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Dodici poesie di Emily Dickinson
Translations © by Ferdinando Albeggiani
Song Cycle by Aaron Copland (1900 - 1990)
View original-language texts alone: Twelve Poems of 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.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
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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.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2010 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
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This text was added to the website: 2010-09-06
Line count: 24
Word count: 118
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!
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
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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!
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2010 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
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This text was added to the website: 2010-09-06
Line count: 16
Word count: 88
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 Robes and they -- were the little Hand -- that knocked -- Could -- I -- forbid? Why do they shut me out of Heaven? Did I sing too loud?
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1929
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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?
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2010 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1929
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This text was added to the website: 2010-09-06
Line count: 14
Word count: 81
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.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson
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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.
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.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2010 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson
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This text was added to the website: 2010-09-06
Line count: 12
Word count: 59
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; Haste! lest while you're lagging, I may remember him!
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
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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!
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
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This text was added to the website: 2011-09-09
Line count: 8
Word count: 37
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, And blame is just as dear as praise And praise as mere as blame.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
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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.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2011-09-09
Line count: 29
Word count: 145
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.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
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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!
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
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This text was added to the website: 2011-09-09
Line count: 15
Word count: 64
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 do, I always had a fear I did not tell, it was their last Experiment Last Year, When it is May, if May return, Has nobody a pang Lest on a Face so beautiful We 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 --
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson
See other settings of this text.
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 --
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Further poems of Emily Dickinson
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This text was added to the website: 2011-09-09
Line count: 16
Word count: 93
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, again.
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.
...
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
See other settings of this text.
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.
[ ... ]
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1896
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This text was added to the website: 2011-09-09
Line count: 20
Word count: 133
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.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Unpublished poems of Emily Dickinson
See other settings of this text.
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.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Unpublished poems of Emily Dickinson
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This text was added to the website: 2011-09-10
Line count: 8
Word count: 50
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. Going to Heaven! 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.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
See other settings of this text.
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.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
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This text was added to the website: 2011-09-10
Line count: 27
Word count: 126
Because I would 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, Their lessons scarcely done 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.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
See other settings of this text.
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 -
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
Go to the general single-text view
Note: here is a translation of the three stanzas that appear in another version after the first two stanzas: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.
This text was added to the website: 2011-09-10
Line count: 20
Word count: 110