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Emily Dickinson - Poesias

Emily Dickinson, poesie N.653-679-680-695-754-787-790

Emily Dickinson, poesias N.653-679-680-695-754-787-790

Rubrica di letteratura "Chaminar e Pensar" traduzione in lingua occitana a cura di Peyre Anghilante

Emily Dickinson, poesie N.653-679-680-695-754-787-790
English

653

A bird is of all beings

The Likest to the Dawn

An Easy Breeze do put afloat

The General Heavens – upon –

It soars – and shifts – and whirls –

And measures with the Clouds

In easy – even – dazzling pace –

No different the Birds –

Except a Wake of Music

Accompany their feet –

As did the Dawn emit a Tune –

For Extasy – of it


679

Conscious am I in my Chamber,

Of a shapeless friend

He doth not attest by Posture –

No Confirm – by Word –

Neither Place – need I present Him –

Fitter Courtesy

Hospitable intuition

Of his Company –

Presence – is His furthest license –

Neither He to Me

Nor Myself to Him – by accent –

Forfeit Probity –

Weariness of Him, were quainter

Than Monotony

Knew a Particle – of Space’s

Vast Society –

Neither if He visit Other –

Do He dwell – or Nay know I –

But Instinct esteem Him –

Immortality – 


680

Each Life Converges to some Centre -

Expressed – or still –

Exists in every Human Nature

A Goal –

Admitted scarcely to itself – it may be –

Too fair

For Credibility’s temerity to dare

Adored with caution – as a Brittle Heaven –

To reach

Were hopeless, as the Rainbow’s Raiment

To touch –

Yet persevered toward – surer – for the Distance –

How high –

Unto the Saint’s slow Diligence –

The Sky –

Ungained – it may be – by a Life’s low Venture –

But then –

Eternity enable the endeavoring

Again.


695

As if the Sea should part

And show a further Sea –

And that – a further – and the Three

But a presumtion be –

Of Periods of Seas –

Unvisited of Shores –

Themselves the Verge of Seas to be –

Eternity – is Those -


754

My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –

In Corners – till a Day

The owner passed – identified –

And carried Me away –

And now We roam the Sovreign Woods –

And now We hunt the Doe –

And every time I speak for Him –

The Mountains straight reply –

And do I smile, such cordial light

Upon the Valley glow –

It is a Vesuvian face

Had let it’s pleasure throught –

And when at Night – Our good Day done –

I guard My Master’s Head –

Tis better than the Eider-Duck’s

Deep Pillow – to have shared –

To foe of His I’m deadly foe –

None stir the second time –

On whom I lay a Yellow Eye –

Or an emphatic Thumb –

Thought I than He – may loger live

He longer must – than I –

For I have but the art to kill,

Without – the power to die – 


786

Severer Service of myself

I – hastened tot demand

To fill the awful Vacuum

Your life had left behind –

I worried Nature whit my Wheels

When Her’ had ceased to run –

When she had put away Her Work

My own had just begun.

I strove to weary Brain and Bone –

To harass to fatigue

The glitterin Retinue of nerves –

Vitality to clog

To some dull comfort Those obtain

Who put a Head away

They knew the Hair to –

And forget the color of the Day –

Affliction would not be appeased –

The Darkness braced as firm

As all my strategem had been

The Midnight Confim –

No Drug for Consciousness – can be –

Alternative to die

Is Nature’s only Parmacy

For Being’ Malady - 


790

Nature – the Gentlest Mother is

Impatient of no Child –

The feeblest – or the waywardest –

Her Admonition mild –

In Forest – and the Hill –

By Traveller – be heard –

Restraining Rampant Squirrel –

Or too impetuos Bird –

How fair Her Conversation

A Summer Afternoon –

Her Household – Her Assembly –

And when the Sun go down –

Her Voice among the Aisles

Incite the timid prayer

Of the minutest Cricket –

The most unworthy Flower –

When all the Children sleep –

She turns as long away

As will suffice to light Her lamps –

Then bending from the Sky –

Whit infinite Affection –

And infiniter Care –

Her golden finger on Her lip –

Wills Silence – Everywhere –

occitan

653

L’aucèl es de totas creaturas

lo mai semblable a l’auròra

que flòta al ventolet

sus la vastitat di paradís.

S’eslança, virotea, revoluma

en juant embe las nèblas

dins son dòuç anar lusent.

Son pas diferents lhi aucèls,

Gavat tota aquel’onda de música

qu’acompanha lor chamin,

coma se l’auròra difondesse una melodia

dins son èxtasi.


679

Sento dins ma chambra

un companh invisible:

pas un gest, una paraula

que confemen qu’es aquí.

Ni chal lhi far pòst:

es melhora cortesia

l’ospitala intuicion

de sa compagnia.

Sa presença es la soleta

libertat que se pren.

Pas un sòn, mi a el o el a mi

Que tradisse nòstra probitat.

M’enuiar d’el seria estranh,

coma se la monotonia

conoissesson lhi àtoms

dal vast mond espacial.

Sai pas se visite d’autri,

se embe d’autri demòre,

mas mon instint coneis son nom:

Immortalitat. 


680

Chasque vita convèrg a qualque centre

declarat o tasut.

Exist en chasque còr uman

una mira

a pro pena admetua – benlèu –

tròp bèla

per resigar l’audaça de lhi creire.

Cautosament adoraa, coma un cèl freule,

la rejónher

seria sensa esper coma tochar

la vèsta de l’arc en cèl.

Pasmens contuniament perseguia,

mai segura, per la distança,

e auta, coma per la lenta diligença di sants

es lo cèl.

Jamai gandia, benlèu, da la paura aventura

d’una vita, mas es alora

que l’eternitat consent de temptar

encara.


695

Coma se la mar en se separant

desvelesse un’autra mar

e aquesta un’autra, e las tres

foguesson ren qu’un presagi

d’una immensitat de mars

ren visitaas da riba

e la mar mesma l’òrle de la mar –

aquò es l’eternitat.



754

Ma vita era restaa dins un caire

coma un fusil charjat, fins que un jorn

passet lo patron: me reconoisset

e me prenet embe el.

E aüra vaguem per lhi bòscs sovrans,

aüra chacem lo daine –

e tuchi lhi bòts que parlo per el

restunisson las montanhas.

E quora sorio, una lutz cordiala

resplend dins la valada,

coma un morre vesuvian

qu’esclate de plaser.

E quora de nuech, achabaa nòstra bòna jornada,

gardo lo cap de mon patron,

es mielh qu’aver partatjat

un còti coissin de plumas.

A si nemís siu mortal nemís:

degun boja pas mai

se pauso sus el mon uelh dorat

o poncho mon det resolgut.

E bèla se viurei mai d’el

Es el que deurè viure mai de mi

puei que ai ren que lo poder de tuar

sensa lo poder de murir.



786

D’empenhs pus severs

me pressavo de me demandar

per emplenir lo vueit

que ta vita m’avia laissat.

Agrediero la natura embe mas roas

quora las sias avion já quitat de virar -

quora son trabalh era finit

lo miu era just començat.

M’esforcero d’esquintar òs e cèrvel,

de fatigar, d’aganir

l’esbelusenta matassa de nèrvis

e empachar la vitalitat

embe la sombra consolacion

de qui pausa una tèsta

dont conoissia la cabeladura

e se desmentia dal color dal jorn.

Poliu pas apasiar ma pena –

la sornura m’estrenhet tan fòrt

coma se mas pròvas foguesson pas

que la confèrma de la mesanuech.

Per la consciença lhi a pas de droga –

l’alternativa de la mòrt

es lo solet medicament natural

per lo mal de viure.


790

La natura es la maire mai grinosa,

pacienta embe tuchi si filhs,

lo deble e lo rebèl.

Son dòuç admoniment

dins lo bòsc o assús la còla

es auvit dal viatjaire

a frenar l’eschiròl fogós

o l’aucèl tròp boligut.

Coma es bèl son devís

dins un après-metzjorn d’istat,

sa companhia, sa familha -

e quora lo solelh trescòla

sa vòutz al metz des navadas

encoratja la crentosa preiera

dal grilh pus menut,

de la flor pus miserabla.

E quora tuchi si filh duermon

ilhe s’elunha d’aquel tant

que basta per aviscar si lumes.

Puei, en se mostrant al cèl,

embe un’infinia grinor

e un soanh mai encara infinit

pòrta a las bochas son det dorat

per ordinar d’en pertot lo silenci.