Nu Frato
Frato mio bello ca cierte ntaglie
E sculture sapive fà,
Ca tu fusse ancora cà
Pe me disegnà nu poco ‘e vita,
Fuorze dint’a nu quatro
O na statolella o nu busto.
Ca i’ fosse pittore pe fà ‘o ritratto tujo
Ca siécule appriesso vedésseno
L’uocchie tuoje ch’hanno veduto sulo
Bellezza ncopp’’o munno.
‘A quanno ‘o Signore te pigliaje
Simmo nuje ‘e muorte
Senza ogge e dimane.
Papà se cagnaje ‘o nomme
Ca quanno ‘a gente ‘o chiammava
Isso te senteva ‘annummenà.
‘O’ sebburco tujo nun nce puteva
Manco méttere chelle léttere
Ca nce dicéveno alluccanno
Ca tu nun staje chiù int’’a sta casa.
A Brother
My handsome brother who knew how to make
certain carvings
And sculptures,
Would that you were still here
To design a little bit of life for me,
Perhaps a picture
Or a little statue or a bust.
Would that I were a painter to do your portrait
So that centuries later they’d see
Your eyes that saw only
Beauty in the world.
Since the Lord took you
We are the dead ones
Without today or tomorrow.
Papa changed his name
For when people called him
He heard your name being called.
Even on your grave He couldn’t put those letters
That said shouting to us
That you are no longer in this house.
* 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.
