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Emily Dickinson - Poesias

Emily Dickinson, poesie. N 136-320-341-370-384

Emily Dickinson, poesias N. 136-320-341-370-384

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

Emily Dickinson, poesie. N 136-320-341-370-384
English

136

Have you a Brook in your little heart,

Where bashful flowers blow,

And blushing birds go down to drink,

And shadows tremble so -

And nobody knows, so still it flows,

that any brook is there,

And yet your little draught of life

Is daily drunken there -

Why, look out for the little brook in March,

When the rivers overflow,

And the snows come hurrying from the hills,

And the bridges often go -

And later, in August may be -

When the meadows parching lie,

Beware, lest this little brook of life,

Some burning noon go dry!


320

We play at Paste -

Till, qualified for Pearl -

Then, drop the Paste -

And deem ourself a fool -

The shapes – though – were similar -

And our new Hands

Learned Gem – Tactics –

Practicing Sands



341

Agreat pain, a formal feeling comes -

The Nerves sit cerimonious, like Tombs -

The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,

And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go around -

Of ground, on Air, or Ought -

A Wodden way

Regardless grown,

A Quartz contentment, like a stone -

This is the Hour of Lead -

Remembered, if outlived,

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -

First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go - 



370

Heaven is so far of the Mind

That were the Mind dissolved –

The Site – of it – by Architect

Could not again be proved -

'Tis vast – as our Capacity -

As fair – as our idea -

To him of adequate desir

No further 'tis, then Here – 



384

No Rack can torture me -

My soul – at Liberty –

Behind this mortal Bone

There knits a bolder One -

You Cannot prick with saw -

Nor pierce with Cimitar -

Two Bodies – therefore be -

Bind one – The Other fly -

The Eagle of his Nest

No easier divest -

And gain the Sky

Than mayest Thou -

Except Thyself may be

Thine Enemy -

Captivity is Consciousness -

So's Liberty.


occitan

136


As un riu dins ton pichòt còr

ente alenon d'úmilas flors,

d'aucèls crentós calon a beure,

e tramòlon las ombras?


E degun sa pas, de tant que fluís

silenciós, que chasque riu es aquí.

Pasmens ton estiça de vita

ne'n tires chasque jorn.


Parelh sorvelha ton riu en març,

quora lhi flums asondon,

e las neus tombon aval da las còlas,

e lhi pònts sovent s'abausonon.


E puei, benlèu en avost,

quora lhi prats son secharós,

pilhe-te garda qu'aquel riu de vita

s'agote pas dins un metzjorn arderós!


320


Juem a gemmas faussas

tant que, qualifiats per la pèrla,

quitem pas las gemmas faussas

en nos donant di fòls.


Las formas, totun, eron semblablas,

e nòstras mans novèlas

an emprés lo juec des gemmas

en s'amanant embe las sablas.


341


Après un gran dolor arriba un sentiment compassat.

Lhi nèrvis se tenon cerimoniós, coma de tombas.

Lo còr empeirat se demanda se's el qu'a sufèrt tant,

e es ier, o fai de sècles?


Lhi pè virondeon automàtics

per un chamin aretge,

per sòl, per aire, o qué se vuelhe,

sensa pus de duech:

una patz de qüartz, coma una peira.


Aquela es l'ora de plomb:

recordaa, s'én sobreviu,

coma lhi jalats rememorion la neu:

derant lo freid, puei l'estupor, enfin l'abandon.


370


Lo Cèl es a tal ponch de la ment

que se la ment se dissolvesse,

lo pòst - d'el - gis d'arquitèct

poleria pas pus demostrar.


Es vast coma nòstra capacitat,

bèl autant que nòstra idea.

Per qui a un desir adeqüat

es pas pus luelh, d'aicí.


384


Pas ren pòl torturar-me,

mon anma es libra.

Darreire aqueste ossum mortal

un autre ben pus fòrt s'entrelaça.


Pos pas l'entemenar embe la rèssea,

ni lo trapassar embe la cimitarra.

La fai qu'avem dui còrps,

Se pòs liar l'un, l'autre vòla.


L'àigla da son nis

s'envòla pas pus aisament

per ganhar lo cèl

de quant non pòles tu.


Gavat que non sies tu,

benlèu, ton nemís.

La consciença es preison

tant coma es libertat.