In this first installment we're featuring the Neapolitan poetry of Pino Rispo and the Calabrian of Ciardullo (Michele De Marco).
Nun me voglio mai stancà
Di Pino Rispo
I’ scrivo sempe ‘a stessa storia,
D”a storia nosta
Chella senza gloria,
‘A fine ‘e nu regno dint’ ‘a l’anno...
D”o mille e ottuciento sissantuno,
Pecché ‘a vera storia pochi ‘a contano,
Chella d”e brigantii ‘e ‘sti poveri guagliuni,
Chille ca p’’e chistu regno....
Hanno cumbattuto,
I’ scrivo cu n’amarezza dint’ ‘o core,
Scrivo p’ ‘a patria mia,
Songo nu figlio ca vò bene ancora,
Songo nu figlio esiliato, stongo fora,
Ma nun me scordo ‘a patria,
Napule stá sempe cu mme,
‘A porto dint’ ‘o core,
Senza sapè, songo figlio ‘e l’unità!
E propio pè chesto ca me trovo ccá,
I’ scrivo e chiagno,
Comme ‘e primme iuorne...
‘E quarant’anne fà,
Ogge chiagno pe’ ‘st’amara verità,
E ‘a cuntà ‘sta storia...
Nun me voglio mai stancà,
Chiagno pe’ ‘stu populo...
Ca nun sape ancora...
Ca ha perzo ‘a libertà!
I never want to tire
By Pino Rispo
I always write the same story,
Of our history
The one without glory,
The end of a kingdom within a year...
Of the year eighteen hundred sixty,
Because few tell the real story,
That of the brigands and these poor boys,
Those who for this kingdom....
Had fought,
I write with a bitterness in my heart,
I write for my fatherland,
I’m a son who still loves,
I’m an exiled son, I’m abroad,
But don’t forget my fatherland,
Naples is always with me,
I carry her in my heart,
Without knowing, I’m the child of unification!
And exactly for that I find myself here,
I write and cry,
Like the first days...
Of forty years ago,
Today I cry for this bitter truth,
And of recounting this history...
I never want to tire,
I cry for this people...
That still doesn’t know...
That it lost its freedom!
Translated by Cav. Charles Sant’Elia
~
Nna Serenata…
Di Ciardullo (Michele De Marco)
Nna serenata, chilla serenata
Chi sai tu, chi sacc’io, sempre te cantu…
La luna, ianca s’è mpernata
Mienzu allu cielu, e ti lu fa nnu ncantu…
La iumarella abbasciu, guala guala,
Rúccula queta queta e chianu chianu…
Nnu riscignuolu canta a la sepala
E n’aútru lle rispunna cchiù luntanu…
Cum’è bella stasira sta campagna,
Cchi barsamu, Marì, cchi pumpusía!...
Chi ntinni ha sta chitarra chi accumpagna
Sta serenata chi cantu ppe tia…
II
Tu duormi ntra stu liettu ch’è fatatu,
Pecchì cce duormi tu, bellizza mia:
E ntra lu suonnu sienti appassionato
Jire lu nume tue: «Maria, Maria»…
E riesti ppe nna pica, ntantaviglia,
E nun te para no ch’io cantu fore;
Ma, ncantesimu nuovu e meraviglia,
Para ca si ccu mie core ntra core…
Pue sc-canti, te risbigli, sienti, riri,
E abbazi sutt’a tie lu cusciniellu;
Nun iati ppe me sentere, suspire,
E ntra li labra dici «Povariellu!»…
III
Povariellu… Lu sai ca nnu pensieru,
Unu surtantu rot antra ssa capu…
Tu sula me capisci ppe daveru,
Tu de le pene mie nun te fa’ gapu…
Quannu, bellizza mia, quannu, rispunna,
Trase la pace ntra ssu core mio?
Iamu sbattuti sempre cumu l’unna,
Nun riposamu mai nnè tu e nnè io…
Me pare de te sentere: «Ha ‘raggiune»…
Dici, e sienti le lacrime saglìre.
Fatte curaggiu, è l’urtimu scalune:
Ha de finire, bella, ha de finire!...
A Serenade
By Ciardullo (Michele De Marco)
A serenade, that serenade
That you know, that I know, I always sing to you…
The white moon has set itself
In the middle of the sky, and charms you…
The little stream below, uniformly,
Murmurs so quietly and so slowly…
A nightingale sings in the bush
And another answers him further off…
How beautiful is the countryside this evening,
So soothing, Maria, what majesty!...
What sounds has this guitar that accompanies
This serenade that I sing for you…
II
You sleep in this that is enchanted,
Because you sleep there, my beauty;
And in slumber you hear passionately
Reciting your name: «Maria, Maria»…
And you stay for a bit, between sleep and wakefulness,
And it doesn’t seem to you that it is I outside singing;
But, a new spell and wonder,
It seems you are heart to heart with me…
Then you give a start, you awake, you hear, laugh,
And raise the little pillow underneath you;
You don’t go to listen to me, you sigh,
And through your lips say, «Poor dear!»…
III
Poor dear… You know that a thought,
Only one turns round and round in my head…
Only you really understand me,
You are not surprised by my sufferings…
When, my beauty, when, will you respond,
Will peace enter this heart of mine?
We always go on thrashed about like the waves,
We don’t ever rest, neither you nor me…
I seem to hear you: «You’re right»…
You say, and you feel tears rising up.
Take courage, it is the last obstacle:
It shall end, beautiful one, it shall end!...
Translated by Cav. Charles Sant’Elia
* Self-published in 2010, Meridiunalata/Southernade is a treasury of poems gleaned from Cav. Sant'Elia's previous collections (Nchiuso dint''o presente, 'A cuntrora, and 'O pino e l'éllera), which were circulated among friends in New York City and Naples. Special thanks to Cav. Sant'Elia for allowing us to reprint his poetry and translations.
