Wednesday, May 20, 2009


Today I am proud to be able to share with you Professore Antonio Lonardo's poem, Analogiche Differenze, which he dedicated to his sisters. The poem is published here with his kind permission, along with my own translation:


Avete preparato il futuro
con fitte ragnatele di ricami,
che dovevano avvolgere
i sogni dei vostri figli,
e renderli vellutati
dopo i crudeli bellici contrasti.

Eravate giovani donne,
cresciute all’ombra del divino
tempio di solenni progetti,
invocati al Dio della fede,
pronto a diffondere la luce
di un arcobaleno di pace.

Siete mature nonne,
caleidoscopio di vite intrecciate,
nella scoperta di valori
vissuti oltre le frontiere
di stereotipi sognati
davanti al camino della gioventù.

Nel mio passato di allora,
scoprivo i raggi di sole,
palline di preziose perle,
trasformate in collane di affetto:
giorni difficili di fratello,
miracolo di colorate attenzioni.

Ero fragile pianta di vetro
in una brughiera di spine,
smussate solo da campane a festa;
le pareti del mio cuore,
trapassate da circoli di fosforo,
battevano in sintonia con i vostri.

Sono costruttore di parole
che varcano significati profondi
d’intrecciati discorsi,
viaggi nella metafisica del reale
quale miele di pensiero
nell’allineato, esistenziale tramonto.


You prepared the future
with cobweb stitches of embroidery,
which should have enveloped
the dreams of your children,
like covers of velvet
after the cruel war-like quarrels.

You were young women,
brought up in the shadow of the divine
temple of solemn plans,
invoking the God of faith,
ready to diffuse the light
of a rainbow of peace.

You are mature grandmothers,
a kaleidoscope of braided lives,
discovering values
lived beyond the frontiers
of stereotypes dreamed of
beside the hearth of youth.

In my past of that era,
I discovered rays of sunlight,
balls of precious pearls,
transformed into necklaces of affection:
difficult days for a brother,
the focus of many-coloured attentions.

I was a fragile plant of glass
in a moorland of thorns,
blunted only by feast-day bells;
the walls of my heart,
pierced by phosphorus circles,
beat in harmony with yours.

I am a builder of words
with deeper meanings than
those of braided discourse,
journeys in the metaphysics of reality
like honeyed thought
in the echoing , existential sunset.

- From Il Profumo del Pensiero [Edizioni Nuovi Poeti, 2009].


Whispering Walls said...

When he says he was glass amongst thorns, is he referring to his sisters?

Gledwood said...

Can you understand all that without Google Translate? You're v clever ;->...

Welshcakes Limoncello said...

Hi, WW. I didn't interpret it that way. But I suppose it's for each of us to decide. Hi, Gleds. I wouldn't use Google or any other translation site as they are all crap, I'm sorry to say. It's a very specialised skill.

Lulda Casadaga said...

I think it is a lovely poem...sometimes, I don't go looking for a meaning in a poem, I just accept it as is...:)

Welshcakes Limoncello said...

Hello, Lulda. I think that's the best way.

jmb said...

I very nice tribute to his sisters.

Welshcakes Limoncello said...

Hi, jmb. AL will be pleased.


View My Stats