Six Days Post-NaNoWriMo.  At some point on November 30th, I decided that it was time to stop.

Fifty thousand words or not, I had accomplished what I had set out to do.  That is, to begin putting on ‘paper’ the story that has been playing itself out in my mind for some time now.  True, the story is on a bit of a pause currently, because life has called me to pay it some attention.

It’s time to devote myself to the other aspects of my life: school, relationships, other hobbies…health. 😉 So, how am I feeling?  Pretty good.  I am excited for the next step.  I recognized something very important through doing the NaNoWriMo process.I recognized, about half-way through, that I was telling my story from the wrong narrative point of view.  Thus, I am looking forward to the process of reworking the story in the new point of view.  Luckily enough for me, I begin my winter break next Thursday.  🙂

Beyond NaNoWriMo, I have been thinking about the nature of translating poetry, and working on translating some poems by Italian poet, Mario Tornello…and trying to come to some conclusions about Donald Antrim’s Elect Mr. Robinson for a Better World.  Either way, I have been having fun stepping outside of my own narrative world, and entering into the minds of other writers.

It is an understatement to write that I love the poetry of Mario Tornello.  I am not quite certain how to describe exactly how reading and exploring his poetry impacts me.  Like all works of literary art, Tornello’s poetry will be appreciated by only some, who have taken the time to read it.  I hope that some English speakers/readers will come to know this poet and to take an interest in his life and his work (both literary and artistic). Below are three of Tornello’s poems, Parlerò di te, Dopo il silenzio, and T’aspetterò a Venezia from A Braccia Aperte.

Parlerò di te

Parlerò di te
che mi riconosci il passo
sui mattoni di cotto,
di te che rubi sulla mia pelle
pensieri rappresi, sospesi tra due cieli;
di te, dei tuoi spenti desideri
ormai chiusi in arcani pensieri.
Di te che ho voglia di dire
e di sentire curiosità sopite,
di te che mi sfuggi
come un sabato che se ne va.
Parlami, perché io varchi la tua soglia
sotto l’ibisco che accende lanterne rosa
tra giardini a mare.
Stringi tra le tue dita
di cristallo d’arte
queste mani che ti dicono
quale luogo profondo
hanno scavato tra le mie carni.
E tutto si perde
nella sofferenza dell’attesa,
nelle parole pronunciate e spente
a fil di labbra
nella palude delle idée
dove ritrovare se stessi
è come avere un poker tra le mani.

—

I will speak of you

I will speak of you
who recognizes me by footsteps
on terracotta bricks,
of you who steals unto my skin
thoughts congealed, suspended between two skies;
of you, of your spent desires—
by now closed in arcane thoughts.
Of you to whom I have a desire to speak,
and to feel slumbering curiosity;
of you who escapes me
like a Saturday that goes away.
Speak to me, because I am crossing your threshold
under the hibiscus that turns on the pink lanterns
between the gardens until the sea.
Grasp between your fingers
of crystal art,
these hands that, to you, say
which profound place
they have dug within my flesh.
And all that one loses
in the suffering of waiting,
in the words pronounced and spent
on the edge of lips,
in the quagmire of ideas,
where retrieving oneself
is like having a poker hand.

—

 

Dopo il silenzio

Dopo il silenzio,
quando torneranno i cani della tristezza
a mordermi l’anima
ed i frammenti della memoria
s’alzeranno come levrieri di fumo
ad esplorare il bosco della mente,
Ti dirò con l’ultimo fiato del girono
quanto vorrei riascoltare
la tua voce di cristallo
come respiro del passato
e il tuo passo breve, indolente,
di chi vuol consumare la sua ombra;
e tu che non ami più le lunghe estati
e credi che il mare sia soltanto acqua,
prefersci, oggi, attraversare I campi dell’anima
insanguinati dai papaveri.
I danni del tempo
stamperanno presto sul vetro del cielo
schegge folli di immagini liete
a rovistare nelle grigie rovine
della nostra memoria.
—

After the silence

After the silence,
when the dogs of sadness return
to bite into my soul
and the fragments of memory
rise like greyhounds made of smoke
to explore the forest of the mind,
I will say to you with the last breath of day
how much I would like to once again hear
your voice of crustal
like a respite of the past,
and your brief step, indolent,
that longs to consume shadows;
and you who no longer loves the long summers,
and you who believe that the sea is only water,
you prefer, today, to cross the fields of the soul
bloodied by poppies.
The damages of time
will quickly stamp unto the glass of the sky
wild shards of joyous images
to rummage through the grey ruins
of our memory.

—

T’aspetterò a Venezia
Se verrai ad occhi aperti
nel bosco delle mie idee,
tra i rovi dei miei affani,
ritroverai brani del nostro tempo
tra echi senza fine.
Non toccherò piu il tuo cuore
e resterò come barca senza scia
in brandelli di mare
dove annega l’anima.
T’aspetterò a Venezia
nel vivido silenzio che parla,
dove alitano soltanto sospiri d’anima,
dove il tempo è fermo lì
e vaga tra solchi di merletti di marmo.
Se verrai,
chiuderemo il nostro libro di promesse
nella malinconia di un crepuscolo
e saremo soltanto di noi.
—

I will wait for you in Venice

If you will come with open eyes
into the forest of my ideas,
among the thorns of my worries,
you will retrieve fragments of our time
between endless echoes.
I will no longer touch your heart
and I will rest like a boat without wake
in a sea of fragments
where the soul drowns.
I will wait for you in Venice,
in the vivid silence that speaks,
where only the whispers of the soul breathe,
where time has stopped them
and wanders now through ruts made of marble lace.
If you will come
we will close our book of promises
in the melancholy of twilight
and we will be only ourselves.

Hope you enjoyed reading them.  Any comments or suggestions about how to better interpret these poems are absolutely welcomed.

Until Next Time!

Best,

D.