Poetry Analysis

Così nel mio parlar voglio esser aspro

النص الأصلي

Così nel mio parlar voglio esser aspro com’è ne li atti questa bella petra, la quale ognora impetra maggior durezza e più natura cruda, e veste sua persona d’un diaspro tal, che per lui, o perch’ella s’arretra, non esce di faretra saetta che già mai la colga ignuda: ed ella ancide, e non val ch’om si chiuda né si dilunghi da’ colpi mortali, che, com’avesser ali, giuncono altrui e spezzan ciascun’arme; sì ch’io non so da lei né posso atarme.

Non trovo scudo ch’ella non mi spezzi né loco che dal suo viso m’asconda; ché, come fior di fronda, così de la mia mente tien la cima: cotanto del mio mal par che si prezzi, quanto legno di mar che non lieva onda; e ’l peso che m’affonda è tal che non potrebbe adequar rima. Ahi angosciosa e dispietata lima che sordamente la mia vita scemi, perché non ti ritemi sì di rodermi il core a scorza a scorza, com’io di dire altrui chi ti dà forza?

Ché più mi triema il cor qualora io penso di lei in parte ov’altri li occhi induca, per tema non traluca lo mio penser di fuor sì che si scopra, ch’io non fo de la morte, che ogni senso co li denti d’Amor già mi manduca; ciò è che ’l pensier bruca la lor vertù sì che n’allenta l’opra. E’ m’ha percosso in terra, e stammi sopra con quella spada ond’elli ancise Dido, Amore, a cui io grido merzé chiamando, e umilmente il priego; ed el d’ogni merzé par messo al niego.

Egli alza ad ora ad or la mano, e sfida la debole mia vita, esto perverso, che disteso a riverso mi tiene in terra d’ogni guizzo stanco: allor mi surgon ne la mente strida; e ’l sangue, ch’è per le vene disperso, fuggendo corre verso lo cor, che ’l chiama; ond’io rimango bianco. Elli mi fiede sotto il braccio manco sì forte, che ’l dolor nel cor rimbalza: allor dico: "S’elli alza un’altra volta, Morte m’avrà chiuso prima che ’l colpo sia disceso giuso".

Così vedess’io lui fender per mezzo lo core a la crudele che ’l mio squatra! poi non mi sarebb’atra la morte, ov’io per sua bellezza corro: ché tanto dà nel sol quanto nel rezzo questa scherana micidiale e latra. Ohmè, perché non latra per me, com’io per lei, nel caldo borro? ché tosto griderei: "Io vi soccorro". e fare’l volentier, sì come quelli che ne’ biondi capelli ch’Amor per consumarmi increspa e dora metterei mano, e piacere’le allora.

الترجمة

Thus in my speech I want to be harsh like the actions of this beautiful stone, which always asks for greater hardness and more cruel nature, and dresses herself in a jasper so that, because of it, or because she withdraws, no arrow ever leaves the quiver that strikes her bare: and she kills, and it is useless for a man to hide nor distance himself from deadly blows, which, as if they had wings, reach others and shatter every armor; so that I do not know how to defend myself from her.

I find no shield that she does not break nor place that hides me from her face; for, like a flower from a branch, she holds the top of my mind: she seems to value my pain as much as a ship's wood that does not lift a wave; and the weight that sinks me is such that no rhyme could match it. Ah, anguishing and pitiless file that silently diminishes my life, why do you not restrain yourself from gnawing my heart bark by bark, as I from telling others who gives you strength?

For my heart trembles more whenever I think of her in a place where others lead their eyes, for fear that my thought does not shine through so that it is revealed, that I do not fear death, which every sense with the teeth of Love already devours me; that is, the thought gnaws at their virtue so that it weakens their work. He has struck me to the ground, and stands over me with the sword with which he killed Dido, Love, to whom I cry for mercy, calling, and humbly pray; and he seems set against all mercy.

He raises his hand from time to time, and challenges my weak life, this perverse one, who holds me stretched out on the ground weary of every twitch: then screams rise in my mind; and the blood, which is scattered through the veins, fleeing runs towards the heart, which calls it; wherefore I remain white. He strikes me under the left arm so strongly, that the pain rebounds in the heart: then I say: "If he raises another time, Death will have closed me before the blow has descended down".

Thus I would see him cleave in half the heart of the cruel one who squanders mine! then death would not be dark where I run for her beauty: for she gives as much in the sun as in the shade this murderous and barking villain. Alas, why does she not bark for me, as I for her, in the hot pit? for I would soon cry: "I come to your aid". and do it willingly, like those who in the blond hair that Love curls and gilds to consume me would place a hand, and please her then.

If I had the beautiful locks taken, which are made for me a whip and scourge, taking them before terce, with them I would pass vespers and bells: and I would not be merciful nor courteous, rather I would act like a bear when it plays; and if Love whips me with them, I would avenge myself more than a thousand times. Still in the eyes, from which the sparks come that inflame my heart, which I carry slain, I would look closely and fixedly, to avenge the fleeing she makes me; and then I would return peace with love.