2. Italo Meschi`s Poems

What follows in the next 80 pages are Italo Meschi’s poems written in the last 15 years of his life, from 1942
until his death in 1957. As Antonio Carollo wrote, “Meschi ‘s intent was not to create a literary work: The
words flow simply for an overwhelming desire to communicate”. “The forthrightness of the language
style”, Carollo added, “however, brings about an impression of freshness and clarity, that cannot but affect
the reader emotionally.
“Foremost, Meschi was an authentic lover of Nature. Nature inspired him to write sublime verses full of love
and hope. Notwithstanding his immense celebrity, he always lived in humility and modesty, but rich in a
unique and rare spirituality” wrote Lucca’s daily La Nazione in June 2004.
The poems were written in the small , abandoned farmhouse that Meschi occupied in the foothills of the
majestic Apuan Alps, north of Lucca, and in his humble dwelling on top of Saint Gervasio Tower, within the
city’s medieval walls. The poems carry a stark message for all of us who live in times of conflict, greed,
environmental degradation, and moral and cultural disorientation.
Perhaps, one day, readers will retrace, as I have done, Meschi’s footsteps in Lucca and its beautiful
surroundings; not only a great trip , but an occasion for introspection. A few years back, while in Lucca, an
older lady, who had known Italo, and still displayed his large portrait in her photo shop, remarked to me:
“He may have seemed odd back then”
“but in retrospect … he was not altogether wrong!”
Riccardo Sarti
Updated August 2010
1
The setting
for
Italo Meschi
poems…
The Walled City of Lucca
and
it’s countryside
in Alfredo Meschi’s paintings
of the time.
“
2
…but always ready for love.
Mai avrei pensato
che questo libro-mastro
da me comprato
per segnare introiti e spese,
dovesse servire
per appuntare
i palpiti del mio cuore.
Povero cuore!
Desolato e vecchio
ma sempre pronto all’affetto.
Never would have I thought
that this ledger
by me bought
to write down revenues and expenses,
would serve
for taking notes
of my heart’s throbs.
Poor Heart!
Bare and old,
but always ready for love.
La Cappella – 7 Aprile 1944
3
43° 53’ 49.01’’ North 10° 28’ 50.73” East
Google Earth
Italo’s abandoned farmhouse under a bell tower at a location near Lucca, known as “La Cappella”
(The Chapel on the evening of January 19 the, 07)
Alla Cappella benedetta,
in una piccola casetta
ho trovato rifugio
da questa guerra maledetta.
Nel verde pallido dell’oliveto
il mio cor s’e’ ridestato per l’incantesimo d’un bacio.
At the blessed Cappella,
in a little house
I found shelter
from this accursed war.
In the olive grove’s pale green
my heart has reawakened with the spell of a kiss.
La Cappella, June 1943
4
I have chronologically rearranged the following 9 poems.
Meschi explains how the World went to War for a second time in 1939,
after the War that was supposed to end all Wars.
Not much has changed since then.
Smembrare un continente
in otto parti disuguali;
moltiplicare per otto
le barriere doganali,
accrescer d’otto volte
le dispute militari
e confinali.
Questo vollero i Francesi
come rimedio
all’altra guerra i mali….
To dismember a continent*
in eight unequal parts;
to multiply by eight
custom’s barriers,
increase by eight times
military and border
disputes.
This is was what the French wanted
as a remedy
to the other war’s wrongs….
La Societa’ delle Nazioni
composta di volponi,
di scettici e disuguali,
si disfece al principiar de’mali…
The Society of Nations*
consisting of old foxes,
of skeptics and unequals,
it undid itself at troubles’ onset.
*The Versailles Peace Treaty
* The Predecessor of the United Nations
5
Sulla Burocrazia/ On Bureaucracy
Per traversare il mare
c’e tanto da spendere e sospirare,
e non e’ colpa mia
se son caduto
nelle mille reti,
della moderna
Burocrazia.
Ai tempi tuoi
l’uomo andava liberamente,
per i fatti suoi.
Adesso, invece
siamo protetti e governati,
guidati e spogliati,
ed in mille modi
tartassati, umiliati
dai piccoli
e grandi impiegati.
To cross the sea
costs both money and time,
and it’s not a fault of mine
if I have fallen
into the thousands nets,
of modern
Bureaucracy.
In your days
Man went freely
about his business.
Now, instead
we are protected and ruled,
guided and stripped down,
and in a thousand ways
harassed, humiliated
by little
and big civil servants.
6
“The Duca d’Aosta” steamliner where Meschi was hired as was a stoker.
O spietate, terribil onde,
sempre agitate:
ascoltate i miei lamenti,
calmatevi, o venti
mentr’io navigo sull’onda,
finche’ d’America
non tocchero’ la sponda.
Oh ruthless, terrible waves,
always rough:
listen to my complaints,
calm down, oh winds
while I sail on the wave,
till of America
I shall touch the shore.
7
Inglesi e Americani/English and Americans
Inglesi e Americani
si strinsero le mani,
per chiudere alle povere Nazioni
lo sbocco delle giovani emigrazioni.
Non furono molto amici;
tirarono a campare
e fecero distruggere
quel che il resto del Mondo
non potea comprare.
Poi fecero la gara
a ribassare
il dollaro e la sterlina.
(Povera umanita’ meschina,
che tanto si giovava
di quelle monete
per acquisti e spese!)
But Roosvelt,
testa piu’ fina,
per vendere un po’ di merci,
all’altre nazioni, e,
rialzare i titoli Americani,
non trovo di meglio
che acquistare oro
a prezzo cosi esagerato
come nessuno
l’aveva mai pagato.
English and Americans
shook hands,
to shut down for the poor nations
the flow of new migration.
They were not very friendly;
lived day to day
and destroyed
what the rest of the World
could not buy.
Then they raced
to lower
the dollar and the pound.
(Poor wretched humankind
that had relied
on those currencies
for purchases and expenses!)
But clearheaded
Roosevelt,
intent in selling some goods
to other nations and
in raising American stocks
could do no better
than buying gold
at such an outrageous price
as no one
had ever paid so much for.
8
I Russi senza Dio/The Russians without God
I Russi senza Dio
e senza religione
pretesero far la moltiplicazione
a mezzo della divisione.
In nome della liberta’
e dell’uguaglianza
fu commessa
ogni violenza
e ogni diritto tolto
alla cittadinanza.
Tutti i diritti
allo Stato,
tutti i doveri
al popolo disgraziato.
Lo Stato solo
poteva vendere e acquistare
al di la’ delle frontiere.
Il misero lavoratore
fu il piu’ rovinato,
proprio quello
che si voleva tutelato.
The Russians without God
and without religion
claimed to multiply
by means of division.
In the name of liberty
and equality
every violence
was committed
and every right taken away
from the citizenry.
All rights
to the State,
all duties
to the unfortunate people.
Only the State
could sell and buy
beyond its borders.
The poor worker
suffered the most,
just the one
that was to be protected.
9
Poveri Americani/Poor Americans
Poveri Americani,
per non aver conosciuto in tempo
un nuovo mezzo internazional
di pagamento,
avete scambiato
un immenso valore positivo,
per una merce,
di duplice valore negativo.
Avete diminuito e distrutto
tanta produzione nazionale,
senza poter guarire il male,
e subito una crisi spaventosa,
che vi ha portato dritti
alla guerra rovinosa.
Poor Americans,
for not having known in time
a new international means
of payment,*
you have exchanged
an immensely valuable asset,
for a commodity
of double negative value. [Gold]
You have decreased and destroyed
so much national production,
without being able to cure the illness,
and endured an appalling crisis,
that led you straight
to the disastrous war.
*Meschi, as a follower of Hallesism, believed in the creation of a single, stable currency as an
international means of payment: Regulated by a sovranational entity, preventing exploitation and benefitting
buyers and sellers, in both wealthy and poor countries.
10
Sognar di poter dir la verita’/ Dreaming of being able to tell the truth.
…Aprire finestre balconi e porte
ed ascoltar la Radio ad onde corte.
Poter manifestare un’opinione
senza rischiare d’andare in prigione.
Sognar di poter dir la verita’
e che, tornata alfin la liberta’.
Sognare…solo sognare oggi e’ concesso,
ecco la civilta’, ecco il progresso.
…To open windows, balconies, and doors
and listen to the short wave radio.
To express an opinion
without the risk of going to jail.
Dreaming of being able to tell the truth
and that, at last, freedom has returned.
Dreaming….only dreaming is granted today,
behold civilization, behold progress.
From Dreams of 1942
11
Top Left - My father Aldo in 1939 at age 20.
Uncle Italo had warned him, but he would not listen and
volunteered for Africa. Meschi’s warnings were not
meant only for those who lived under Fascist Italy!
Riccardo Sarti
How cheated you are
oh miserable People,
so much misgoverned
as much ripped off.
Now your masters
want the lives of your best sons.
Quanto sei imbrogliato
o misero popolo,
tanto sgovernato
quanto derubato.
Adesso i tuoi padroni
vogliono la vita dei figli tuoi più buoni.
1938
12
Germania - Italia
I nazisti e fascisti,
dopo tanti brutti pasticci,
e, lunga ed accurata preparazione,
de’ piu’ potenti mezzi di distruzione:
credettero poter fare ripulisti
del vecchio mondo
in decomposizione.
Son passati piu’ di quattr’anni
da quando principio’ la guerra lampo;
ed in cosi lungo tempo,
ancora il nemico non e’ vinto.
Poveretti, avevano dimenticato
l’antichissimo detto:
“l’Abisso chiama l’Abisso”.
Non solo il nemico non e’ vinto,
ma v’entra in cielo
dai quattro punti cardinali
e vi getta tonnellate
di bombe micidiali
sulle citta’ industriali.
The Nazis and the Fascists
after so many ugly entanglements,
and a long and accurate planning,
of the most powerful weapons of destruction;
thought themselves capable of wiping out
the old world
in decomposition.
More than four years have gone by
since the lightning war began;
and in such a long time,
the enemy is still not vanquished.
Poor souls, they had forgotten
the most ancient saying:
“Abyss calls for Abyss”.
Not only is the enemy not vanquished,
but he enters the sky
from the four cardinal points
and drops tons
of deadly bombs
on industrial cities.
Page 1 of 2
13
Credevate distruggere i nemici
rapidamente;
invece, state agonizzando
lentamente.
Mentre vi ritirate da levante,
cade ininterrottamente
un diluvio di bombe
sulle vostre terre di ponente.
Smettete o sciagurati
i vostri pensieri sbagliati,
arrendetevi a discrezione.
Dalla pace tutto riavrete
colla guerra tutto perderete.
You thought yourselves capable of destroying
the enemy quickly;
Instead, your are agonizing
slowly.
While you retreat from the East
uninterruptedly falls
a downpour of bombs
on your lands in the West.
Set aside, oh wretched ones,
your wrong headed thinking,
surrender at discretion.
From peace all you will regain
from war everything you will lose.
Page 2 of 2
14
As the Allies’ push North toward Germany, the war front moves through Lucca’s countryside.
Italo Meschi, age 56, falls in love with a much younger Carla.
Il tre di giugno
(per l’Ascensione)
mi parlasti la prima volta,
o caro bene.
Era caldo e la strada polverosa,
ma io cominciai ad ammirarti
o piccola rosa.
Il tre di giugno…/ On June third…
On the third of June
(on Ascension day)
you spoke to me for the first time,
oh dear Love.
It was hot and the road dusty,
but I began to admire you
oh little rose.
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
15
Abitar isolato,
in un vecchio casolare
abbandonato,
vicino a un prato
tra il bosco
ed il frutteto,
la terra lavorando…
43° 53’ 49.01’’ North 10° 28’ 50.73” East
Google Earth
To live isolated,
in an old abandoned
farmhouse,
near a meadow
between the woods
and the orchard,
the land working…
16
Gran pace silente…/Great silent peace…
Gran pace silente nell’oliveto
che circonda la casetta solitaria,
rotta solo dal cantar dell’usignolo
e dal cri cri de’ grilli
che si diffonde nell’aria.
Nella notte, illuminata
da un tenue chiaror lunare,
sento l’usignolo cantare.
Canta melodioso
pieno di passione,
vibra limpido e bello
a richiamar la mia attenzione.
Io penso intensamente
ad un vino dolce e delicato,
bello come il canto delizioso
d’un usignolo innamorato.
Great silent peace in the olive grove
around the solitary cottage,
broken only by the nightingale’s song
and by the crickets’ cry
drifting on the air.
In the night lit
by a faint moonlight,
I hear the nightingale sing.
His melodious song
full of passion,
resonates clear and beautiful
calling my attention.
I think intensely
of a sweet and delicate wine
as delightful as the song
of a nightingale in love.
La Cappella, 9 June 1943
17
Gran pace silente nell’oliveto
che circonda la casetta solitaria,
rotta solo dal cantar dell’usignolo…
Great silent peace in the olive grove
that surrounds the solitary cottage,
broken only by the nightingale’s song…
Meschi’s abandoned cottage in January 2007
18
Dal gelo la stretta le piccole mani…/Frostbite has the tiny hands…
Dal gelo la stretta
le piccole mani
d’una servetta
ha cosi piagato
che tante cicatrici
v’ha lasciato.
Oh! Se t’avessi conosciuto!
Avrei al mio petto
le gelide mani riscaldato.
Sempre vorrei
le tue mani baciare
con le labbra mie,
le cicatrici potessi cancellare.
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
Frostbite has
the tiny hands
of a little servant girl
so burned
that many scars
are left behind.
Oh! Had I known you!
I would have warmed
your cold hands on my chest.
I would always wish
your hands to kiss
and with my lips
the scars erase.
La Cappella, June 1943
19
Lieto cammino…/Pleasant the walk…
Lieto cammino
per venirti ad incontrare.
L’aria e’ chiara e limpida
che tutto fa mirare.
Ma… un triste rumore
si fa sentire.
E’ il segnale d’allarme
che mi fa fermare.
Penso a te, piccola creatura
ed al Creatore.
Signore Iddio:
abbiate di me pieta’
se mi rivolgo
alla vostra immensa bonta’.
Deh! Salvate
la poverina
da si grave calamita’.
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
Pleasant the walk
in coming to meet you.
The air is clear and limpid
all drawing one’s gaze.
But…a woeful noise
is heard.
It’s the air raid alarm
that brings me to a halt.
I think of you, poor thing
and of the Creator.
Lord God:
have mercy upon me
if I turn
to your immense goodness.
Oh! Save
the poor little thing
from such grave calamity.
PAGE 1 of 2
20
Essa non puo’ lasciarla la citta’
dove si guadagna
un po di pane con onesta’.
Maria Altissima Immacolata!
Intercedi, perche’ la sua famiglia
sia risparmiata;
che tutti possan passare
questo tempo pien d’orrore
per lodar tuo figlio
nostro Signore;
il nostro divino
Maestro d’amore.
She cannot leave the city
where she earns
a little bread honestly.
Mary the Highest Immaculate!
Intercede, so that her family
be spared;
so that everyone may spend
these dreadful time
in praising your Son
our Lord;
our divine
Master of Love.
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
The only bomb fell on the building on the left,
where my grandmother, Italo’s first cousin, lived.
No one was hurt.
La Cappella, 20 June 1943
PAGE 2 of 2
21
REGALINO/SMALL GIFT
Ieri se ti potevo vedere
due be’ fiori ti voleo donare.
Uno di colore smagliante,
l’altro di profumo penetrante.
Delle primizie m’hanno regalato,
ed io le serbo a te, o giglio immacolato.
Un bel fico ed una susina
son qui per te, o mia carina.
O piccola fanciulla del bel carnato
com’e’ grande l’amor che m’hai destato.
Yesterday, had I seen you
I would have given you two beautiful flowers.
One of a dazzling color,
the other of a pervasive fragrance.
Some early fruit I was given
and I am saving them for you, oh pure lily.
A beautiful fig and a plum
are here for you, oh my sweetheart.
Oh young girl of beautiful complexion
how great is the love that you have awakened in me.
La Cappella, 22 June 1943
22
Sul mio capo dardeggia…/Over my head blazes…
Sul mio capo dardeggia
il sole sfolgorante
il cielo abbaglia
di luce inebriante.
Un fresco maestrale
mi porta l’odor del mare.
Eppure… mesto, mesto,
me ne torno al paesetto;
fo ritorno alla casetta
pedalando in bicicletta,
con nel cuore una stretta.
E riporto le ciliege nere
che a lei volevo donare;
torno con l’animo addolorato
perche’ l’amante mia
non ho incontrato.
Torno a cuore tristo
perche’ il bel viso
non ho visto.
O splendida luce
di questo giugno infocato.
Tu non basti
a colmare il cuore desolato…
Over my head blazes
the glaring Sun
the sky dazzles
of an euphoric light.
A cool mistral wind
brings me the smell of the sea.
Yet…sadly, sadly,
I’m returning to the village;
I’m returning to the small house
the bicycle pedaling,
with a panging heart.
And I’m bringing back the black cherries
that were meant for her;
I’m returning with a grieving mind
because my beloved
I have not met.
I’m returning with a sad heart
because the beautiful face
I have not seen.
Oh splendid light
of this fiery June.
you are incapable
of filling a desolate heart…
La Cappella, Saturday 26 June 1943
23
“Sogno ad occhi aperti” (un mese dopo)/ “Daydream” (a month later)
Era una domenica mattina
stavo lavorando
solo, solo, nella mia casina.
Ad un tratto, avevo appena
il lungo lavoro terminato,
un angelo e’ disceso.
A lungo s’e’ compiaciuto
e poi (soavemente) m’ha baciato.
Rimasi cosi estasiato
non sapevo
se sognavo o ero destato.
Avrei voluto per sempre
l’angioletto in casa mia,
ma, poco dopo, dischiuse l’ali
From a statue by Umberto Meschi
e volo’ via.
at Lucca’s Cemetery
Torna angelo bello!
Il tuo viso
ricordero’ in eterno.
Vieni Angelo santo
che ho sospirato tanto!
It was on a Sunday morning
I had been working
all alone in my little house.
Suddenly, as I had just
completed the long work,
an angel descended upon me.
For a while it cheered me up
and then (gently) kissed me.
I was left so enraptured
not knowing
whether I was awake or dreaming.
For ever and ever, I would have kept
the little angel in my house,
but, soon thereafter, wings unfolding
away it flew.
Return beautiful angel!
Your face
I will recall forever.
Come back holy Angel
that for so long I’ve longed!
La Cappella, 12 July 1943
24
Questa notte, ventisette stelle…/This night, twentyseven stars…
Questa notte, ventisette stelle
della terra innamorate
dal cielo son discese.
Appena terra hanno toccato,
questo fiore e’ sbocciato.
O fiore tanto bello,
che dal cielo sei venuto,
dille l’amor mio infinito.
O stelle di velluto profumato,
ditele che di lei sono incantato.
O mazzettin di stelle color rosa
salutate la mi’ amorosa.
Tonight twenty-seven stars
of earth’s enamored
have descended from heaven.
As they touched the ground,
this flower blossomed.
Oh, most beautiful flower,
from heaven cometh,
tell her about my infinite love.
Oh velvety fragrant stars,
tell her that she holds me spellbound.
Oh bouquet of pink colored stars
greet my beloved.
24 July 1943
25
Quante volte prego Iddio…/How often I pray to God…
Quante volte prego Iddio.
Anch’io ho bisogno
d’un capo da carezzare,
d’un viso da baciare,
d’una fanciulla
cui poter confidare.
Tu sei la donna in cui ho fede;
ti dedico tutto me stesso,
puoi ricambiare
il mio affetto?...
ti dispiace dirmi “si”,
ti dispiace dire “no”
ed io senza il si e senza il no
solo e triste moriro’.
Sii spontanea e sincera
che non ti pentirai
dell’affetto che mi porterai.
How often I pray to God.
I ‘m also in need
of a head to caress,
of a face to kiss,
of a girl
to whom I can confide in.
You are the woman that I trust;
I give all myself to you,
can your reciprocate
my affection?...
You mind saying “yes” to me,
you mind saying “no”
and I, without a yes or a no
lonely and sad will die.
Be spontaneous and sincere
that you will not regret
the affection you will bear for me.
Giovedi, 15 luglio 1943 – giorno doloroso
Thursday, 15 July 1943 – painful day
26
Speranze/Hopes
Lentamente fo ritorno
sotto un ciel color di piombo.
Il tempo e’ scuro e piovigginoso
come l’animo mio sconsolato.
Il cielo e’ mesto e nero
come un cimitero.
E’ nel cimitero del mio cuore
che giaciono insepolte
le speranze mie piu’ care.
O dolci speranze
vi dovro’ pur seppellire
e dimenticare.
O belle speranze dell’anima mia
cadeste tutte per una parola sua!
Slowly, I make my way back
under a leaden-colored sky.
The weather is dark and drizzly
like my disconsolate mind.
The sky is sad and black
like a cemetery.
It is in the cemetery of my heart
that unburied lie
my dearest hopes.
Oh sweet hopes
I will still have to bury
and forget you.
Oh beautiful hopes of my soul
all fallen for one word of hers!
Saturday, 28 August 1943
27
Com’eri bella oggi…/How beautiful you were today…
Com’eri bella oggi
o delicato giglio,
in corpettino bianco
e gonnellino vermiglio!
Bianca la camicetta
come i petali
d’un giglio immacolato.
Rossa la gonnelleta
come un garofano profumato.
Il tuo dolce parlare
mi porta via il core;
povero core
smarrito, abbandonato,
solo, intristito.
How beautiful you were today
oh delicate lily,
In white corsage
and vermilion kilt!
White the blouse
as the petals
of an immaculate lily.
Red the skirt
as a fragrant carnation.
Your sweet talk
carries my heart away;
poor heart
lost, abandoned,
lonely, saddened.
Venerdi, 3 Settembre 1943
Friday, 3 September 1943
28
Si! Vorrei un tuo bacio…/ Yes! I would like one of your kisses…
Si! Vorrei un tuo bacio
e poi morire!
Ma la frase, e’ troppo volgare,
e poi, non voglio dispiacere,
o delicato fiore.
Quant’e bello il tuo viso!
Tanto l’anima mia
e’ rapita dal tuo sorriso.
Prendi quest’anima,
mettila in uno scatolino
e portala in negozio
a te vicino.
Cosi passero’ le mie ore
ad ammirarti
o delicato fiore!
Yes! I would like one of your kisses
and then die!
But the phrase, is too vulgar,
and then, I do not wish to displease,
oh delicate flower.
How beautiful is your face!
My soul is so
enraptured by your smile.
Take this soul,
place it in a small box
and carry it to the shop
next to you.
So that I may spend my time
admiring you,
Oh delicate flower!
La Cappella, 18 Settembre 1943
29
Oggi triste giorno di guerra…/Today, a sad day of war…
Oggi triste giorno di guerra
bombardamenti vicini
distruzioni sulla terra.
Ma, nessuna dolorosa situazione
puo’ impedire al mio core
di volerti bene.
Oggi sono stato un fortunato signore
vedere, e parlar due volte col mio amore.
E’ notte il ventun settembre
sta per finire.
L’estate che mi porto’ l’amore
sta per morire.
L’equinozio d’autunno
e’ per passare.
Stanco, vado nel mio lettuccio
a riposare.
E, prima di dormire,
penso e prego per chi tanto
sento d’amare.
Today, a sad day of war
air raids nearby,
destruction on the earth.
But, no painful situation
can prevent my heart
from loving you.
Today, I have been a lucky man
for seeing, for talking twice with my love.
It’s nighttime, the twenty-first of September
is about to end.
The summer that brought me love
is about to die.
The autumnal equinox
is about to pass.
Tired, I go to my small bed
to rest.
And, before falling asleep
I think and pray for the one
I feel so much love for.
La Cappella, 21 September 1943, in the evening.
30
Cade la pioggia…/The Rain falls…
Cade la pioggia
sommessamente
come le lacrime
d'un bimbo innocente.
Cade l'acqua
pian pianino
che appena si sente
sugli alberi del giardino.
O pioggierella autunnale,
come mi sento male
in mezzo a tante guerre!
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
The rain falls
softly
like the tears
of an innocent child.
The water falls
nice and slow
barely audible
on the garden’s trees.
Oh autumnal mist,
how ill do I feel
in the midst of many wars!
29 September 1943
31
Dopo aver saputo che si stava minando il ponte sul Serchio
After finding out that the bridge on the river Serchio was being mined
O mesto raggio di luna
saluta la mia piccina
porta la buonasera
alla mia capinera,
e dille: il ponte non traversare
perche’ e’ minato
e puo’ saltare in aria.
Da casa non t’allontanare
ed in caso di guerra
fuggire, fuggire, fuggire.
O dolce e mesto raggio
che porti questo messaggio,
scusa il mio triste linguaggio;
va’, e non dimenticare
colei che ho nel cuore.
Blackcap
Oh sad moon ray
greet my little one
bid good evening
to my “blackcap”,
and tell her; the bridge not to cross
because it is mined
and can blow up.
From your house do not astray
and in case of war,
flee, flee, flee.
Oh sweet and sad moon ray
bearer of this message
pardon my gloomy language;
go, and do not forget
the one who is in my heart.
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
Devil’s Bridge
10 October 1943
32
O sottile e lucida falce argentina…./ Oh slender and shiny silvery sliver…
O sottile e lucida
falce argentina
che stai tramontando
dietro la collina.
O falce di luce crescente
tu che presto
passerai il monte
va’ dalla mia amante
e canta:”Fior di betulla:
vorrei tu fossi il sole
ed io la stella
e andar pel cielo
e non pensare a nulla!”
“Fiore de’ fiori
tu sei l’amore mio
d’oggi e di ieri
tu sei l’amore mio che mai muori”.
Quando poi l’eco mi risponde:
“Muori?”…
O di luna, dolce raggio,
arrivederci
a domani sera
ti ringraziero’ del tuo messaggio.
Oh slender and shiny
silvery sliver
setting
behind the hill.
Oh sliver of waxing light
you, who will soon
pass over the mountain
go to my beloved
and sing: “ Birch flower:
I wish you were the Sun
and I the star
flying through the air
without a care!”
“Flower of flowers
you are my love
of today and yesteryear
you are my love that never dies”.
When, then, the echo replies back to me:
“Dies?”…*
Oh sweet moon ray,
goodbye
till tomorrow evening
when I shall thank you for your message.
31 october 1943 (Poem inspired from a Respighi song)
Splendono le stelle…/Shining are the stars…
Splendono le stelle in cielo,
luci del creatore
assieme a guizzi e lampi
dell’uomo distruttore.
O barchetta splendente
nel cielo infinito,
come sei bella
da questo luogo romito.
Shining are the stars in the sky,
the Creator’s lights
next to the darts and flashes
of Man the Destroyer.
Oh gleaming little boat
in the infinite sky,
how beautiful you are
from this hermit’s place.
November 1943
34
Carezzata sol da una rametta!/Caressed only by a twig!
Oh capo ricciuto
d’uomo innamorato,
sei contento d’esser carezzato
dalla rametta d’un salice
che la strada ha attraversato?
Sfioro’ lieve la rametta
la tua povera testa,
e la flebile carezza
ti fe’ correr la mente
alla tua diletta.
Diletta che non ti carezza,
che non ti ricambia amore
che ti lascia solo a sospirare,
solo col tuo dolore.
Povero capo ricciuto!
Solo da un ramo sei carezzato.
Povera testa!
Sei carezzata sol da una rametta!
Oh curly-haired head
of a man in love,
are you glad of being caressed
by a willow’s twig
hanging on the road?
Slightly, the twig brushed against
your poor head,
and the feeble caress
made your mind run
to your beloved.
A beloved who does not caress you,
who does not return your love
who leaves you longing
alone in your sorrow.
Poor curly-haired head!
Caressed only by a branch.
Poor head!
You are caressed only by a twig!
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
30 November 1943
35
Acqua, nebbia, scarsa luce…/Rain, fog, dim light…
Acqua,nebbia, scarsa luce sulla terra.
E’ morta un’agnelletta
e la pecora bela, bela, bela…
Imbiancare, cucire, sternutire.
Cosi ho passato l’ore nere
a notte, seduto immobile
sulla panchetta
penso all’anima tua diletta.
Son fermo e muto
nell’aer silenzioso
mi sento cupo
quasi insonnolito.
Passano i minuti
passa la vita,
e, anco tu, poveretta
eri a letto ammalata.
Water, fog, dim light on earth.
A little lamb has died
and the sheep bleats, bleats, bleats…
Whitewashing walls, sewing, sneezing,
this is how I spent the dismal hours
of the night. Now seating motionless
on the small bench
I think of your delightful soul.
Still and speechless
in the quiet air
I feel gloomy
almost sleepy.
Minutes go by
life goes by,
and, you, poor soul
are still sick in bed.
18 December 1943
36
Quando vedo a Ponente…/When I see in the West…
Quando vedo a Ponente
la delicatissima falce
di luna crescente,
mi ricorda quante volte
ho domandato a que’raggi
di portare cari messaggi
alla bella dormiente.
Ma… tutto e’ finito in niente.
Grazie, dolce luna,
non ho messaggi
per i tuoi raggi;
ma sei pur bella e t’ammiro,
se pur ammirandoti
ricordo e sospiro.
When I see in the West
the gentlest sliver
of a waxing moon,
it reminds me of how often
I asked those rays
to take dear messages
to the sleeping beauty.
But…all has ended in nothing.
Thank you, sweet Moon,
I have no messages
for your rays;
but you are still beautiful and I admire you,
though while admiring you
I look back and sigh.
La Cappella, 28 December 1943
37
Sono tornato a quella casa…./To that house I’ve made return…
Son tornato a quella casa
ove vidi per la prima volta
i dolci occhi della mi’amata.
Ancora nel soffrire
e’ sempre caro il ricordare.
Mi ha detto la vecchia padrona:
era tanto buona!...
Per l’anima mia
era buona e bella
e lucente come una stella.
Tanto sentivo d’amarla
che subito avrei voluto sposarla.
Ma… non posso piu’ dire;
ancor mi sente il cuore.
To that house I have made return
where for the first time I saw
the sweet eyes of my beloved.
Even now while suffering
the memory is still sweet.
The old landlady said to me:
She was so kind!...
To my soul
she was kind and beautiful
and bright as a star.
So much love I felt
that I would have married her on the spot.
But… I can say no more;
my heart still feels the pain.
La Cappella, 28 December 1943
38
O bel monte della Cappella
tu mi difendi dalla tramontana
che oggi poco e’ mancato,
non mi tira in Freddana.
O Montecatino benedetto
tu mi ripari assai
da questo ventaccio maledetto.
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
Oh beautiful Mount Cappella
you protect me from the northern wind
that today almost
pushed me into the Freddana stream.
Oh blessed Montecatino
you are a great shelter
from this bitter accursed wind.
31 December 1943
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
39
E’ passato l’autunno…/Autumn has passed…
E’ passato l’autunno
domani comincia l’inverno.
E’ finito l’anno
domani crescera’ il giorno.
E’ finito l’anno
ma non e’ finito
l’umano macello,
insulso, vano sterminio
di vite preziose
di tante buone cose,
sei li a dimostrare
quanto l’uomo e’ lontano
dall’amore cristiano.
Terra inzuppata di sangue
non bastera’ a lavarti
lacrime di tante mamme.
Odio e distruzione
ormai sono l’insegna
d’ogni civile nazione.
Mentre, a tutte le persone buone,
si legge chiaro in viso
tristezza, affanni, desolazione.
Autumn is gone
tomorrow winter begins.
The year has ended
tomorrow the day will grow longer.
The year has ended
but not ended
is mankind’s slaughter.
A silly, futile extermination
of precious lives
of so many good things,
there to prove
how far Man is
from Christian love.
Blood soaked earth,
will the tears of so many mothers
suffice to wash away the stains.
Hate and destruction
are by now the insignia
of every civilized nation.
While, on all good people’s faces
one can clearly read
sadness, anxiety, desolation.
40
PAGE 1 of 3
Umanita’ impazzita
che adoperi i piu’ potenti mezzi
per distruggere il meglio di tua vita.
Le cose piu’ utili
e quelle piu’ belle
che il tempo aveva rispettato;
tutto deve essere sterminato.
Mi sento tanto triste,
e penso ad un vecchio scritto:
“Cercate il Regno di Dio e la Verita’,
ed il resto vi verra’ dato per giunta”.
Questa fulgida verita’
la povera umanita’
ancor non l’ha capita.
Ahi! Com’e dolente la Vita!
Penso a Dio
e l’animo mio
si perde entro un abisso
ove smarrisco me stesso.
Dio! Amore! Giustizia! Bellezza!...
Non la guerra maledetta.
PAGE 2 OF 3
Crazed Mankind
using the most powerful weapons
to destroy the best of your youth;
and the most useful things
and those most beautiful
that Time had respected.
Everything must be exterminated.
I feel so sad,
and I think of an ancient script:
“Seek the Kingdom of God and the Truth,
and the rest shall be added unto you”.
This shining truth
poor mankind
has yet to understand.
Oh! How painful is Life!
I think of God
and my mind
wanders into an abyss
where I go astray.
God! Love! Justice! Beauty!...
Not the accursed war.
41
Luce e potenza di divino amore,
datemi la forza
di far cessare quest’orrore.
Si! L’orrore potra’ cessare
quando un giorno gli uomini,
giustamente e liberamente
potranno scambiare, prestare,
senza potersi rubare;
soprattutto prestare,
senza che il creditore
possa mai dominare, strozzare
il debitore.
L’uomo per il suo interesse sara’
costretto a questo.
E finalmente la povera umanita’,
se stessa ritrovera’
e questo ritrovarsi sara’
un po’ del Regno di Dio
e della verita’,
che a tutti portera’
pace, ricchezza, liberta’.
O bella speranza mia
verde e gentile
com’ erbetta di prato:
sara’ mai l’ideale mio
dagli uomini praticato?...
Divine Love’s light and power
give me the strength
to put an end to this horror.
Yes! The horror may end
when one day men,
fairly and freely
will be able to trade, to lend,
without stealing from each other;
above all to lend,
without the creditor ever
dominating, strangling
the debtor.
Man for his own self interest shall
be forced into this.
And finally poor mankind,
shall find itself,
and this self-finding shall
be a small part of the Kingdom of God
and of the Truth,
that shall bring everyone
peace, wealth, and liberty.
Oh beautiful hope of mine
green and gentle
as the meadows’ fine grass.
Will my ideal be ever
practiced by Mankind?...
PAGE 3 OF 3
21 december 1943
42
Pasqua 1944
Easter 1944
Quant’anni son passati ormai
da quando l’innocente agnello
mori per noi,
e, disgraziatamente,
non s’e’ capito niente.
Questo e’ palese
dalle nostre azioni
e dagli atti di certi governanti
tanto zucconi.
Nulla s’e’ capito
del gran sacrificio
per noi tutti compiuto,
e, neppure i Re,
hanno ubbidito
i dieci comandamenti di Mose’.
PAGE 1 of 3
How many years have gone by
since the innocent lamb
died for us,
and, unfortunately,
nothing has been understood.
This is evident
by our actions
and by the deeds of certain rulers,
such hardheads.
Nothing has been understood
of the great sacrifice
made on behalf of all of us,
and, not even Kings
have obeyed
Moses’ Ten Commandments.
43
Popolo che soffri,
piangi e ti disperi
in questa lunga spietata guerra
senza quartieri;
pensa alla grande verita’ d’amore
che fu scritta in ogni cuore,
povero popolo tartassato,
avvilito ed angariato
da un piccolo manipolo
di prepotenti miscredenti.
La parola Pasqua
ti riempira’ la bocca,
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
ma non il corpo stremato
e poco significhera’
all’animo tuo smarrito.
People who suffer,
cry and despair
in this long
pitiless, boundless war;
think about love’s great truth
that was written in every heart,
poor harassed people,
degraded and oppressed
by a small bunch
of misbelieving bullies.
The word Easter
may fill your mouth,
but not the exhausted body
and it will mean little
to your lost soul.
PAGE 2 of 3
44
O Santa Pasqua
che torni a fare
mentre i cristiani
seguitano ad ammazzare?...
Oh Holy Easter
why do you return
while Christians
continue to kill?...
O sacrificio
del divin agnello;
per chi fu sparso il tuo sangue,
se i cristiani fra loro
fan macello?...
Oh sacrifice
of the divine lamb;
for whom was your blood shed,
if Christians
slaughter themselves?...
Signore!
Abbiate pieta’ de’ nostri orrori,
mandate un raggio di luce
ne’ pervertiti cuori.
Lord!
Forgive our horrendous acts ,
send a ray of light
in the perverted hearts.
PAGE 3 of 3
45
O grappoli di fiori…./Oh grape of flowers…
O grappoli di fiori bianchi e puri
come la neve caduta di fresco,
vorrei diveniste un gran bandiera
e sventolar sui rossi campi di battaglia
e far cessare per sempre
il rombo del cannone
e ‘l crepitar della mitraglia.
Oh grape of flowers pure and white
as freshly fallen snow,
turn into a large flag
and fly over bloody battlefields
and put an end forever
to the cannon’s rumble
and to the machine-gun’s crackle.
La Cappella, 9 April 1944
46
O verde smeraldino…/Oh emerald green…
O verde smeraldino,
di grano marzolino,
tu sei la speranza
del rude contadino.
Tu sei la gioia dell’agricoltore
che ti coltivo’ con tanto amore.
Fra pochi mesi,
il bel verde smeraldo
oro biondo diventera’
del contadino e del cittadino
del lavoratore e del pensatore;
e noi tutti
che pane mangiamo
Il creator del grano ringraziamo,
e ricordiamo il rude agricoltore
che lo coltivo’ con tanto amore.
Oh emerald green,
of March’s wheat,
you are the hope
of the rustic peasant.
You are the pride of the farmer
who lovingly raised you.
In a few months,
the beautiful emerald green
golden blonde will turn
for the peasant and for the city dweller
for the worker and for the thinker;
and all of us
who eat bread
let us thank the Creator,
and let us be grateful to the rustic farmer
who raised it with so much love.
La Cappella, 28 March 1944
47
O rosa fresca e bella…/Oh fresh and delicate rose
O rosa fresca e bella
ti vo’ donare a una
giovane donna:
ell’era sposa,
la guerra l’ha fatta
tornar zitella.
Vieni!
Rosa delicata,
ti vo’ donare ad una
sposa sconsolata.
Oh fresh and delicate rose
I wish to give you to a
young woman:
She was a bride,
war made her
return to spinsterhood.
Come!
Delicate rose,
I wish to give you to a
disconsolate bride.
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
April 30th, 1944
48
1945 – The War over…. Best Wishes.
Dopo tanto aspettare,
in un mondo
tutto da rifare,
e’ nato un bambino
bianco e rosso
come un cherubino.
In guerra concepito,
in pace sbocciato…
Il bambino e’ nato
appena il Mondo
s’e’ acquetato.
Poss’egli viver sano e lieto!
I genitori
guardano il frutto
de’ loro amori,
di nuova speme
riempiono i cuori.
After so much waiting,
in a world
all to remake,
a baby is born
white and red
as a cherub.
In war conceived,
in peace blossomed…
The baby is born
just as the World
has calmed down.
May he live healthy and happy!
The parents
look at the fruit
of their love,
with new hope
they fill the hearts.
Page 1 of 2
49
Oggi al Pianello
e’ nato un bimbo
sano e bello.
O bambino appena nato
t’auguro godrai a lungo
le bellezze del creato.
E’ vero che nella tua infanzia
il Mondo passera’
una lunga convalescenza,
ma quando sarai cresciuto sarai
in un Mondo migliore
a lungo vivrai.
La prima bara di casa nostra
da poco s’e’ calata nella fossa,
che un nuovo essere
si stringa fra le braccia.
Sia pace a chi fu,
e salute a chi comincio’,
cosi il Mondo sempre ando’.
Today in Pianello
a baby was born
healthy and beautiful.
Oh, newborn baby
I wish you will long enjoy
the wonders of creation.
It is true that in your childhood
the World will face
a long convalescence,
but as a grown-up
in a better World
long you’ll live.
Our home’s first coffin
a short time ago was lowered in the grave,
so that a new living being
may be held in the arms.
May peace be with whoever was,
and health with whoever began,
so the World always went.
La Cappella, 22 August 1945
Page 2 of 2
50
Per l’amico affettuoso Giovanni Formichi di S. Francisco (dopo una sua lettera).
For my great friend Giovanni Formichi of San Francisco (after having received one of his letters).
Giovane pallido
ben rasato
colletto alto
inadmidato.
Una bella cravatta
con una spilla;
cosi ti ricordo
nell’eta’ piu’ bella.
E ti rivedo
in quella piccola,
stretta bottega,
ove tante barbe
si raschiava.
La sera,
spesso da te venivo,
la Chitarra portavo,
tu chiudevi la bottega
e lungamente
per te suonavo.
E nella Musica
era tutto un sospiro
per la Vita che passava
e non mi contentava.
Tu intendevi l’anima mia
d’amore e pace desiderosa,
verso un ideale
tutta protesa.
Istituto Luce
Page 1 of 2
Pale young man
well shaven
high collar
starched.
A beautiful tie
with a pin;
this is how I remember you
in your prime.
And I can see you again
in that small,
narrow shop,
where many a beard
were scraped off.
In the evening,
I often came to see you,
bringing along my Guitar.
You closed down the shop
and I played for you
at length.
And the Music
was all a complaint
about a Life that went by
leaving me unfulfilled.
You understood my soul
eager for love and peace ,
toward an ideal
always leaning.
51
Quanto tempo e’ passato!...
Quante Musiche ho imparato!...
Quanti applausi ricevuto!...
Poi in S. Francisco
son ritornato
una bella rivincita
abbiamo avuto.
Grazie al tuo aiuto
che e’ stato infinito!
Guerra, fame,
spaventi, sterminii,
solo ammalato
con pochi quatrini.
Ma tutto e’ ancor passato
e’ venuto il Dottore
dalla febbre m’ha guarito.
Poi, l’olio raccolto,
e’ stato venduto;
le medicine ho comprato,
a primavera,
l’uova ho bevuto,
a suonar ho cominciato,
in estate son guarito.
Intanto le guerre son finite,
le speranze son rinate,
ed un giorno,
non tanto lontano
In S. Francisco
ci ridarem la mano.
According to an internet site
John Formichi died in April
1980 in San Francisco.
He was an opera enthusiast
who had sponsored concerts
in San Francisco for local
talent. He was a native of
Pisa, Italy. He moved to San
Francisco in 1905. I sent this
Poem to his grandson who
lives in California.
Riccardo Sarti
Page 2 of 2
La Cappella August 22, 1945
How much time has gone by!....
How much Music I’ve learned!...
How much applause received!...
Then in San Francisco
I made a return,
and to a great comeback
thanks to your
unending help!
War, hunger.
terror, massacres,
Alone and ill
with little money.
But all that has come and gone.
The Doctor came
and cured my fever.
the olive harvest,
was sold.
In the Spring
I bought medicines,
drank the eggs,
and began to play music again.
By summertime I had recovered.
In the meanwhile the wars have ended,
hopes are reborn,
and one day
not too far
in San Francisco
we'll shake hands again.
52
O mazzolin di stelle…/Oh bouquet of flowers…
O mazzolin di stelle,
com’eravate belle!
Da poco sbocciate
rosee e vellutate
fresche e profumate.
Ed ora pian piano
scolorite, appassite,
perdete il soave
profumo;
o mazzettin di stelle
venute da lontano,
Il bel fiore
muore e scolorisce.
Cosi nella Vita la
bellezza
scolorisce, appassisce,
lasciandoci l’anima
profondamente triste.
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
La Cappella, 24 October 1945
Oh bouquet of flowers,
how beautiful you were!
Recently blossomed
pink and velvety
fresh and fragrant.
And now nice and slowly
you fade, you wither
away,
you lose the gentle scent;
Oh bouquet of flowers
that from afar came,
the beautiful flower
dies and fades away.
Likewise in life,
beauty
fades, withers away,
leaving the soul
deeply saddened.
53
O fiore meraviglioso!/Oh marvelous flower!
O fiore meraviglioso!
Mazzettin di stelle profumato.
Sembra dal Ciel caduto
su questa terra, dove ancor si parla di guerra.
La tua bellezza,
il tuo profumo,
non dice niente
al cuore dell’Uomo?...
Il tuo splendore,
non dice nulla
del Creatore?...
Forma, profumo, colore;
una sola cosa mi fa dire:
grazie, sublime Creatore.
Oh marvelous flower!
Scented bouquet of stars.
Seemingly from Heaven fallen
to this earth, where there is still talk of war.
Your beauty,
your scent,
says nothing
to Man’s heart?...
Your splendor,
says nothing
of the Creator?...
Form, scent, color;
one thing it makes me say:
thank you, sublime Creator.
La Cappella, 20 July 1947
54
E qui mi vedi
tranquillamente seduto
dal sol d’agosto illuminato,
davanti alla chiesa
ove ti avrei sposato.
And here you see me
leisurely seated
by the August sun illuminated,
in front of the church
where I would have married you.
Era mezzogiorno
in Piazza San Pietro.
It was noon
in Saint Peter’s Square.
Alle mie spalle
c’e’ una fontana
e nello sfondo
la Basilica Cristiana.
At my shoulders
there is a fountain
and in the background
the Christian Basilica.
Rome, August 1948
55
Notte fredda…/Cold Night…
Notte fredda
cupa di nebbia
trista e gocciolante.
O notte nera
notte di bufera;
tu saresti
terribile jettatura,
formidabile sventura
senza la speranza
d’una luce futura.
E’ la speranza
del bel sole
della luce, del calore
che tien vivo il core.
Sole! Luce! Calore!
Tornate presto, venite!
scacciate lo squallore.
Cold ,dark
gloomy , foggy,
evil ,and droopy night.
Oh black night
stormy night;
you would be
a terrible curse,
a formidable misfortune
without the hope
of a future light.
It is the hope
of the beautiful Sun,
of light, of warmth
that keeps the heart alive.
Sun! Light!, Warmth!
Come quickly, come!
chase away the squalor.
56
Nel silenzio della notte/In the silence of the night
Nel silenzio della notte
unica voce persistente
Il rumor lontano del torrente.
Sopra il mio capo
un immenso
scintillio silenzioso.
Il cielo stellato.
L’occhio spazia all’infinito,
e l’anima si perde
in cerca di un perche’.
Immenso e’ il cielo
grande il mare
e tu, misero mortale
vorresti saper com’e’,
smetti di fantasticare:
e’ tardi, e’ notte; va a dormire.
In the silence of the night
the only persistent voice
the torrent’s distant noise.
Over my head
an immense
silent sparkling:
The starry sky.
The eye wonders towards infinity,
and the soul loses itself
in search of a Why.
Immense is the sky
large is the sea
and you, poor mortal
would like to know what it is.
Stop daydreaming:
It’s late, it’s nighttime; go to sleep.
La Cappella, 26 October 1949
57
La mia testa
e’ un vecchio
mulino a vento
che macina poco
e gira tanto!
My head
is an old
windmill
that grinds a little
and whirls a lot!
La Cappella, 8 March 1950
58
E lei viveva sola…/ And she lived alone…
E lei viveva sola
in una casetta di campagna,
il mesto pensiero rivolto
alla scomparsa mamma.
Povera benestante!
Ormai sfiorita
senza il sorriso
d’un amante,
senza la compagnia
d’un amica.
Sola, nella casetta di campagna
a pie’ della montagna…
Era di Maggio,
tutto verde, ridente,
quel giorno che vidi
quelle pupille
arrossate e stanche
della povera solitaria
d’amor mancante.
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
Coselli, 21 May 1950
And she lived alone
in a small country house
the sad mind turned
to her late mother.
Poor well-off woman!
By now faded
without the smile
of a lover,
without the company
of a female friend.
Alone, in the small country house
at the foot of the mountain…
It was in May,
pleasant and green everywhere,
that day when I saw
those reddened and
tired eyes
of the poor lonely
loveless woman.
59
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
Notte in Val Gardena/Night in the Gardena Valley
Limpida splende
fulgida stella
sul maestoso
gruppo del Sella
ed suoi raggi paion dire:
“O Val Gardena, sei tanto bella,
quando il motore tace
quando le creature dormono in pace.”
Allora t’ammiro
imponente e bella
o meravigliosa Sella.
A bright star
shines clearly
on the majestic
Sella range
and its rays seem to say:
“Oh Gardena Valley, your are so beautiful,
when the car engine falls silent
when the living creatures sleep in peace.”
Then I admire you
impressive and beautiful
marvelous Sella!
Pian Val Gardena, 21 August 1951
60
Signore ch’avete creato…/Lord who have created…
Signore ch’avete creato
questo monte incantato,
ove d’inverno,
verdeggia il prato
da fiori rallegrato,
ove d’estate
la brezza del mare
il caldo fa’ sopportare.
L’occhio spazia
dalle candide giogaie
dell’Appennini
al placido Lago
che piacque a Puccini;
E dall’Isole d’Etruria
ai monti di Liguria
seguendo le belle terre
delle citta’ costiere.
Paintings by Alfredo Meschi
PAGE 1 of 2
Lord, Creator of
this enchanted mountain,
where in winter,
green spreads out the meadow
by flowers cheered,
where in summer
the sea breeze
bearable makes the heat.
The eye wonders
from the Appenines’
white ranges
to the placid Lake
that Puccini so-loved;
And from the Etruscan Islands
to the Ligurian mountains
following the beautiful lands
of the coastal towns.
61
A levante
nel morbido piano,
giace Lucca
tra il Monte Pisano
e le Pizzorne,
e’ li che nel bel S. Martino
la bella del Guinigi dorme.
E che dir poss’io
dell’Apuane meravigliose
che vedo d’infilata
ripide e nevose?...
Esse mi ricordan
giovanili imprese
tanto rischiose
quanto avventurose.
Adesso la bellezza
m’ha inebriato,
guardo il cielo,
piego il capo,
ringraziando
l’Autore del Creato.
To the east
in the soft plain,
lies Lucca
between Mount Pisano
and the Pizzorne,
and it is there in beautiful S. Martino
that Guinigi’s beauty sleeps.
And what can I say
of the marvelous Apuane
that across I see
snowy and steep?...
They remind me
of my youth’s exploits
as much risky
as adventurous.
Now beauty
has me inebriated,
I look at the sky,
I lower my head,
thanking
the Author of Creation.
Paintints by Alfredo Meschi
PAGE 2 OF 2
Chiatri, 30 December 1951
62
The Bell tower and Church of Aquilea appear in this
painting by Alfredo Meschi, on the hill to the right
over the river Serchio at Ponte a Moriano.
Le Campane/Bells
Aquilea, 20 May 1952
Si la sol, si la sol
mi dicon le campane d’Aquilea
di cima al colle ventilato
e par che dicano al vicinato
Ehi! di Villa
venite quaggiu’
siamo quaggiu’!
E a quelli di Piazza
montate su!
salite quassu’!
Qui c’e’ il tempio di Gesu’.
Si la sol, si la sol
Aquilea’s bells tell me
from atop a windy hill
and they seem to say to the neighborhood
Hey! Townspeople
come down here
we are down here!
And to those in the Square
climb up here!
come up here!
Here is Jesus’ temple.
Per il caro amico Giuseppe
che tanto fece per le campane
ed altre cose ancora piu’ grandi.
To my dear friend Giuseppe
who did so much for the bells
and other and even bigger things.
The two missing verses,
I have saved for the end.
63
E lei cantava…/And she sang…
E lei cantava;
la giovane mutilata
nella via stretta e affollata.
Forse cantava la sua vita disgraziata.
Appoggiata alla stampella
suonava e cantava
la poverella. La misera tapina
cantava la sua vita peregrina.
T’ammiro impressionato.
Quanto sei grande, o mutilata!
per cantare e suonare
nella via stretta ed affollata.
And she sang;
the young woman amputee
in the narrow crowded street.
Perhaps she sang her ill-fated life’s story.
Leaning on a crutch
she played music and sang,
the poor creature. The miserable beggar
sang about her nomadic life.
Awe-struck, I admire you.
How great you are, Oh amputee!
For singing and playing music
in the narrow crowded street.
Via del Fosso in 1953
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
Lucca, 28 November 1953
64
Premessa – Italo Meschi, un tempo Artista, giramondo, adesso vecchietto, malaticcio assai, solo e povero,
sta salendo le lunghe scale che lo conducono in cima al Torrione dugentesco ove da 33 anni sta
appollaiato.
Introduction- Italo Meschi, once an Artist, globetrotter, now a little old man, sickly, lonely and poor, is
climbing the long stairs that lead him to the top of the thirteen century tower where he has been perched
for the last 33 years.
Vecchiaia
Old Age
Lentamente
salgo le scale,
la brocca da una mano
dall’altra il granatino
assieme alla pentola
che mi serve da orinale.
E nel salire penso:
“Una pentola per gli alimenti,
un’altra per gli escrementi;
poi, un cartoccino
con gli sputi del mattino.”
Intanto, pian pianino,
scalino, dopo scalino,
arrivo al mio destino.
Slowly
I climb the stairs,
the jug in one hand
the other holding the whisk
along with the pot
that serves me as a urinal.
And while climbing I think of:
“ A pot for food,
another for excrements;
then, a paper bag
with the morning’s spit”.
In the meanwhile, nice and slowly,
step by step,
I arrive at my destination.
Painting by Alfredo Meschi.
Italo lived on top of the left tower,
Alfredo on the right tower.
PAGE 1 of 3
65
Uno stanzone
in cima al Torrione,
e, in un cantuccio,
(che sembra fatto a posta)
un giaciglio per stender l’ossa.
Tosse e sospiro
guardando l’arborato cerchio,
spelacchiato e decimato
e solingo vivo
mezzo scervellato
distratto e sbalordito
dai terribili rumori
di tanti motori.
A large room
atop the great Tower
and, in a corner,
(that seems made on purpose)
a bedding for stretching out my bones.
I cough and sigh
staring at the tree-lined circle,*
worn-out and emaciated
and solitary I live,
half brainless,
absentminded and stunned
by the overwhelming noise
of so many motors.
* Lucca’s tree-lined medieval walls.
The poor man’s bed by Alfredo Meschi
PAGE 2 OF 3
The Saint Gervasio Towers
by Alfredo Meschi
66
Malgrado tutto, qualche volta
ancor mi sento suonare
la vecchia mia chitarra
che, un giorno….ahime’!
dovro’ pur lasciare.
In spite of everything, at times
I still hear myself play
my old guitar
that, one day…alas!
indeed, I shall leave behind.
Lucca, 6 Novembre 1954
Page 3 of 3
One of his guitars, today at
his nephew Innocenzo’s
house.
67
O faro luminoso/Oh luminous beacon
La tua contemplazione
porta l’anima mia
alla preghiera, all’orazione.
O faro luminoso
che stai entro il petto ascoso,
come sei entrato?
O vivida scintilla
che illumini la mia vita,
o scintilla misteriosa: “Dimmi
perche’ sei entrata?
Donde sei venuta?...”
Your contemplation
leads my soul
to prayer, to oration.
Oh luminous beacon
lying within my chest concealed,
how did you enter?
Oh brilliant spark
brightening my life,
oh mysterious spark: “Tell me:
Why did you enter?
From where did you come?...
Lucca, 29 June 1954
68
Il “Pessimismo” d’un vecchietto nato nel secolo scorso
The ‘”Pessimism” of a little old man born in the last [19th] century.
Povera materia pensante!
l’umanita’ ansante,
travolta inesorabilmente
nel terribil gorgo
dell’era presente.
Era meravigliosa,
d’infinita potenza.
Delle grandi velocita’
dell’immense calamita’,
delle perdute liberta’,
di poca serenita’.
Era di gran produzione
assieme alla miseria
d’una cronica disoccupazione.
Di troppi servitori
in confronto
ai reali produttori.
Consumatori.
Poor thinking matter!
Anxious humankind,
inexorably swept away
in the terrifying whirpool
of the present era.
Marvelous era
of infinite power.
Of great speeds
of immense calamities,
of lost freedoms,
of little serenity.
Times of mass production
next to the poverty
of chronic unemployment.
Of too many servants
in comparison to
real producers.
Consumers.
PAGE 1 of 2
69
In quest’epoca
semi pagana e grottesca,
l’uomo
seppellito
da una catasta
di svariatissime
sensazioni;
eccitato,
distratto sempre;
assillato
da continue
preoccupazioni
bombardato
da ogni sorta di rumori,
sta perdendo
l’anima sua
assieme
alla fiducia
e sottomissione
allo Spirito Supremo
base cardine
d’ogni pacifico
consorzio Umano.
From a Painting by Alfredo Meschi
Page 2 of 2
In these semi-pagan and grotesque
times,
Man
buried
under a stack
of multifarious
sensations;
stimulated,
constantly entertained;
tormented
by continuous
anxieties
bombarded
by all sort of noises,
is losing
his soul
together with
the faith
and submission
to the Supreme Spirit
center pivot
of every peaceful
Human community.
70
La cura termino’ e la tosse resto’ - Ritorno
The treatment ended and the cough stayed. – Return home
Da lunghi anni
malato di petto
un povero vecchietto
stanco di tossire,
all’aria di mare
spero’ guarire.
Abito’ sull’arenile
vicino all’onde,
e passeggio’ a lungo
tra le fronde
nelle balsamiche pinete:
ma la tosse rimase.
Egli, aveva dimenticato,
che vecchio,
vuol dir frustato!
Il misero tapino,
mal s’arrendeva
al crudo destino.
Melanconicamente
il tempo passava;
i giorni contava:
ma la tosse rimaneva.
Paintings by Alfredo Meschi
Page 1 of 2
After long years
of chest illness,
a poor little old man
tired of coughing,
in the sea air
he hoped to heal.
He lived on a stretch of sand
near the waves,
taking long walks
among the leafy branches
in the balmy pine tree forests:
but the cough remained.
He had forgotten,
that being old
means being lashed!
The wretched man,
badly surrendered
to a cruel destiny.
Downhearted
he spent his time;
counting the days,
71
but the cough stayed.
The course of treatment
ended,
and he returned
to his dwelling;
in the large room
atop the Great Tower.
Tired, he stretched out in bed
with the usual cough in his chest
and an earache too.
And while his ear
strongly ached,
he thought about the physiotherapy,
that unwillingly,
had brought him
another illness;
and said: “My Home, my Home”.
Fini il tempo
della cura,
ed ei torno’
alla sua dimora;
nello stanzone
in cima al Torrione.
Stanco, si stese sul letto
con la solita tosse in petto
ed in piu’ un’otite nell’orecchio.
E mentre assai forte
l’orecchio gli sentia
penso’ alla fisioterapia,
che non volendo,
gli aveva portato
un’altra malattia;
e disse: “Casa mia, Casa mia.”
Lido di Torre del Lago, 16 December 1955
Page 2 of 2
72
Moderne stonature nell’antica meravigliosa pineta di Torre del Lago
Modern clashes in the marvelous ancient pine forest of Torre del Lago
Nell’aria quieta
d’una pineta
un usignolo
trilla e canta
con voce armoniosa
la sua canzone
amorosa,
stupefacente, deliziosa.
In the still air
of a pine forest
the nightingale
trills and sings
with a melodious voice
his love
song,
astounding, delightful.
Ad un tratto
un suono
forte e duro
riempie e guasta
la pace silente
del verde scuro.
L’aria s’e’ impregnata
d’una sonora buffonata
di modernissima
strana musica
sconclusionata.
Suddenly,
a loud and harsh
sound
fills and spoils
the silent peace
of the dark green forest.
The air has impregnated itself
with a sonorous buffoonery
of the latest
Incoherent
weird music.
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
PAGE 1 of 3
73
L’usignolo spaventato
il bel cantar ha cessato,
lontano e’ volato via.
Il suo canto gioioso
era l’unica voce
nel verde silenzioso.
Il natural cantore,
estatico cantava
per le sue creature
a gloria del Creatore,
il canto della Vita,
il misterioso
canto dell’amore.
Noi preferiamo
mangiar gli uccelli,
ai loro canti
gentili e belli.
Adesso, il bosco secolare,
senza animale
e’ immerso
in un lugubre
silenzio sepolcrale,
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
PAGE 2 of 3
Frightened, the nightingale
has ceased his beautiful singing,
afar he has flown away.
His joyful song
was the only voice
in the silent green.
Nature’s cantor
ecstatic sang
on behalf of his creatures
to the glory of the Creator.
He sang the song of Life,
the mysterious
song of love.
And yet, we prefer
eating birds
to their gentle
and beautiful chants.
Now, the creatureless
ancient forest,
is immersed
in a gloomy
sepulchral silence,
74
From a painting by Alfredo Meschi
e la gente inquieta,
che sol per moda, viene alla pineta
cerca rompere e scacciare
il silenzio sepolcrale
e la noia mortale
con la straziante, rumorosa voce
d’un altoparlante,
che assieme agli strepitosi
rumori
ed agli acri odori
de’ nostri motori,
in un istante
si portan via
Torre del Lago, 11 June 1956
l’ultima stilla
di poesia.
PAGE 3 of 3
and the restless folks,
who just for fad, come to the pine forest,
try to break and chase away
the sepulchral silence
and the deadly boredom
with the excruciating, noisy voice
of a loudspeaker,
that combined with the boisterous
noises
and the acrid odors
of our motors,
in one instant
take away
the last drop
75
of poetry.
COME PRESTO VOLO’ VIA…/HOW QUICKLY AWAY IT FLEW…
Come presto volo’ via
il breve tempo
della vacanza mia!
Fra l’azzurro del mar
ed il verde della pineta,
la vacanza e’ passata
oh vita lieta, oh vita beata!
Domani,
nella solita bottega
male odorosa
e i soliti discorsi
e la gente scontenta
e presuntuosa.
Cosi e’ la Vita.
Paintings by Alfredo Meschi
Lucca, 11 July 1956
How quickly away flew
the brief time
of my vacation!
Between the blue of the sea
and the green of the pine forest,
the vacation is gone
oh happy life, oh blissful life!
Tomorrow,
back to the usual malodorous
shop
and to the usual small talk
of disgruntled and
presumptuous folks.
This is Life.
76
I desideri miei quand’ero giovane/ My Youth’s Desires
Passeggiare
per conoscere
e contemplare.
Leggere
per amore di sapere.
To walk
for knowing
and to contemplate.
To read
for the love of knowledge.
Giustizia,
Verita’, Amore.
Justice,
Truth, Love.
Liberamente
lavorare,
cantare suonare.
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
Freely
to work,
to sing, to play music.
Amare
per procreare
sol vincolato
dal natural dovere.
To love
for procreation
only bound
by natural duty.
PAGE 1 OF 3
Istituto Luce
77
Abitar isolato,
in un vecchio casolare
abbandonato,
vicino a un prato
tra il bosco
ed il frutteto,
la terra lavorando,
l’istrumento
suonando.
E la sera , cantare
nella stanzetta
presso il focolare.
L’ore della vita
cosi’ passare,
ed intanto aspettare
quell’invisibil mano
che mi portera’ lontano.
L’ore son passate
le speranze svanite,
il Tempo e le malattie
han quasi finito
le forze mie.
To live isolated,
in an old abandoned
farmhouse,
near a meadow
between the woods
and the orchard,
working the land,
the instrument
playing.
And singing in the evening,
in the small room
near the fireplace.
The hours of life
thus passing,
whilst waiting for
that invisible hand
that will take me afar.
Istituto Luce
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
PAGE 2 of 3
The hours have passed
the hopes vanished,
time and illnesses
have almost exhausted
my strength.
78
Solamente,
nel fondo del cuore
e’ rimasto un desiderio
di Giustizia, Verita’, Amore.
Only,
in the depth of my heart
a desire remains
of Justice, Truth, Love.
Addio! Frutteto generoso,
tu mi tenevi operoso
e mi davi
il dolce frutto profumato.
Addio bosco incantato,
le tue ombre
il verde silenzioso;
tanto desiderato.
Addio! Verde tappeto
di prato fiorito,
profumato di fieno, tanto gradito.
Addio per sempre!
Tutto e’ finito!
Farewell! Generous orchard,
you kept me busy
and gave me
the sweet fragrant fruit.
Farewell enchanted woods,
your shadows
the silent green;
so much desired.
Farewell! Green carpet
of a flowery meadow,
pleasantly scented of hay,
Farewell forever!
Everything is over!
Painting by Alfredo Meschi
Lucca, 8 August 1956
PAGE 3 of 3
79
A premonition that, 50 years after his death, his
message would be divulgated through
the English language and the Internet?
Perhaps one day from atop a bell tower
the sweet sound shall reach
my buried bones
and will tell them: Lie down
Move nevermore
You shall hear me nevermore!
My soul shall come near
your silvery sound to hear
and in the turquoise sky disappear.
ITALO MESCHI
CANTORE E MUSICO
9.12.1887 – 15.10.1957
43°52’04.14” N
10°27’17.88” E
Google Earth
***********************
Forse un giorno di cima a un campanile
il dolce suono giungera’
alle mie ossa seppellite
e gli dira’: State giu’
Non vi movete piu’
Non mi sentirete piu’!
L’anima mia verra’ vicino
a sentire il vostro suono argentino
e sparira’ nel cielo turchino.
80