I read from Italian poems by G. B. Guarini, 16th century poet and writer of lyrics for some of the greatest songwriters of his day. Here are the two poems I read (in my translation):
It is no use
to ask me for a song.
If you are deaf, I'm mute.
Hearing your voice,
I lose my own, and make
only a harmony of groans.
If you won't hear
my sighs, look at my face:
there in my tears, you'll find my song.
to ask me for a song.
If you are deaf, I'm mute.
Hearing your voice,
I lose my own, and make
only a harmony of groans.
If you won't hear
my sighs, look at my face:
there in my tears, you'll find my song.
It's no wonder, I think, that at least 18 composers set this song to music in the early 17th century!
Here's a little happier one:
Once in a while we talk of love,
just she and I.
She says that love's a little sprite
that wanders where it will, and can't
be touched or seen.
But I see love,
there, in her eyes.
I cannot touch it there, only
on her soft lips.
just she and I.
She says that love's a little sprite
that wanders where it will, and can't
be touched or seen.
But I see love,
there, in her eyes.
I cannot touch it there, only
on her soft lips.
1 comment:
Very touching poems. Thank you for sharing them! That night is such a great feast of beauty. I believe I hear the music in poetry. And it is so great and interesting to hear the melody in human voice especially when people are not singing.
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