I am posting this along with "Bright Star," by Keats, because both poems reflect some of my own thoughts about mortality and the impermanence of life. I know that after I am gone, I will be completely forgotten within a few years; and while this used to trouble me, it does so no longer. I hope I will have done something constructive and noble with my life, but the world will not stop for me, nor would I wish it to do so.
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Bright Star (Keats)
I have had a very unsettled life, and as a result I crave a sense of permanence as perhaps few other people do. And yet, as I grow older and become increasingly aware of my own mortality, I ponder the contrast between my wish and the impermanent nature of life, of which change is the only true constant. Thus, this famous sonnet by John Keats has a special appeal to me. One of the greatest of English poets, he lived only to age 25 and succumbed to the ravages of tuberculosis.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Inferno, Canto V: Paolo and Francesca (Dante)
My favorite poem in any language is Dante's Divine Comedy, so it is appropriate that it should be first to appear in a blog created by me and devoted to poetry. And of the 100 cantos of the Comedy, my favorite is the fifth of Inferno, the tragic but compelling tale of Paolo and Francesca. By now I have probably read or listened to it at least 150 times, enough to have memorized perhaps 60% of it. Eventually I expect to have the entire Canto committed to memory.
Francesca da Rimini (1255-85) was the daughter of Guido da Polenta, lord of Ravenna. In an arranged marriage, she wed the deformed Giovanni Malatesta, whose father was ruled the city-state of Rimini, south of Ravenna. Because Guido knew Francesca would have refused Giovanni, the marriage was performed by proxy, with Giovanni's brother Paolo standing in for the groom. Francesca fell in love with Paolo and did not learn of the deception until the following day.
According to Dante, the pair became lovers after reading the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, and were later murdered by Giovanni when he caught them in flagrante. Dante places them in the second circle of his Inferno, where sins of lust are punished, in this case by the lovers being joined forever and carried about by powerful winds. Paolo does not speak, although his tears are noted near the end of the canto. However, Francesca, who narrates the tale from the lovers' viewpoint, is presented as a tragic figure, yet at the same time one of the most appealing characters in the entire Comedy.
Since I know Italian, I prefer to read the Comedy in its original language. Here I present it in both Italian and English. A recitation of the Canto by Roberto Benigni may be found here.
Così discesi del cerchio primaio
giù nel secondo, che men loco cinghia
e tanto più dolor, che punge a guaio.
Stavvi Minòs orribilmente, e ringhia:
essamina le colpe ne l’intrata;
giudica e manda secondo ch’avvinghia.
Dico che quando l’anima mal nata
li vien dinanzi, tutta si confessa;
e quel conoscitor de le peccata
vede qual loco d’inferno è da essa;
cignesi con la coda tante volte
quantunque gradi vuol che giù sia messa.
Sempre dinanzi a lui ne stanno molte:
vanno a vicenda ciascuna al giudizio,
dicono e odono e poi son giù volte.
«O tu che vieni al doloroso ospizio»,
disse Minòs a me quando mi vide,
lasciando l’atto di cotanto offizio,
«guarda com’ entri e di cui tu ti fide;
non t’inganni l’ampiezza de l’intrare!».
’l duca mio a lui: «Perché pur gride?
Non impedir lo suo fatale andare:
vuolsi così colà dove si puote
ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare».
Or incomincian le dolenti note
a farmisi sentire; or son venuto
là dove molto pianto mi percuote.
Io venni in loco d’ogne luce muto,
che mugghia come fa mar per tempesta,
se da contrari venti è combattuto.
La bufera infernal, che mai non resta,
mena li spirti con la sua rapina;
voltando e percotendo li molesta.
Quando giungon davanti a la ruina,
quivi le strida, il compianto, il lamento;
bestemmian quivi la virtù divina.
Intesi ch’a così fatto tormento
enno dannati i peccator carnali,
che la ragion sommettono al talento.
E come li stornei ne portan l’ali
nel freddo tempo, a schiera larga e piena,
così quel fiato li spiriti mali
di qua, di là, di giù, di sù li mena;
nulla speranza li conforta mai,
non che di posa, ma di minor pena.
E come i gru van cantando lor lai,
faccendo in aere di sé lunga riga,
così vid’ io venir, traendo guai,
ombre portate da la detta briga;
per ch’i’ dissi: «Maestro, chi son quelle
genti che l’aura nera sì gastiga?».
«La prima di color di cui novelle
tu vuo’ saper», mi disse quelli allotta,
«fu imperadrice di molte favelle.
A vizio di lussuria fu sì rotta,
che libito fé licito in sua legge,
per tòrre il biasmo in che era condotta.
Ell’ è Semiramìs, di cui si legge
che succedette a Nino e fu sua sposa:
tenne la terra che ’l Soldan corregge.
L’altra è colei che s’ancise amorosa,
e ruppe fede al cener di Sicheo;
poi è Cleopatràs lussurïosa.
Elena vedi, per cui tanto reo
tempo si volse, e vedi ’l grande Achille,
che con amore al fine combatteo.
Vedi Parìs, Tristano»; e più di mille
ombre mostrommi e nominommi a dito,
ch’amor di nostra vita dipartille.
Poscia ch’io ebbi ’l mio dottore udito
nomar le donne antiche e ’ cavalieri,
pietà mi giunse, e fui quasi smarrito.
I’ cominciai: «Poeta, volontieri
parlerei a quei due che ’nsieme vanno,
e paion sì al vento esser leggeri».
Ed elli a me: «Vedrai quando saranno
più presso a noi; e tu allor li priega
per quello amor che i mena, ed ei verranno».
Sì tosto come il vento a noi li piega,
mossi la voce: «O anime affannate,
venite a noi parlar, s’altri nol niega!».
Quali colombe dal disio chiamate
con l’ali alzate e ferme al dolce nido
vegnon per l’aere, dal voler portate;
cotali uscir de la schiera ov’ è Dido,
a noi venendo per l’aere maligno,
sì forte fu l’affettüoso grido.
«O animal grazïoso e benigno
che visitando vai per l’aere perso
noi che tignemmo il mondo di sanguigno,
se fosse amico il re de l’universo,
noi pregheremmo lui de la tua pace,
poi c’hai pietà del nostro mal perverso.
Di quel che udire e che parlar vi piace,
noi udiremo e parleremo a voi,
mentre che ’l vento, come fa, ci tace.
Siede la terra dove nata fui
su la marina dove ’l Po discende
per aver pace co’ seguaci sui.
Amor, ch’al cor gentil ratto s’apprende,
prese costui de la bella persona
che mi fu tolta; e ’l modo ancor m’offende.
Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona,
mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,
che, come vedi, ancor non m’abbandona.
Amor condusse noi ad una morte.
Caina attende chi a vita ci spense».
Queste parole da lor ci fuor porte.
Quand’ io intesi quell’ anime offense,
china’ il viso, e tanto il tenni basso,
fin che ’l poeta mi disse: «Che pense?».
Quando rispuosi, cominciai: «Oh lasso,
quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio
menò costoro al doloroso passo!».
Poi mi rivolsi a loro e parla’ io,
e cominciai: «Francesca, i tuoi martìri
a lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio.
Ma dimmi: al tempo d’i dolci sospiri,
a che e come concedette amore
che conosceste i dubbiosi disiri?».
E quella a me: «Nessun maggior dolore
che ricordarsi del tempo felice
ne la miseria; e ciò sa ’l tuo dottore.
Ma s’a conoscer la prima radice
del nostro amor tu hai cotanto affetto,
dirò come colui che piange e dice.
Noi leggiavamo un giorno per diletto
di Lancialotto come amor lo strinse;
soli eravamo e sanza alcun sospetto.
Per più fïate li occhi ci sospinse
quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso;
ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.
Quando leggemmo il disïato riso
esser basciato da cotanto amante,
questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
la bocca mi basciò tutto tremante.
Galeotto fu ’l libro e chi lo scrisse:
quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante».
Mentre che l’uno spirto questo disse,
l’altro piangëa; sì che di pietade
io venni men così com’ io morisse.
E caddi come corpo morto cade."
(In English, by an unknown translator:)
So I descended from the first circle
Into the second, encompassing less space
ut sharper pain which spurs the wailing on.
There Minos stands, hideous and growling,
Examining the sins of each newcomer:
With coiling tail he judges and dispatches.
I mean that, when the ill-begotten spirit
Comes before him, that soul confesses all
And then this master-mind of sinfulness
Sees what place in hell has been assigned:
The times he winds his tail around himself
Reveal the level to which the soul is sent.
Always in front of him a new mob stands.
Each, taking a turn, proceeds to judgment:
Each owns up, listens, and is pitched below.
"You who approach this dwelling-place of pain,"
Cried Minos when he laid his eyes on me —
Forsaking the performance of his office —
"Watch out how you enter and whom you trust!
Do not let the wide-open gateway fool you!"
My guide said to him, "Why do you cry out?
"Do not obstruct his own predestined way:
This deed has so been willed where One can do
Whatever He wills — and ask no more questions."
Now the notes of suffering begin
To reach my hearing; now I am arrived
At where the widespread wailing hammers me.
I come to a place where all light is muted,
Which rumbles like the sea beneath a storm
When waves are buffeted by warring squalls.
The windblast out of hell, forever restless,
Thrusts the spirits onward with its force,
Swirling and mauling and harassing them.
When they alight upon this scene of wreckage,
Screams, reproaches, and bemoanings rise
As souls call down their curses on God's power.
I learned that to this unending torment
Have been condemned the sinners of the flesh,
Those who surrender reason to self-will.
And as the starlings are lifted on their wings
In icy weather to wide and serried flocks,
So does the gale lift up the wicked spirits,
Flinging them here and there and down and up:
No hope whatever can ever comfort them,
Neither of rest nor of less punishment.
And as the cranes fly over, chanting lays,
Forming one long line across the sky,
So I saw come, uttering their cries,
Shades wafted onward by these winds of strife,
To make me ask him, "Master, who are those
People whom the blackened air so punishes?"
"The first among those souls whose chronicle
You want to know," he then replied to me,
"Was empress over lands of many tongues.
"Her appetite for lust became so flagrant
That she made lewdness licit with her laws
To free her from the blame her vice incurred.
"She is Semiramis, whose story reads
That, as his wife, she succeeded Ninus,
Controlling the country now ruled by the sultan.
"The other, Dido, killed herself for love
And broke faith with the ashes of Sychaeus;
Next comes the lust-enamored Cleopatra.
"See Helen, for whom many years of woe
Rolled on, and see the great Achilles
Who in his final battle came to love.
"See Paris, Tristan" — and then of a thousand
Shades, he pointed out and named for me
All those whom love had cut off from our life.
After I had listened to my instructor
Name the knights and ladies of the past,
Pity gripped me, and I lost my bearing.
I began, "Poet, I would most willingly
Address those two who pass together there
And appear to be so light upon the wind,"
And he told me, "You will see when they draw
Closer to us that, if you petition them
By the love that propels them, they will come."
As soon as the gust curved them near to us,
I raised my voice to them, "O wind-worn souls,
Come speak to us if it is not forbidden."
Just as the doves when homing instinct calls them
To their sweet nest, on steadily lifted wings
Glide through the air, guided by their longing,
So those souls left the covey where Dido lies,
Moving toward us through the malignant air,
So strong was the loving-kindness in my cry.
"O mortal man, gracious and tenderhearted,
Who through the somber air come to visit
The two of us who stained the earth with blood,
"If the King of the universe were our friend,
We would then pray to him to bring you peace,
Since you show pity for our wretched plight.
"Whatever you please to hear and speak about
We will hear and speak about with you
While the wind, as it is now, is silent.
"The country of my birth lies on that coast
Where the river Po with its tributaries
Flows downhill to its place of final rest.
"Love which takes quick hold in a gentle heart
Seized this man for the beauty of the body
Snatched from me — how it happened galls me!
"Love which pardons no one loved from loving
Seized me so strongly with my pleasure in him
That, as you see, it still does not leave me.
"Love led the two of us to a single death:
Caina awaits him who snuffed out our lives."
These were the words conveyed from them to us.
When I had heard those grief-stricken souls,
I bowed my head and held it bowed down low
Until the poet asked, "What are you thinking?"
When I replied, I ventured, "O misery,
How many the sweet thoughts, how much yearning
Has led these two to this heartbroken pass!"
Then I turned round again to speak to them,
And I began, "Francesca, your sufferings
Move my heart to tears of grief and pity.
"But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs,
By what signs did love grant to you the favor
Of recognizing your mistrustful longings?"
And she told me, "Nothing is more painful
Than to recall the time of happiness
In wretchedness: this truth your teacher knows.
"If, however, to learn the initial root
Of our own love is now your deep desire,
I will speak here as one who weeps in speaking.
"One day for our own pleasure we were reading
Of Lancelot and how love pinioned him.
We were alone and innocent of suspicion.
"Several times that reading forced our eyes
To meet and took the color from our faces.
But one solitary moment conquered us.
"When we read there of how the longed-for smile
Was being kissed by that heroic lover,
This man, who never shall be severed from me,
"Trembling all over, kissed me on the mouth.
That book — and its author — was a pander!
In it that day we did no further reading."
While the one spirit spoke these words, the other
Wept so sadly that pity swept over me
And I fainted as if face to face with death,
And I fell just as a dead body falls.
Francesca da Rimini (1255-85) was the daughter of Guido da Polenta, lord of Ravenna. In an arranged marriage, she wed the deformed Giovanni Malatesta, whose father was ruled the city-state of Rimini, south of Ravenna. Because Guido knew Francesca would have refused Giovanni, the marriage was performed by proxy, with Giovanni's brother Paolo standing in for the groom. Francesca fell in love with Paolo and did not learn of the deception until the following day.
According to Dante, the pair became lovers after reading the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, and were later murdered by Giovanni when he caught them in flagrante. Dante places them in the second circle of his Inferno, where sins of lust are punished, in this case by the lovers being joined forever and carried about by powerful winds. Paolo does not speak, although his tears are noted near the end of the canto. However, Francesca, who narrates the tale from the lovers' viewpoint, is presented as a tragic figure, yet at the same time one of the most appealing characters in the entire Comedy.
Since I know Italian, I prefer to read the Comedy in its original language. Here I present it in both Italian and English. A recitation of the Canto by Roberto Benigni may be found here.
Così discesi del cerchio primaio
giù nel secondo, che men loco cinghia
e tanto più dolor, che punge a guaio.
Stavvi Minòs orribilmente, e ringhia:
essamina le colpe ne l’intrata;
giudica e manda secondo ch’avvinghia.
Dico che quando l’anima mal nata
li vien dinanzi, tutta si confessa;
e quel conoscitor de le peccata
vede qual loco d’inferno è da essa;
cignesi con la coda tante volte
quantunque gradi vuol che giù sia messa.
Sempre dinanzi a lui ne stanno molte:
vanno a vicenda ciascuna al giudizio,
dicono e odono e poi son giù volte.
«O tu che vieni al doloroso ospizio»,
disse Minòs a me quando mi vide,
lasciando l’atto di cotanto offizio,
«guarda com’ entri e di cui tu ti fide;
non t’inganni l’ampiezza de l’intrare!».
’l duca mio a lui: «Perché pur gride?
Non impedir lo suo fatale andare:
vuolsi così colà dove si puote
ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare».
Or incomincian le dolenti note
a farmisi sentire; or son venuto
là dove molto pianto mi percuote.
Io venni in loco d’ogne luce muto,
che mugghia come fa mar per tempesta,
se da contrari venti è combattuto.
La bufera infernal, che mai non resta,
mena li spirti con la sua rapina;
voltando e percotendo li molesta.
Quando giungon davanti a la ruina,
quivi le strida, il compianto, il lamento;
bestemmian quivi la virtù divina.
Intesi ch’a così fatto tormento
enno dannati i peccator carnali,
che la ragion sommettono al talento.
E come li stornei ne portan l’ali
nel freddo tempo, a schiera larga e piena,
così quel fiato li spiriti mali
di qua, di là, di giù, di sù li mena;
nulla speranza li conforta mai,
non che di posa, ma di minor pena.
E come i gru van cantando lor lai,
faccendo in aere di sé lunga riga,
così vid’ io venir, traendo guai,
ombre portate da la detta briga;
per ch’i’ dissi: «Maestro, chi son quelle
genti che l’aura nera sì gastiga?».
«La prima di color di cui novelle
tu vuo’ saper», mi disse quelli allotta,
«fu imperadrice di molte favelle.
A vizio di lussuria fu sì rotta,
che libito fé licito in sua legge,
per tòrre il biasmo in che era condotta.
Ell’ è Semiramìs, di cui si legge
che succedette a Nino e fu sua sposa:
tenne la terra che ’l Soldan corregge.
L’altra è colei che s’ancise amorosa,
e ruppe fede al cener di Sicheo;
poi è Cleopatràs lussurïosa.
Elena vedi, per cui tanto reo
tempo si volse, e vedi ’l grande Achille,
che con amore al fine combatteo.
Vedi Parìs, Tristano»; e più di mille
ombre mostrommi e nominommi a dito,
ch’amor di nostra vita dipartille.
Poscia ch’io ebbi ’l mio dottore udito
nomar le donne antiche e ’ cavalieri,
pietà mi giunse, e fui quasi smarrito.
I’ cominciai: «Poeta, volontieri
parlerei a quei due che ’nsieme vanno,
e paion sì al vento esser leggeri».
Ed elli a me: «Vedrai quando saranno
più presso a noi; e tu allor li priega
per quello amor che i mena, ed ei verranno».
Sì tosto come il vento a noi li piega,
mossi la voce: «O anime affannate,
venite a noi parlar, s’altri nol niega!».
Quali colombe dal disio chiamate
con l’ali alzate e ferme al dolce nido
vegnon per l’aere, dal voler portate;
cotali uscir de la schiera ov’ è Dido,
a noi venendo per l’aere maligno,
sì forte fu l’affettüoso grido.
«O animal grazïoso e benigno
che visitando vai per l’aere perso
noi che tignemmo il mondo di sanguigno,
se fosse amico il re de l’universo,
noi pregheremmo lui de la tua pace,
poi c’hai pietà del nostro mal perverso.
Di quel che udire e che parlar vi piace,
noi udiremo e parleremo a voi,
mentre che ’l vento, come fa, ci tace.
Siede la terra dove nata fui
su la marina dove ’l Po discende
per aver pace co’ seguaci sui.
Amor, ch’al cor gentil ratto s’apprende,
prese costui de la bella persona
che mi fu tolta; e ’l modo ancor m’offende.
Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona,
mi prese del costui piacer sì forte,
che, come vedi, ancor non m’abbandona.
Amor condusse noi ad una morte.
Caina attende chi a vita ci spense».
Queste parole da lor ci fuor porte.
Quand’ io intesi quell’ anime offense,
china’ il viso, e tanto il tenni basso,
fin che ’l poeta mi disse: «Che pense?».
Quando rispuosi, cominciai: «Oh lasso,
quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio
menò costoro al doloroso passo!».
Poi mi rivolsi a loro e parla’ io,
e cominciai: «Francesca, i tuoi martìri
a lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio.
Ma dimmi: al tempo d’i dolci sospiri,
a che e come concedette amore
che conosceste i dubbiosi disiri?».
E quella a me: «Nessun maggior dolore
che ricordarsi del tempo felice
ne la miseria; e ciò sa ’l tuo dottore.
Ma s’a conoscer la prima radice
del nostro amor tu hai cotanto affetto,
dirò come colui che piange e dice.
Noi leggiavamo un giorno per diletto
di Lancialotto come amor lo strinse;
soli eravamo e sanza alcun sospetto.
Per più fïate li occhi ci sospinse
quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso;
ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.
Quando leggemmo il disïato riso
esser basciato da cotanto amante,
questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
la bocca mi basciò tutto tremante.
Galeotto fu ’l libro e chi lo scrisse:
quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante».
Mentre che l’uno spirto questo disse,
l’altro piangëa; sì che di pietade
io venni men così com’ io morisse.
E caddi come corpo morto cade."
(In English, by an unknown translator:)
So I descended from the first circle
Into the second, encompassing less space
ut sharper pain which spurs the wailing on.
There Minos stands, hideous and growling,
Examining the sins of each newcomer:
With coiling tail he judges and dispatches.
I mean that, when the ill-begotten spirit
Comes before him, that soul confesses all
And then this master-mind of sinfulness
Sees what place in hell has been assigned:
The times he winds his tail around himself
Reveal the level to which the soul is sent.
Always in front of him a new mob stands.
Each, taking a turn, proceeds to judgment:
Each owns up, listens, and is pitched below.
"You who approach this dwelling-place of pain,"
Cried Minos when he laid his eyes on me —
Forsaking the performance of his office —
"Watch out how you enter and whom you trust!
Do not let the wide-open gateway fool you!"
My guide said to him, "Why do you cry out?
"Do not obstruct his own predestined way:
This deed has so been willed where One can do
Whatever He wills — and ask no more questions."
Now the notes of suffering begin
To reach my hearing; now I am arrived
At where the widespread wailing hammers me.
I come to a place where all light is muted,
Which rumbles like the sea beneath a storm
When waves are buffeted by warring squalls.
The windblast out of hell, forever restless,
Thrusts the spirits onward with its force,
Swirling and mauling and harassing them.
When they alight upon this scene of wreckage,
Screams, reproaches, and bemoanings rise
As souls call down their curses on God's power.
I learned that to this unending torment
Have been condemned the sinners of the flesh,
Those who surrender reason to self-will.
And as the starlings are lifted on their wings
In icy weather to wide and serried flocks,
So does the gale lift up the wicked spirits,
Flinging them here and there and down and up:
No hope whatever can ever comfort them,
Neither of rest nor of less punishment.
And as the cranes fly over, chanting lays,
Forming one long line across the sky,
So I saw come, uttering their cries,
Shades wafted onward by these winds of strife,
To make me ask him, "Master, who are those
People whom the blackened air so punishes?"
"The first among those souls whose chronicle
You want to know," he then replied to me,
"Was empress over lands of many tongues.
"Her appetite for lust became so flagrant
That she made lewdness licit with her laws
To free her from the blame her vice incurred.
"She is Semiramis, whose story reads
That, as his wife, she succeeded Ninus,
Controlling the country now ruled by the sultan.
"The other, Dido, killed herself for love
And broke faith with the ashes of Sychaeus;
Next comes the lust-enamored Cleopatra.
"See Helen, for whom many years of woe
Rolled on, and see the great Achilles
Who in his final battle came to love.
"See Paris, Tristan" — and then of a thousand
Shades, he pointed out and named for me
All those whom love had cut off from our life.
After I had listened to my instructor
Name the knights and ladies of the past,
Pity gripped me, and I lost my bearing.
I began, "Poet, I would most willingly
Address those two who pass together there
And appear to be so light upon the wind,"
And he told me, "You will see when they draw
Closer to us that, if you petition them
By the love that propels them, they will come."
As soon as the gust curved them near to us,
I raised my voice to them, "O wind-worn souls,
Come speak to us if it is not forbidden."
Just as the doves when homing instinct calls them
To their sweet nest, on steadily lifted wings
Glide through the air, guided by their longing,
So those souls left the covey where Dido lies,
Moving toward us through the malignant air,
So strong was the loving-kindness in my cry.
"O mortal man, gracious and tenderhearted,
Who through the somber air come to visit
The two of us who stained the earth with blood,
"If the King of the universe were our friend,
We would then pray to him to bring you peace,
Since you show pity for our wretched plight.
"Whatever you please to hear and speak about
We will hear and speak about with you
While the wind, as it is now, is silent.
"The country of my birth lies on that coast
Where the river Po with its tributaries
Flows downhill to its place of final rest.
"Love which takes quick hold in a gentle heart
Seized this man for the beauty of the body
Snatched from me — how it happened galls me!
"Love which pardons no one loved from loving
Seized me so strongly with my pleasure in him
That, as you see, it still does not leave me.
"Love led the two of us to a single death:
Caina awaits him who snuffed out our lives."
These were the words conveyed from them to us.
When I had heard those grief-stricken souls,
I bowed my head and held it bowed down low
Until the poet asked, "What are you thinking?"
When I replied, I ventured, "O misery,
How many the sweet thoughts, how much yearning
Has led these two to this heartbroken pass!"
Then I turned round again to speak to them,
And I began, "Francesca, your sufferings
Move my heart to tears of grief and pity.
"But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs,
By what signs did love grant to you the favor
Of recognizing your mistrustful longings?"
And she told me, "Nothing is more painful
Than to recall the time of happiness
In wretchedness: this truth your teacher knows.
"If, however, to learn the initial root
Of our own love is now your deep desire,
I will speak here as one who weeps in speaking.
"One day for our own pleasure we were reading
Of Lancelot and how love pinioned him.
We were alone and innocent of suspicion.
"Several times that reading forced our eyes
To meet and took the color from our faces.
But one solitary moment conquered us.
"When we read there of how the longed-for smile
Was being kissed by that heroic lover,
This man, who never shall be severed from me,
"Trembling all over, kissed me on the mouth.
That book — and its author — was a pander!
In it that day we did no further reading."
While the one spirit spoke these words, the other
Wept so sadly that pity swept over me
And I fainted as if face to face with death,
And I fell just as a dead body falls.
Welcome to my newest blog
My interest in poetry has grown in recent years, although I cannot really explain why. Much of the reason surely stems from my love of the written word, which began during my childhood and has never diminished. Additionally, by nature I have always been sensitive and sentimental, and I know I have mellowed considerably as I have grown older and the slings and arrows of fortune have smoothed some of the rougher edges of my personality. But whatever the reasons, this is a project I have been considering for some time.
The creation of this blog was inspired, in part, by several members of the Kennedy family, beginning with our 35th President, himself a poetry aficionado. Several years ago, a collection of the favorite poems of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was published, and I browsed through it one evening during one of my frequent visits to Border's bookstore. As I recall, it was edited by their daughter Caroline, and among the poets represented in the anthology were Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, and Edna St. Vincent Millay. Long ago, I also learned that Robert Kennedy had developed a serious interest in poetry during the last few years of his life. When asked by a friend when this had started, he replied that he thought it was sometime around December of 1963 -- not coincidentally, shortly after the President's untimely death, which proved to be the most shattering experience in the younger Kennedy's life. Having gone through considerable upheaval in my own life in recent years, I can relate to that, at least to some degree. Pain, though never welcome or pleasant, can serve as a refining experience.
I will be setting up this new blog over the next several days, and gradually adding new poems to it, along with commentary of my own. To anyone who follows this site, or merely drops in on it occasionally, I wish you a pleasant and edifying visit, and hope that what has contributed so much to my own life might also benefit yours as well.
The creation of this blog was inspired, in part, by several members of the Kennedy family, beginning with our 35th President, himself a poetry aficionado. Several years ago, a collection of the favorite poems of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was published, and I browsed through it one evening during one of my frequent visits to Border's bookstore. As I recall, it was edited by their daughter Caroline, and among the poets represented in the anthology were Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, and Edna St. Vincent Millay. Long ago, I also learned that Robert Kennedy had developed a serious interest in poetry during the last few years of his life. When asked by a friend when this had started, he replied that he thought it was sometime around December of 1963 -- not coincidentally, shortly after the President's untimely death, which proved to be the most shattering experience in the younger Kennedy's life. Having gone through considerable upheaval in my own life in recent years, I can relate to that, at least to some degree. Pain, though never welcome or pleasant, can serve as a refining experience.
I will be setting up this new blog over the next several days, and gradually adding new poems to it, along with commentary of my own. To anyone who follows this site, or merely drops in on it occasionally, I wish you a pleasant and edifying visit, and hope that what has contributed so much to my own life might also benefit yours as well.
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