Anche un’Italia che – 16 settembre 2017


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I Pastori
(traduzione a cura del professor Geoffrey Brock)



The Shepherds
(translated by Geoffrey Brock)


September’s come, let’s go: migration time.

In the Abruzzi lands my shepherds now

are leaving their summer folds: down they climb,

sloping toward the untamed Adriatic,

its brine as green as pastures in the mountains.

They have drunk deeply from the upland fountains,

hoping the taste of native waters may

linger as solace in their exile hearts

and cheat the thirst that dogs them on their way.

Each is clutching a fresh-cut hazel crook.

They take the path their fathers’ fathers took,

the old drove-road, which bears them to the plain

as if upon a silent current of grass.

And oh the trembling sea, and the young swain

shouting at what he’s never seen before!

The flock is moving now along the shore.

Around it, all the air is at a stand.

The sun has turned that cloud of living wool

so blond it’s hard to tell it from the sand.

Splashing, tromping, sweet noise upon the air—

Ah, why am I not with my shepherds there?