“Pictures of Autumn” / 2

Pictures of Autumn – Late October

Listen, the damp leaves on the walks are blowing
With a ghost of sound;
Is it a fog or is it a rain dripping
From the low trees to the ground?

If I had gone before, I could have remembered
Lilacs and green after-noons of May;
I chose to wait, I chose to hear from autumn
Whatever she has to say.

Sara Teasdale
from: Dark of the Moon (1926) – II. Pictures of Autumn – ‘Late October’

Sara Teasdale was an American lyric poet who won a Pulitzer Prize for her poetry collection Love Songs.
In 1933, weakened after a difficult bout with pneumonia, she died by suicide, overdosing on sleeping pills

Ascolta, le foglie umide turbinano sul viale
con un suono spettrale;
è nebbia o pioggia quella che sgocciola
a terra dagli alberi bassi?

Se me ne fossi andata prima, avrei potuto ricordare
lillà e verdi pomeriggi di maggio;
ho scelto di aspettare, ho scelto di ascoltare
qualunque cosa l’autunno voglia narrare.

(trad: L.Z.)

Sara Teasdale fu una poetessa americana che ricevette un Premio Pulitzer per la sua raccolta di poesie Love Songs. Nel 1933, indebolita da un serio attacco di polmonite, morì suicida per un’overdose di sonniferi

Image Flickr – Irina : John Atkinson Grimshaw 1882 – Autumn Regrets

79 thoughts on ““Pictures of Autumn” / 2

  1. Sorry… I’m sorry … I remember a different kind of memory today. October 23, 1956 The revolution and the war of independence of the Hungarian people. Memorial Day.
    Sándor Márai:

    Angel from heaven (English)

    Angel from Heaven, do rush, don’t rest,
    Hurry to smouldering Budapest.
    Go to where, among the Russian tanks,
    The silent bells give no sound of thanks.
    Where there’s no Christmas sparkle to please,
    Where nuts painted gold don’t hang on trees,
    There’s nothing but hunger, shivers, cold,
    Do speak so they will grasp what you told.
    Split with your voice the night asunder:
    Angel, carry news of the wonder:

    Clap quickly your wings, be elated,
    Keep swishing, you’re fondly awaited.
    Don’t speak of the world from whence you came,
    Where candles are burning, bright the flame,
    Tables are spread, the houses have heat,
    Priests with their fine words console, entreat,
    Crinkling of paper, gifts given, sent,
    Wise words to ponder, clever intent.
    Sparklers are sparkling upon the trees:
    Angel, do speak of the wonder please!

    This is world wonder, relate, explain:
    A poor people’s tree had burst into flame;
    A Christmas tree in the Silent Night,
    And many cross themselves at the sight.
    It’s watched by the folk of continents,
    Some grasp it, for some it makes no sense.
    Far too much for some to hold at bay.
    They’re shaking their heads, they shudder, pray,
    For those aren’t sweets that hang on the tree:
    ‘Tis Christ of the people: Hungary.

    And many pass by and some advance:
    The soldier, who pierced him with a lance,
    The Pharisee, who sold him for a price,
    Then one, who when asked, denied him thrice,
    One, whose hand had shared the bowl with Him,
    Who for silver coins had offered Him,
    And whilst abusing, wielded the lash,
    Had drank his blood and he ate his flesh –
    The crowd is standing around, they stare,
    But to address Him there’s none to dare.

    Silent victim, no accusal tried,
    Just watches like Christ did crucified.
    Strange tree of Christmas, who brought this tree,
    Devil or Angel, who could it be,
    Those, who for his robe are tossing dice,
    Know not what they do, know not the price,
    Just sniff and yelp, want to bring to light
    The mystery, the secret of this night,
    Strange is this Christmas, strange things are these:
    The Magyar Nation hangs on the trees.

    The world talks wonder, to that they’re glued,
    Priests drone of gumption and fortitude.
    Statesmen produce farewell addresses,
    His Holiness then duly blesses.
    All kinds of people, all ranks – a sea -,
    Question why all of this had to be.
    Not perished as asked – can’t comprehend.
    Why not in silence await the end?
    Why had the skies turned from fair to rough?
    Because a people had cried “Enough!”.

    Many can’t grasp it, though they had tried,
    What rose up here like an ocean tide?
    Why was world order shaking and strained?
    A nation cried out. Then silence reigned.
    Many are asking: what was the cause?
    Who made from bones and the flesh the laws?
    More and more ask it, there seems no end,
    Haltingly, for they can’t comprehend –
    Those, for whom Freedom bequest had brought,
    Ask it: is Freedom so great a thought?

    Angel, bring down the word from the skies:
    New life from blood will always arise.
    Quite a few times and even some more,
    Child met donkey and shepherd before,
    If by the manger, on littered earth,
    One life had given another birth,
    ‘Tis they who’ll mind that wonder and will
    Stand with breath bated as sentry still,
    For bright the star is, dawn breaks as well:
    Angel from heaven… tell them, do tell.

    Kery, Leslie A.

    “Avanti ragazzi di Buda” – Italian Song of The Hungarian Revolution:

    Liked by 6 people

  2. Versi tenerissimi illustrati da una splendida foto autunnale. Mi dispiace tanto per il suicidio della poetessa Sara Teasdale . Forse la sua sensibilità l’aveva resa anche più fragile!!!! I poeti hanno un animo particolare, per quello vanno amati di più!!!!

    Buona serata Luisa!

    Liked by 3 people

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