Villa
Villa, piccerenella e abbandunata,
Addò pátemo arrecoglieva piérzeche e mile annurche,
Nisciuno chiù parla ‘e te,
Nu turrieno úmmele ca ‘a storia
Ha scurdato spisso ‘annummenà,
Ma tu rieste nzerrato int’a stu core mio,
‘A sola casa mia ncopp’’o munno, A
ddò i’ nun ce aggio maje pututo
Stà ‘e casa.
Forze pe chesto vaco giranno senza treva,
Senza ‘e me fremmà, senza ‘e campà,
Ca trovo ‘a vita sulo int’’e suonne
‘E n’ato, ca móreno a un’a uno,
E ca rummáneno comm’a chesta villa,
‘O riesto ‘e nu muro cà, nisciuno titto,
Ma ‘o cielo senza fine ca accumpare ‘o posto sujo.
Villa
Villa, so small and abandoned,
Where my father used to gather peaches and southern apples,
No one speaks of you,
A humble terrain that history
Has often forgotten to mention,
But you remain enclosed in my heart,
My only house in this world,
Where I could never
Be at home.
Perhaps for this reason I go wondering ceaselessly,
For I find life only in the dreams
Of another, that die one by one,
That remain like this villa,
The remnants of a wall here, no roof,
But the endless sky that appears in its place.
* 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.
