Lo sai: debbo riperderti e non posso

I have to lose you again, you know that -
and that I can't. Like well-aimed blows
whatever's done, whatever's said or shouted,
even this salt fog flooding up from the quays
putting spring in the shade -
they shake me.

Sottoripa, region of iron,
of spar-forests in a dusty twilight -
a long groan comes in from nowhere,
an eternal fingernail on glass.
I look for the lost sign,
for the one pledge freely given -
your gift to me. 
                             And hell is assured.



La speranza di pure rivederti

It was when I saw
under the arcades at Modena
a liveried servant leading
...