Era Marzo
Era marzo e 'o tiempo passava
Pisante arret' 'e lastre,
Nchiuvato mmiez'a l'ore i' rummanevo,
E tu me sapive vulè troppo bene.
Turnavo a casa e me sciacquavo
'A faccia, l'acqua era assaje fredda,
Me scetava comme 'o viento 'e fora,
E recitavo n'ata vota 'o nomme tujo.
Quanta primmavere se ne sò ghiute
E i' te canto 'e stesse canzone,
Ma mo nun 'e siente overamente
Ca nun nce staje chiù,
Nun è sulo ca faje nfenta 'e nun senti,
Tu int' 'a sti braccia nun può turnà.
È pisante 'o tiempo arret' 'e lastre.
It was March
It was March and time was passing
Heavily behind the window panes,
Fixed firmly between the hours I remained,
And you knew how to love me too much.
I was returning home and I rinsed
My face, the water was so cold,
It woke me like the wind outside,
I was reciting your name again.
How many springs have faded away
And I sing you the same songs,
But now you truly don't hear them
For you are no longer here,
It is not just that you pretend not to hear,
You in these arms can not return.
Time is heavy behind the window panes.
* 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.
