze.
Cenere d'Inverno
I
Donarti la giornata mancata, le imperfezioni
del caso le simmetrie il disordine l’amalgama
i minuti cresciuti imboccandoli, more
e bacche rosse.
Tenerti, il posto caldo, una coperta
per gli occhi stanchi e stringere
l’angolo chiuso aspettare
timida, dietro un timido sorriso.
L’inverno è malia in questo vetro
freddo sulla mano il silenzio
delle ore vorrei la voce, invece
ho la testa poggiata sul lato sinistro
delle tue fantasie.
II
Resta stretta la stagione
fieri campi d’asfalto
la noncuranza sacrificata
alla cenere delle ore.
Si muove storta, lei
disconosce l’età dei giorni —
l’animale lento che grava
nella febbrile sostanza vive.
L’inverno si pone, la buccia
è lume bianco di neve:
lo cerca lo cerca lo cerca!
Se cade
si trafigge col suo sguardo.
Shapes of Memory
And then you / are alive and conquer
the unsteady field of time chosen,
earthly hand – if it guides, it is yours
the algebra of names works.
Loving hand that preserves breaths –
indecipherable. Still. I don’t know how to cry.
Fear is an abyss of blooming poppies.
I can’t make ends meet. My hands –
and then I moved the sweetest shapes
from memory. The farewell – in the gaze
that day every event seemed unripe –
falls flat: I didn’t know how to read.
Forme di memoria
E dunque tu / sei viva e domini
l’infermo campo di tempo scelto,
mano terrena – se guida è la tua
l’algebra dei nomi che funziona.
Premurosa mano che preserva respiri –
indecifrabili. Ancora. Non so piangere.
Paura è una gola di papaveri in fiore.
Il lunario che non sbarco. Le mie mani –
e dunque muovevo forme dolcissime
di memoria. L’addio, nello sguardo
quel giorno ogni evento sembrava acerbo
malamente insorge: non sapevo leggere.
Lockdown
Now that the house belongs to you like
the desires that you most nurtured now it opens
a new truth takes anchor:
white walls, friendly voices, even
secure love, there is no doubt.
And outside the poetry of a crazy person is nothing more
than misunderstanding, a malfunctioning
of the ecosystem.
Now that the commercials teach us
how to stay connected, we are learning
verbs in docile letters to submit to
as they occur, if you want, as needed
we dream of each other.
Lockdown
Adesso che la casa ti appartiene come
i desideri che più coltivi ecco aprirsi
una nuova verità alla fonda:
i muri bianchi, le voci amiche, anche
l’amore certo, non v’è dubbio alcuno.
E fuori la poesia di un pazzo non è altro
che il fraintendimento, un malfunzionamento
dell’ecosistema.
Adesso che gli spot ci istruiscono su
come restare uniti, impariamo
i verbi in docili lettere da sottomettere
all’occorrenza, se vuoi al bisogno,
ci sogniamo.
Pamela Proietti's first book of poetry Il nome bianco was published by Gattomerlino Edizioni (Rome, Italy) in 2021. Her work has appeared in Asymptote, Columbia Journal, Belas Infíeis (Brazil), the Italian newspaper La Repubblica, in La nuova carne poetica, Vol.1 - della femmina intelligenza, in Il mare è poesia, and on the Lieto Colle and Grazia magazine websites. She has served as an editorial director at Metropolis Zero magazine where she oversaw the "Letters to the Director" section and wrote on the "Mind the Gap" page. Ms. Proietti collaborates with NiedernGasse magazine and the cultural association "House of Ink." She lives in Rome, Italy.
Donna Mancusi-Ungaro Hart is a graduate of Vassar College and received her Ph.D. in Romance Languages and Literatures from Harvard University. Her field of interest is Italian Studies, specifically Dante and Italian cinema. She was awarded the “Dante Prize” of the Dante Society of America and subsequently published Dante and the Empire (American University Studies, 1987). She taught Italian for several years at Rutgers University before managing public relations for a number of European companies in the U.S. Since 2005, she has been an instructor and translator of Italian for the University of Michigan. Her translations have recently appeared in Columbia Journal and Belas Infíeis (Brazil). She lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan (USA).
Stephen Eric Berry is a writer, filmmaker, composer, and a recipient of a Jule and Avery Hopwood Award at the University of Michigan. His poems and translations have appeared or are forthcoming in: Puerto del Sol, Tampa Review, Columbia Journal, Asymptote, The Mailer Review, and the Brazilian publications Belas Infíeis and Voz da Literatura. In 2017, he received a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities to be a visiting scholar at Amherst College. In 2020, he was a presenter in the MLA 2020 Roundtable sponsored by the Emily Dickinson International Society “Is Translation a Loaded Gun?" He lives in Chelsea, Michigan (USA).
The author wishes to thank Gattomerlino / Superstripes edizioni (Rome, Italy), the publisher of her first book Il nome bianco (2021), for graciously allowing the Italian versions of these poems to make an appearance here.