“A sweet afternoon of winter” by Carlo Betocchi, Italian poet, is one of the most beautiful poets I have ever read. It is as sweet as an infancy dream, in the same purity and sincerity.
Carlo Betocchi was born in Turin in 1899 and moved to Florence as a child. Apart from the hermetics and post-war experimentalisms of his time, Betocchi developed his own scabrous and religious voice and with Piero Bargellini he founded the Catholic-oriented magazine Il Frontespizio. Betocchi is the author of several poetry collections including L’Estate di San Martino (Summer of Saint Martino), Un Passo un altro passo (A Step, Another Step), Prime e Ultimissime (First and Last Ones), and Poesie del Sabato (Sabbath Poems). His collected works, Tutte Le Poesie, was published in 1984. Betocchi died in Bordighera in 1986 and he is considered to be one of the major Italian poets of the twentieth century.
Carlo Betocchi was born in Turin in 1899 and moved to Florence as a child. Apart from the hermetics and post-war experimentalisms of his time, Betocchi developed his own scabrous and religious voice and with Piero Bargellini he founded the Catholic-oriented magazine Il Frontespizio. Betocchi is the author of several poetry collections including L’Estate di San Martino (Summer of Saint Martino), Un Passo un altro passo (A Step, Another Step), Prime e Ultimissime (First and Last Ones), and Poesie del Sabato (Sabbath Poems). His collected works, Tutte Le Poesie, was published in 1984. Betocchi died in Bordighera in 1986 and he is considered to be one of the major Italian poets of the twentieth century.
Carlo Betocchi
Un dolce pomeriggio d'inverno
un dolce pomeriggio d'inverno, dolce
perchè la luce non era più che una cosa
immutabile, non alba nè tramonto,
i miei pensieri svanirono come molte
farfalle, nei giardini pieni di rose
che vivono di là, fuori del mondo
come povere farfalle, come quelle
semplici di primavera che sugli orti
volano innumerevoli gialle e bianche,
ecco se ne andavan via leggiere e belle,
ecco inseguivano i miei occhi assorti,
sempre più in alto volavano mai stanche.
tutte le forme diventavan farfalle
intanto, non c'era più una cosa ferma
intorno a me, una tremolante luce
d'un altro mondo invadeva quella valle
dove io fuggivo, e con la sua voce eternal
cantava l'angelo che a Te mi conduce.
ترجمه به فارسی:
یک بعد از ظهر شیرین زمستان
یک بعد از ظهر شیرین زمستان، شیرین
زیرا دیگر نه نور تغییر ناپذیر بود
نه طلوع، نه غروب
افکار من ناپدید شدند همچون پروانه های انبوه
در باغ های پر از گل سرخ
که آنجا زندگی می کنند، بیرون از دنیا
همچون پروانه های بینوا،
همچون پروانه های ساده ی بهار که روی باغچه ها
پرواز می کنند بی شمار، زرد و سفید
آنجا، پروانه های سبک و زیبا رفتند
چشمان مجذوبم را دنبال می کردند
هر چه بیشتر اوج می گرفتند بدون احساس خستگی
همه ی شکل ها در یک لحظه تبدیل به پروانه می شدند
دیگر چیزی ثابت در اطراف من وجود نداشت
نوری لرزان از دنیایی دیگر
فراگرفته بود وادیی را
که من از آن می گریختم، و فرشته ای با صدای آسمانی اش
که مرا به سوی تو می برد، آواز می خواند
Translated into English:
A sweet afternoon of winter
A sweet afternoon of winter, sweet
Because the light was not an immutable thing anymore,
Neither dawn nor sunset,
My thoughts vanished like many
Butterflies, in the gardens full of roses
That they live here, outside of the world
Like poor butterflies, like those
Simple butterflies of spring that fly on the gardens
Innumerable yellow and white
Here, they left way light and beautiful,
They chased my absorbed eyes here,
More and more flew up but never tired.
All the forms became butterflies
At the same time, there was not more a firm thing
Around me, a trembling light
Of another world invaded that vale
Where I escaped, and with his eternal voice
An angel sang who to you leads me.
un dolce pomeriggio d'inverno, dolce
perchè la luce non era più che una cosa
immutabile, non alba nè tramonto,
i miei pensieri svanirono come molte
farfalle, nei giardini pieni di rose
che vivono di là, fuori del mondo
come povere farfalle, come quelle
semplici di primavera che sugli orti
volano innumerevoli gialle e bianche,
ecco se ne andavan via leggiere e belle,
ecco inseguivano i miei occhi assorti,
sempre più in alto volavano mai stanche.
tutte le forme diventavan farfalle
intanto, non c'era più una cosa ferma
intorno a me, una tremolante luce
d'un altro mondo invadeva quella valle
dove io fuggivo, e con la sua voce eternal
cantava l'angelo che a Te mi conduce.
ترجمه به فارسی:
یک بعد از ظهر شیرین زمستان
یک بعد از ظهر شیرین زمستان، شیرین
زیرا دیگر نه نور تغییر ناپذیر بود
نه طلوع، نه غروب
افکار من ناپدید شدند همچون پروانه های انبوه
در باغ های پر از گل سرخ
که آنجا زندگی می کنند، بیرون از دنیا
همچون پروانه های بینوا،
همچون پروانه های ساده ی بهار که روی باغچه ها
پرواز می کنند بی شمار، زرد و سفید
آنجا، پروانه های سبک و زیبا رفتند
چشمان مجذوبم را دنبال می کردند
هر چه بیشتر اوج می گرفتند بدون احساس خستگی
همه ی شکل ها در یک لحظه تبدیل به پروانه می شدند
دیگر چیزی ثابت در اطراف من وجود نداشت
نوری لرزان از دنیایی دیگر
فراگرفته بود وادیی را
که من از آن می گریختم، و فرشته ای با صدای آسمانی اش
که مرا به سوی تو می برد، آواز می خواند
Translated into English:
A sweet afternoon of winter
A sweet afternoon of winter, sweet
Because the light was not an immutable thing anymore,
Neither dawn nor sunset,
My thoughts vanished like many
Butterflies, in the gardens full of roses
That they live here, outside of the world
Like poor butterflies, like those
Simple butterflies of spring that fly on the gardens
Innumerable yellow and white
Here, they left way light and beautiful,
They chased my absorbed eyes here,
More and more flew up but never tired.
All the forms became butterflies
At the same time, there was not more a firm thing
Around me, a trembling light
Of another world invaded that vale
Where I escaped, and with his eternal voice
An angel sang who to you leads me.
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