Poetry Reading Group Redux- Nominations

[Paulclem]

Which poem do you want to do? I'm quite happy to do any.

[quasimodo1]

How about "Saturday in the Village"? ... Giacomo Leopardi



from Leopardi, Selected Poems
translated by Eamon Grennan
from Translator's Introduction, "Attempts and Preludes"
p.xxi

{The vagaries of translation are infinite: it all boils down to choices, to chosen solutions to essentially insoluble problems. What is asked of the responsible translator, I imagine, is a willingness to live a double life, to be committed in equal measure to two realities-- the original poem, in its extraordinarily complex, integrated, and delicately orchestrated network of connections, and the poem the translator wants to write in his or her own language, which will be slowly pieced together until, with all its limitations, it possesses of life as equal to the whole life of the original as, for he moment, seems possible. In the end-- as has been said about poems in general-- a translation is "not finished but abandoned." To a French admirer who, in 1836, described him as "le poete de tous les hommes qui sentent," Leopardi replied: "je n'ai jamais fait d'ouvrgae, j'ai fait seulement des essais en comptant toujous preluder." Whatever about his own poems, it is surely the case that any translations of them can be no more than "attempts" and "preludes," which is how I would see the following versions (versions, I should add, which have already undergone some revisions for this American edition). …….. Since human existence itself is often felt to be irremediably dualistic, the task of translation, as I have described it above, may become (playfully or seriously) its own revealing metaphor for the divided nature of our lives.}

[LitNetIsGreat]

How about "Saturday in the Village"? ... Giacomo Leopardi

Yes, why not?

[Paulclem]

Yes, why not?

So it's "Saturday in the Village" is it.

Have you seen the Yorkist version Neely?

Sat'di in t' village.

Good job wee'v me an' thee t' translate it tha nos. Else wi'd bi fair stuck 'n all.
Just 'ow wud wi manage?

[quasimodo1]

from Leopardi, Selected Poems
translated by Eamon Grennan

SATURDAY IN THE VILLAGE

Just at that hour when the sun is setting,
The young girl comes in from the fields
With an armful of fresh grass
And a little bunch of violets and wild roses
To bind in her hair
And pin at her breast
Tomorrow, as she does every Sunday.
On her own front steps the old woman
Sits spinning with her neighbors,
Facing the sun as it sinks in the west.
She prattles on about the good old days
When she too would dress up for Sunday.
And how-- still quick and trim--
She'd dance the evening away
With all those boyfriends she had
In her shining youth. Already
Dusk is thickening the air,
The sky turns deep blue, shadows
Stretch from the hills and tilting roofs
In the blanched light of the rising moon.
And now the pealing bell tells us
Tomorrow is Sunday.
And at that sound you'd say
The heart took comfort.
Dashing all over the little piazza
And shouting their heads off,
A flock of boys makes a happy racket,
While the farmhand goes home whistling
To his bit of supper,
Thinking about his day of rest.
{first stanza}

[Paulclem]

from Leopardi, Selected Poems
translated by Eamon Grennan

SATURDAY IN THE VILLAGE

Just at that hour when the sun is setting,
The young girl comes in from the fields
With an armful of fresh grass
And a little bunch of violets and wild roses
To bind in her hair
And pin at her breast
Tomorrow, as she does every Sunday.
On her own front steps the old woman
Sits spinning with her neighbors,
Facing the sun as it sinks in the west.
She prattles on about the good old days
When she too would dress up for Sunday.
And how-- still quick and trim--
She'd dance the evening away
With all those boyfriends she had
In her shining youth. Already
Dusk is thickening the air,
The sky turns deep blue, shadows
Stretch from the hills and tilting roofs
In the blanched light of the rising moon.
And now the pealing bell tells us
Tomorrow is Sunday.
And at that sound you'd say
The heart took comfort.
Dashing all over the little piazza
And shouting their heads off,
A flock of boys makes a happy racket,
While the farmhand goes home whistling
To his bit of supper,
Thinking about his day of rest.
{first stanza}

This is a good choice Quasimodo. The Nichols translation is slightly different.

The country girl is coming from the fields
Before the sun has set.
Her head is balancing trussed hay, her hand
A bunch of blooms, the rose, the violet,
Which she intends to put
(Tomorrow's holy day
Demands such great display) on breast and hair.
With all her neigbours near
The old crone settles on the steps to spin,
Facing the quarter where the sun goes down;
She spins the story of her own best days,
Of dressing as she did for holy days,
Lovely and lively then.
And dancing all the night away with those
Who were companions of her happy time.
The air begins to gloom,
Sky turns a deeper blue, the shades return
That hills and roofs project
Against the whiteness of the risen moon.
The bell shrills out to signal
The coming holy day
And at that sound you'd say
The heart was comforted.
The small boys crowd arnd shout
Throughout the tiny square,
They crowd and leap about,
They leap about and cheer.
Meanwhile returning to his frugal meal
The whistling labourer
Thinks happily about his day of rest.

[quasimodo1]

I'm comparing the two versions; is there a third translation amongst the texts used here? {The Leopardi Palace}

The Leopardi Palace in Recanati faces the square which takes it’s name from the famous poem “Saturday In The Village”. http://www.giacomoleopardi.it/engl/palazzo.htm

[Virgil]

Great! Quasi is one who takes the bull by the horns. I'll get reading it tonight.

[Virgil]

Hmm, no on e has started. So let me start.

I really enjoyed this poem, very lovely. Though the poem has Saturday in its title it is more about Sunday than Saturday. Leopardi creates a wonderful anticipation for a Sunday sabbath, a day of rest, with the closing of Saturday chores: the young woman concluding her farm duties, the carpenter working late, the sun setting. The heart of the poem, the thematic core is this:

And now the peeling bell tells us
Tomorrow is Sunday,
And at that sound you'd say
The heart took comfort.
ll 21-24.

There's more goining on but I'll leave it at that for now.

I must say that the Grennan translation did a horrid job with this line: "Everybody going back in his mind/To the daily grind." "To the daily grind?" Gosd what an awful cliche.

[Paulclem]

Thanks Virgil for getting us going. I must say I like the Nichols version better in the exract. I can't comment on the translation process, but it seems more sucessful as a poem.

The flavour I'm getting in the poem is an abundance of death motifs that lie within he images.

The old crone settles on the steps to spin,
Facing the quarter where the sun goes down

For example we move from the young girl to the old crone - her future, and the crone is facing her sun going down. I get this through the poem - or am I just being morbid?

[LitNetIsGreat]

Yes I like the Nichols version of this poem too. I've not had time to comment on the poem yet as I've been very busy all day back stage of the Crucible and Lyceum theatres, meeting actors, directors and executives etc, etc - such a bore, ha, ha, though I do like it I think it is a very subtle and evocative piece. I promise I'll share some thoughts late tomorrow or Sunday when I have the time. Good choice of second poem.

Edit: Oh, no I don't think you are being morbid necessarily. For me he clearly evokes the passing of time changing from the youth to the older figure, but I don't find it too dark as I recall (the book is downstairs?) rather a sort of subtle knowing. I like how there is no real central character in this poem, what we are presented with are groups of individuals from different perspectives building to create a picture as a whole. Must go.

[Virgil]

Thanks Virgil for getting us going. I must say I like the Nichols version better in the exract. I can't comment on the translation process, but it seems more sucessful as a poem.

The flavour I'm getting in the poem is an abundance of death motifs that lie within he images.

The old crone settles on the steps to spin,
Facing the quarter where the sun goes down

For example we move from the young girl to the old crone - her future, and the crone is facing her sun going down. I get this through the poem - or am I just being morbid?

Thanks Paul. It seems like the Nichols is more accurate for sure. To be honest, I can't say i see the death motifs, at least not in this Grennan translation, unless one is seeing the setting sun and the closing of the day as a suggestion of death. I do see the contrast between young and old (young girl/old woman, the young lad/carpenter) . I was eventually going to mention that. I also see the contrast between the industrious and those that dally about. The young girl has been working in the fields and the carpenter is hard at work, while the old woman is just hanging out and bull sh*tting and the boy is "larking about." Interesting how it's the young girl and the older man that are industrious and their opposites that are indolent.

There is a tremendous scope here, from youth to age, from male to female, from laboring to playing, from retrospecting to future hopes. He's capturing the full extent of life.

Perhaps you're right. This scope does suggest a passing of time, and generational transitions, and so death. The work of life has been done, and next will come the heavenly peace, suggested of Sunday.

But that second to last stanza does state a future work week, and not the passing of life. I can see how death is suggested, but it's really muted, and the panorama of life goes on.

[Wilde woman]

Would it be possible for quasimodo or someone else to post the poem in its original Italian? I'd be interested in seeing/commenting on it.

[Virgil]

Would it be possible for quasimodo or someone else to post the poem in its original Italian? I'd be interested in seeing/commenting on it.

Ask and you shall have. The Italian is on line. I bet all his poems in Italian are on line given that he published 200 years ago and there are no copywrite laws. Here's the Italian:

"Il sabato del villaggio"
by Giacomo Leopardi

La donzelletta vien dalla campagna
in sul calar del sole,
col suo fascio dell'erba; e reca in mano
un mazzolin di rose e viole,
onde, siccome suole, ornare ella si appresta
dimani, al dí di festa, il petto e il crine.
Siede con le vicine
su la scala a filar la vecchierella,
incontro là dove si perde il giorno;
e novellando vien del suo buon tempo,
quando ai dí della festa ella si ornava,
ed ancor sana e snella
solea danzar la sera intra di quei
ch'ebbe compagni nell'età piú bella.
Già tutta l'aria imbruna,
torna azzurro il sereno, e tornan l'ombre
giú da' colli e da' tetti,
al biancheggiar della recente luna.
Or la squilla dà segno
della festa che viene;
ed a quel suon diresti
che il cor si riconforta.
I fanciulli gridando
su la piazzuola in frotta,
e qua e là saltando,
fanno un lieto romore;
e intanto riede alla sua parca mensa,
fischiando, il zappatore,
e seco pensa al dí del suo riposo.

Poi quando intorno è spenta ogni altra face,
e tutto l'altro tace,
odi il martel picchiare, odi la sega
del legnaiuol, che veglia
nella chiusa bottega alla lucerna,
e s'affretta, e s'adopra
di fornir l'opra anzi al chiarir dell'alba.

Questo di sette è il più gradito giorno,
pien di speme e di gioia:
diman tristezza e noia
recheran l'ore, ed al travaglio usato
ciascuno in suo pensier farà ritorno.

Garzoncello scherzoso,
cotesta età fiorita
è come un giorno d'allegrezza pieno,
giorno chiaro, sereno,
che precorre alla festa di tua vita.
Godi, fanciullo mio; stato soave,
stagion lieta è cotesta.
Altro dirti non vo'; ma la tua festa
ch'anco tardi a venir non ti sia grave.

http://www.filosofico.net/leopardidifestaa.htm

Also, you can hear it read on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q2Tih-bjIGg

[quasimodo1]

"Already
Dusk is thickening the air,
The sky turns deep blue, shadows
Stretch from the hills and tilting roofs
In the blanched light of the rising moon." This poem is all about an evening's ambience and atmosphere; Leopardi's usual inclusion of suffering and death and indifferent, hostile nature are absent. The poem, like the relief of a relaxed Saturday evening, is a break from Leopardi's heavier observations. In my reading, the Nichols version lacks the clarity of Grennon's translation. "Of all the seven days in the week
This one gets the warmest welcome,
Full of hope, as it is, and joy.
Tomorrow the hours will be leaden
With emptiness and melancholy." As Virgil suggests, themes of death are muted; the backround sounds and sights of the village at peace are presented and the only dark themes are for other days of the week.