Caffè Gambrinus
With each visit to Naples,
I make my way to Caffè Gambrinus,
The old coffee house across from the Royal Palace.
I raise a quiet toast
To the poets and artists who gathered there before me.
Their ghosts linger in the Art Nouveau rooms,
Like old Gambrinus himself.
I sip my caffè, eat my sfogliatelle, and watch the crowd,
Summoning, for a moment,
The faded splendor of the Belle Époque.
Cafè Gambrinus
A ogne víseta a Nápule,
Vaco ‘o’ Café Gambinus,
‘O cafè antico ‘e rimpetto ‘o Palazzo Riale.
Faccio nu brínnese zitto zitto
‘E’ puete e artiste
Ca nce arrucchiájeno primm’’e mme.
‘E fantáseme lloro nce rummáneno
Int’’e sale stile liberty,
Comm’’o viecchio Gambrinus isso stesso.
Me piglio ‘o surzillo mio,
Me magno ‘e sfugliatelle, e tengo a mente ‘a folla,
Facenno turnà, pe nu mumento
‘O sbrannore appassulejato d’’a belle époque.
Stella
We met at the café, and I held the door for her.
She smiled; I nodded and said, “Good morning.”
Taking her order, the barista asks her name—Stella.
Her hair jet; her eyes dark, almond-shaped.
“Your usual?” he asks me—un caffé.
She lifts her cup and says only, “Good day.”
And so I wait, and wait again,
For another morning that might place Stella in my path.
Stella
Nce simmo ncuntrate ‘o’ café, e i’ tenevo aperta ‘a porta p’essa.
Surrideva; i’ capuzzejavo e dicevo, «bongiorno».
‘O barista, lesto a fà l’órdene, nce addimanna ‘o nomme- Stella.
‘E capille suoje curuvine; ll’uocchie nire, ‘amménnole.
«’O sóleto?» addimanna a mme- nu café.
Chella s’aíza ‘a tazzulella e dice sulo, «Bona jurnata».
E accussí i’ aspetto e aspetto ancora,
Pe n’ata matina ca me mettesse ccà annanze Stella.
* Translations by Cav. Charles Sant’Elia