Dodici poesie di Emily Dickinson

Nature, the gentlest mother
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest, -
Her admonition mild

In forest and the hill
By traveller is heard,
Restraining rampant squirrel
Or too impetuous bird.

How fair her conversation,
A summer afternoon, -
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down

Her voice among the aisles
Incites the timid prayer
Of the minutest cricket,
The most unworthy flower.

When all the children sleep
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light her lamps;
Then, bending from the sky,

With infinite affection
And infiniter care,
Her golden finger on her lip,
Wills silence everywhere.

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Natura, la mare més gentil ", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Nature, mère la plus gentille", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Ted Perry

Natura, la madre più dolce
con tutti i suoi figli paziente,
i docili - o i ribelli -
Delicato il suo monito -

Per foreste e colline
dal viandante  - è ascoltato -
mentre placa lo scoiattolo inquieto
o l'uccello veloce.

Come è dolce conversare con Lei
nei pomeriggi d'estate,
familiare - la sua compagnia -
quando il sole tramonta.

La sua voce tra le file di alberi
suscita, come fra navate di chiesa,
la timida preghiera del grillo
o del più umile fiore -

E quando tutti i suoi figli riposano
Lei si allontana quel poco
che basta ad accendere i suoi lumi -
Poi affacciandosi in cielo

con affetto infinito -
e più infinita cura -
porta alle labbra il suo dito dorato
e ordina silenzio - dappertutto.

There came a wind like a bugle,
It quivered through the grass,
And a green chill upon the heat
So ominous did pass

We barred the windows and the doors
As from an emerald ghost
The doom's electric moccasin
That very instant passed.

On a strange mob of panting trees,
And fences fled away,
And rivers where the houses ran
The living looked that day,

The bell within the steeple wild,
The flying tidings whirled.
How much can come and much can go,
And yet abide the world!

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Vingué un vent com un clarí", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Alors vint un vent comme un clairon", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Irruppe un vento come suono di corno,
fu tutto un fremito nell'erba,
un verde brivido vinse la calura,
così sinistro al passaggio,

Che corremmo a sprangare porte e finestre
per resistere a quello spettro di smeraldo -
l'elettrico serpente del giudizio
balenò proprio in quell'istante.

Ed ecco, una folla di alberi ansimanti
e steccati divelti
e case trascinate dai fiumi
apparvero - quel giorno - alla vista dei vivi.

La campana, dalla torre, impazzita
diffondeva, veloce, la notizia.
Quante mai cose possono andare e venire,
senza che il mondo abbia fine!  

Why -- do they shut me out of Heaven?
Did I sing -- too loud?
But -- I can sing a little minor,
Timid as a bird.

Wouldn't the angels try me -- 
just -- once -- more --
Just -- see -- if I troubled them --
But don't -- shut the door!

Oh if I -- were the Gentlemen 
in the White [Robe]1
and they -- were the little Hand -- that knocked --
Could -- I -- forbid?

Why do they shut me out of Heaven?
Did I sing too loud?

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1929 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Per què m’han tancat les portes del cel?", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Pourquoi m'ont-ils fermé la porte du ciel", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ Copland: "Robes"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Perché dal Cielo sono stata esclusa?
Era forse troppo forte il mio canto?
Posso anche cantare in tono "Minore"
Timida come un uccellino.

Non volessero gli Angeli farmi riprovare
solo - una volta - ancora
Vedi tu - cosa può aver loro dato fastidio -
ma - la porta - lasciala socchiusa.

Oh - se fossi io il signore
nella sua veste candida
e quelli - con la piccola mano - a bussare -
potrei - forse - lasciarli fuori?

Perché dal Cielo sono stata esclusa?
Era forse troppo forte il mio canto?

The world feels dusty,
when we stop to die...
We want the dew then
Honors taste dry...

Flags vex a dying face
But the least fan
stirred by a friend's hand
Cools like the rain

Mine be the ministry
when thy thirst comes...
Dews of thyself to fetch 
and holy balms.

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "El món té gust de pols", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• CHI Chinese (中文) (Yen-Chiang Che) , "這世界感到灰黯", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le monde se sent poussiéreux", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

This version was published many times, including in the Atlantic Monthly (Volume 143, 1929), before the more authoritative versions came out with the more characteristic punctuation. There are also a few changes to the words in the last stanza. See below.

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Il mondo ha sapore di polvere,
quando ci fermiamo a morire...
Imploriamo, allora, rugiada,
gli onori hanno un arido gusto...

Per un volto che muore un tormento
le bandiere, ma un modesto ventaglio
da mano amica agitato
come la pioggia rinfresca

Sia mio il compito
quando verrà la tua arsura...
Raccogliere per te la rugiada
e i balsami sacri.

Heart, we will forget him
You and I, tonight.
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.

When you have done, pray tell me,
That I [my thoughts may dim]1;
Haste! lest while you're lagging,
I may remember him!

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Cor, l’oblidarem", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Mon cœur, nous l'oublierons", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ another version (Dickinson): "may straight begin"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Cuore, lo dimenticheremo,
tu ed io, questa notte.
Tu potrai scordarne il calore,
io ne dimenticherò la luce.

Quando hai finito dimmelo, ti prego,
così che possa dimenticare anch'io;
Svelto! perché se tardi a farlo
potrei ricordarlo!

Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat -
You must have walked -
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!

I got your letter, and the bird's;
The maples never knew
That you were coming, - I declare,
How red their faces grew!
But, March, forgive me -
And all those hills
You left for me to hue,
There was no purple suitable,
You took it all with you.

Who knocks? that April?
Lock the door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call
When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come,
[That]1 blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Març estimat, entra!", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Cher Mars, entre!", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ Copland: "And"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Entra, mio amato Marzo!
Quanto sono felice!
Da tempo ti attendevo.
Deponi pure il cappello -
devi avere camminato tanto -
quasi ti manca il respiro!
Come stai Marzo caro?
E gli altri?
La Natura, l'hai lasciata bene?
Oh, Marzo vieni di sopra con me,
ho tante cose da raccontarti!

Ho avuto la tua lettera, e gli uccelli;
Gli Aceri non sapevano ancora
che stavi per arrivare - Ti giuro,
si sono fatti rossi in volto!
Però, Marzo, perdonami -
tutte quelle colline
che mi hai lasciato da colorare,
non c'era porpora adatta,
te la sei presa tutta.

Chi bussa ora? Aprile?
Chiudi a chiave la porta!
Non voglio che mi si faccia fretta!
E' stato via un anno intero, per venire
proprio mentre sono occupata.
Ma tutto perde importanza,
non appena arrivi tu
Che il biasimo come la lode è caro
e la lode come il biasimo schietta.

Sleep is supposed to be,
By souls of sanity,
The shutting of the eye.

Sleep is the station grand
Down which on either hand
The hosts of witness stand!

Morn is supposed to be,
By people of degree,
The breaking of the day.

Morning has not occurred!
That shall aurora be
East of Eternity;

One with the banner gay,
One in the red array, -
That is the break of day.

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890 [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "La son se suposa que és", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Le sommeil est supposé être", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Il sonno è ritenuto,
da gente di buon senso,
solo un chiudere gli occhi.

Ma il sonno è il grandioso confine
che sovrasta da entrambi i lati
schiere di testimoni!

Il mattino è creduto,
da gente autorevole,
l'inizio del giorno.

Ma non è ancora mattino!
Sarà vera Aurora quella
Oriente dell'Eternità;

Quella col gaio vessillo -
Quella di rosso ammantata -
Sarà quella l'inizio del giorno!

When they come back -- if Blossoms do --
I always feel a doubt
If Blossoms can be born again
When once the Art is out --

When they begin, if Robins [may]1,
I always had a fear
I did not tell, it was their last Experiment
Last Year,

When it is May, if May return,
[Had]2 nobody a pang
Lest [in]3 a Face so beautiful
[He]4 might not look again?

If I am there -- One does not know
What Party -- One may be
Tomorrow, but if I am there
I take back all I say --

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Quan elles retornin", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Quand elles reviennent, si les fleurs reviennent", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ Copland: "do"
² Coulthard: "Hath", Copland: "Has"
³ Coulthard, Copland: "on"
⁴ Copland: "We"

Researcher for this text: Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]

Quando fanno ritorno -- se questo accade ai fiori --
io torno a dubitare
se potranno rinascere i fiori
quando sia morta l'Arte --

Quando ritorna al canto, se lo può il pettirosso,
riprovo una paura,
che non si può raccontare, che l'ultima sua prova
sia stata l'anno scorso.

Quando maggio arriva, se maggio fa ritorno,
avverte qualcuno una fitta
pensando che un così bel volto
potrebbe non ammirare ancora?

Se sarò là -- non si può mai sapere
di quale compagnia -- si farà parte
domani, ma se sarò là
tutto quello che ho detto lo ritiro --

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of [lead]1.
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.

[ ... ]

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Vaig sentir un funeral al meu cap", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "J'ai senti un enterrement dans ma tête", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Walter A. Aue) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ Copland: "lead, again"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Sentivo un funerale, nella mente,
e i dolenti si aggiravano intorno,
e ancora si aggiravano, fino a che
ogni senso sembrò venisse meno.

Poi quando tutti si furono seduti,
una cerimonia che, simile a un tamburo,
batteva e ribatteva - al punto che pensai
che mi si stesse annebbiando la mente.

Poi li sentii sollevare una bara,
e penetrarmi, scricchiolando, l'anima
ancora, e ancora, con stivali di piombo,
poi lo spazio iniziò a rintoccare

come se si fossero fatti campana tutti i cieli
e la creazione nient'altro che un orecchio,
Ed io, e il silenzio, una razza straniera
qui naufragata in solitario esilio.

[ ... ]

I've heard an organ talk sometimes
In a cathedral aisle
And understood no word it said
Yet held my breath the while...

And risen up and gone away,
A more Bernardine girl
And know not what was done to me
In that old hallowed aisle.

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Unpublished poems of Emily Dickinson [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "De vegades he sentit un orgue parlar", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "J'ai entendu parfois un orgue parler", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Ho udito talvolta un organo parlare
nella navata di una cattedrale,
senza capire una parola di quello che diceva
eppure trattenevo il respiro in quei momenti...

E poi mi sono alzata - e, andando via,
mi sentivo una fanciulla più pensosa,
pure ignorando cosa mi fosse accaduto
nella navata dell'antico tempio.

Going to Heaven!
I don't know when,
Pray do not ask me how, -
Indeed I'm too astonished
To think of answering you!
Going to Heaven! -
How dim it sounds!
And yet it will be done
As sure as flocks go home at night
Unto the shepherd's arm!

Perhaps you're going too!
Who knows?
If you should get there first
Save just a little place for me
Close to the two I lost!
The smallest "robe" will fit me,
And just a bit of "crown";
For you know we do not mind our dress
When we are going home. 

1 I'm glad I don't believe it
For it would stop my breath,
And I'd like to look a little more
At such a curious earth!
I am glad they did believe it
Whom I have never found
Since the mighty autumn afternoon
I left them in the ground.

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Me’n vaig al cel!", copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "Je monte au ciel !", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ Copland adds here "Going to Heaven!"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Andare in cielo!
Ignoro quando -
Non chiedetemi come, -
sono troppo stupita
per pensare a rispondervi!
Andare in cielo!
Come suona vago!
Eppure è così certo,
sicuro come un gregge che, a notte,
al suo pastore ritorna!

Forse state andando voi pure!
Chi può saperlo?
Se arriverete per primi
conservatemi un posto
piccolo, vicino ai due che ho perduto!
Mi basterà un modesto "Vestito"
e appena un po' di "Ghirlanda";
Sapete bene che non ci si cura dell'abito
quando si fa ritorno a casa.

Sono felice di non crederci,
perché mi si fermerebbe il respiro,
e vorrei osservare ancora un poco
questa stranissima Terra!
Sono felice che ci credessero
quelli che non ho più ritrovato
dopo quel solenne pomeriggio d'autunno
in cui li ho lasciati alla terra.

Because I [could]1 not stop for Death --
He kindly stopped for me --
The carriage held but just ourselves --
and Immortality.

We slowly drove -- he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too
For His Civility --

We passed the school, where children played,
[ At wrestling in a ring]2
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
a swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

Authorship

• by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890 [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]

See other settings of this text.

Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

• CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , copyright © 2016, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , "La voiture", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Walter A. Aue) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "La carrozza", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ Copland, Kagen: "would"
² Copland: "Their lessons scarcely done"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Poiché non potevo fermarmi per la morte --
fu Lei, gentile, a fermarsi per me --
La carrozza portava noi due soltanto --
e l'Immortalità.

Procedevamo lenti - Lei non aveva fretta,
e io avevo rinunciato
al lavoro e allo svago
per la Sua cortesia --

Superammo la scuola dove i bimbi giocavano
in cerchio - nell'intervallo -
Superammo i campi di stupito frumento
Superammo il sole al tramonto -

Poi sostammo davanti a una casa,
un gonfiore del terreno, alla vista,
appena visibile il tetto,
l' architrave nient'altro che un tumulo

Sono passati i secoli da allora - ma ognuno
a me pare più breve del giorno
in cui compresi che le teste dei cavalli
procedevano verso l'eternità -

Superammo la scuola dove i bimbi giocavano
in cerchio - nell'intervallo -
Superammo i campi di stupito frumento
Superammo il sole al tramonto -

O piuttosto fu lui a superarci,
e calò la rugiada con un brivido gelido -
Ché era solo di garza la mia veste
e solo di tulle la mantellina.

Poi sostammo davanti a una casa,
un gonfiore del terreno, alla vista,
appena visibile il tetto,
l' architrave a livello di terra.