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490 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1320
Amore di lontananzaShe wrote it in 1929, when she was only seventeen. Nine years later, she was dead.
Ricordo che, quand'ero nella casa
della mia mamma, in mezzo alla pianura,
avevo una finestra che guardava
sui prati. In fondo, l'argine boscoso
nascondeva il Ticino e, ancor più in fondo,
c'era una striscia scura di colline.
Io allora non avevo visto il mare
che una sol volta, ma ne conservavo
un'aspra nostalgia da innamorata.
Verso sera fissavo l'orizzonte
socchiudevo un po' gli occhi. Accarezzavo
i contorni e i colori tra le ciglia:
e la striscia dei colli si spianava,
tremula, azzurra: a me pareva il mare
e mi piaceva più del mare vero.
Love of distance
I remember, when in my mother’s house,
in the middle of the plain, I had
a window that looked onto
the meadows; far off, the wooded bank
hid the Ticino and, further on,
there was a dark line of hills.
Back then I’d only seen the sea
one time, but preserved of it
a sharp nostalgia as when in love.
Towards evening I stared at the skyline;
narrowed my eyes a little; caressed
outlines and colours between my lids;
and the line of hills flattened out,
trembling, azure: and seemed the sea to me
and pleased me more than the real sea.
Midway this way of life we're bound upon,
I woke to find myself in a dark wood,
Where the right road was wholly lost and gone.
Ay me! how hard to speak of it—that rude
And rough and stubborn forest! the mere breath
Of memory stirs the old fear in the blood;
It is so bitter, it goes nigh to death;
Yet there I gained such good, that, to convey
The tale, I'll write what else I found therewith.
A long way round we had to navigate
Before we came to where the ferryman
Roared: 'Out with you now, for here's the gate!'
Thousand and more, thronging the barbican,
I saw, of spirits fallen from Heaven, who cried
Angrily: 'Who goes there? why walks this man,
Undead, the kingdom of the dead?' My guide,
Wary and wise, made signs to them, to show
He sought a secret parley. Then their pride
Abating somewhat, they called out: 'Why, so!
Come thou within, and bid that fellow begone—
That rash intruder on our realm below.
A place made dumb of every glimmer of light,
Which bellows like tempestuous ocean birling
In the batter of a two-way wind's buffet and fight.
The blast of hell that never rests from whirling
Harries the spirits along in the sweep of its swath,
And vexes them, for ever beating and hurling.
When they are borne to the rim of the ruinous path
With cry and wail and shriek they are caught by the gust,
Railing and cursing the power of the Lord's wrath.
Into this torment carnal sinners are thrust,
So I was told—the sinners who make their reason
Bond thrall under the yoke of their lust.
I thought I saw a shady mass appear;
Then shrank behind my leader from the blast,
Because there was no other cabin here.
I stood (with fear I write it) where at least
The shades, quite covered by the frozen sheet,
Gleamed through the ice like straws in crystal glassed;
Some lie at length and others stand in it,
This one upon his head, and that upright,
Another like a bow bent to feet.