La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition)

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In the English translation one loses the visual aspect that characterizes instead the Italian sentence. In another passage of the story, the visual aspect is however preserved in the English translation: This shows, once again, that translations do not always follow rigid rules and that every word has to be weighted and translated on a case by case basis.

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Miyagi appear to be more precise in the English version. The following is an example of this: Guardava fissamente, ma non sua moglie e me, ma sua figlia che ci guardava. The English version delivers this: Okeda had been there. He was staring hard, not at his wife and me but at his daughter watching us.

The peculiarity of the English translation resides in the fact that Weaver interpreted the word spasimo like a precise act, without leaving the Anglophone reader any other possibility; while in Italian the meaning of this word offers several other implications. One must also notice that in English, Mrs. Miyagi gains the title of Madame, since, as Weaver explained, it is a term usually attributed to foreign people. If he used Mrs.

Miyagi, her sensual appeal would weaken. Other verbs that more or less pertain to the sight in the story On the Carpet… convey erotic tones. Although the character of Mrs. Miyagi ap- pears in a captivating role, in reality, according to Frasson-Marin, this is no other than a hoax used to diminish her role. The description of the narrating voice of the story seems to be the sacrificial victim, forced to engage in involuntary sexual acts.

In addition, the woman always attracts the man with the art of seduction rather than her intelligence, culture or dialogue. Moreover, according to the French critic, when the women exercise these qualities, these are strongly criticized and diminished by Calvino. A related approach proposed by Frasson-Marin, is the topic of gender in translation which deserves attention. The determination of gender in Weaver is a recurrent problem in his translations, however, he opted for solutions that obscured female characters. In this case, the American translator makes a particular ideological choice and he is now at the same level of the author, and becomes a co-writer of the original text.

During the s, a new approach for translation studies surfaced, mostly in North America and in France, which focused on analyzing gender in translation. Several sociologists explored this innovative field, commonly known as Sex and Language since it is known that in constructing gender identity, language has a defining role. Thus, it becomes important to recognize the different approach that a writer and the translator has in relation to gender difference since it can create problems in the translation of the text.

In Italian there is no gender neutral and all words have a spe- cific gender attribution; in English this distinction does not exist; and there are no few words that point to the gender of nouns, pronouns, adjectives, and articles. In another instance, Weaver managed with difficulties the challenge posed by the feminine gender in the story of Marcovaldo. For example, to translate the word for female rabbit coniglia he chooses to eliminate the word and only use the generic terms of male e female.

This can also be seen in the collection of short stories entitled Gli idilli difficili, where un impiegato and una impiegata clerk become a man and a woman in the translation. Features of the Technical Translation To understand the process of translation, it is important to showcase a few examples that indicate the challenges faced by translators, but also to disclose the ones tackled by William Weaver. Among the selected ones, there is the issue of the morphosyntactic Guarnieri. In the following paragraph taken from On the Carpet, we notice how the Italian syntax follows a predictable pattern: However, the order can change if one wishes to emphasize a certain word or element.

The English version is: In fact, the whole first page of the short story written by Calvino creates an atmosphere of delayed sensuality, one that recalls the movements of classical ballet. We find the same verb at the end of the story, but this time Weaver, translates it with twirling, a verb that in English has differ- ent meanings such as twisting, curling, bending, winding.

In fact, at a certain point in the story the sound of the -s- increases the sensual ambience in the story: In English, Weaver was able to recreate the same effect with the use of the following words: All of these words appear in the English text according to a clear strategy on the part of the translator to convey the sensuality and eroticism chosen by Calvino for this story. Weaver shows his mastership in being able Guarnieri. This is, in part, due to the verbal richness of the English language. Another relevant aspect to underline in the translation of the vocabulary is the so-called lexical equivalence according to Bruno Osimo 83 ; something very important to preserve in order to achieve textual accuracy.

In this story, there are words that are translated in a rather generic way, something that goes under the name of under- translation. For example, the word scrutare, which in Italian means to look at intently is translated with to examine. To translate it with the verb scrutinize would have seemed more appropriate since to inves- tigate as a synonym is closer to the original meaning. We also have an example of an over-translation with turbare translated with upset which indicates a type of disruption that conveys sadness.

In Italian, the verb instead offers more interpretative solutions: One can be worried but not necessarily sad. Obviously an error that Weaver does not commit is to confuse the so called false-friends; words that formally appear similar to Ital- ian, but instead mean something different. Another word is biblioteca, which is translated with library, since libreria in Italian is the bookstore. Pavimento should not be translated with pavement but with floor since pavement means sidewalk and concrete. Furthermore, the word gentile could be translated with genteel, but kind is its correct equivalent.

A particular creative choice made by Weaver can be found in the translation of the word osso sacro inside the paragraph: The American translator instead chooses its Latin equivalent which creates an awkward outcome — an erudite word which generates a different atmosphere. The following is an example of an over-translation: What is needed in a good translation is not just the equiva- lence, but finding words can be associated with a word in a particular context. Both times when Guarnieri. The first one refers to hard labor unskilled , always remunerated, while the second term usually refers more to a profession, an activity where personal ability is at stake.

The phrase tavolo da lavoro is translated with you are at your desk, omitting completely the verb linked to work. The word lavoro can be found in Palomar and Marcovaldo. In the first one, the expression per un lavoro delicato is translated with a delicate job; while in the Marcovaldo this word is often translated with work. In many dictionaries the word is translated with flower-bed. A close reading of the story in Marcovaldo, we notice how the translation differs, given the fact that aiuola usually refers to a piece of land in which one can grow flowers, vegetables, or seeds.

It appears an exaggeration to choose bed of dirt, while path seems a clear example of an under-translation. These numerous translation examples are presented to dem- onstrate in concrete terms what it means to be a skillful translator. Nonetheless this also shows how Weaver used his creativity and artistic talent for his translations. Weaver demonstrates that his practice is a combination of creativity, training and inspiration. A translation cannot be considered only like a second-hand copy of the original, born out of a mechanical process, but instead it should be considered as a creative act and as a work of re-interpretation.

From dialect, ways of sayings which in Italian are plenty, every novel has had its own main dif- ficulties. Palomar, The Cosmicomics, and in The Castle, it was the syntactical aspect. Every word is intentional and calibrated. The translator has to grasp his whole essence in order to return it to the public in its full integrity. The renowned translation theorist, Eugene Nida reminds us that when transposing a language into another, the content is to be maintained at all costs: Many translators of Calvino chose to make the integrity and essence of his poetics a priority respecting both form and content.

Il sentiero dei nidi di ragno has been translated with the title The path to the nest of spiders by A. Of the Fiabe italiane we have three different translations, the one by Louis Brigante Italian Fables. Harcourt Brace Javanovich, The book, Ultimo viene il corvo was translated by Archibald Colquhoun and Peggy Wright, with the title, One afternoon and other stories London: The story, La speculazione edilizia, was translated with the title, Plunge into real estate by S.

Carne-Ross in by Pocket Books. Vintage International, , and the collection of essays, Prima che tu dica pronto Numbers in the dark and other stories. Vintage Books, have been translated by Tim Parks. HBJ, , Marcovaldo, Marcovaldo: HBJ, , and Amori difficili, Difficult loves: Invece temo non sia altro che un bol en plastique, una scodella come esempio di prodotto in serie. Ho ripiegato su un gioco dassonanze salvando solo il ritmo del verso. Ho capito bene il pistone e il cilindro? Penso che sarai in vacanza e non so quando vedrai questa lettera.

Ti ringrazio per tutto quello che potrai dirmi e ti auguro un buon agosto, tuo Italo Calvino. He then collaborated with Quadri and Solmi in translating Queneau. Examples from Il sentiero: Works Cited Anselmi, G. Tempi e immagini della letteratura, vol. La cultura italiana e le letterature straniere Guarnieri. University of Ottawa Press, Ottawa. Mondadori, I Meridiani, The Uses of Literature. Marcovaldo, or The Seasons in the City. Helen and Kurt Wolff Books, Hear Say Yes in Joyce. Dire quasi la stessa cosa.

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Translation as Stylistic Evolution: Papers on Literary Translation and Translation Studies. A Textbook of Translation. The Theory and Practice of Translation. University of Massachusetts Press, Biguenet, J, Schulte, R. Chicago University Press, Paola Masino wrote prolifically during the Fascist dictatorship and was a prominent figure in the Italian cultural and intellectual environment of her time.

Her first novel Monte Ignoso was awarded the Viareggio Literary Prize and her short stories were published in the most prestigious Italian literary magazines of the time. Her official narrative production includes three nov- els, Monte Ignoso Bompiani, , Periferia Bompiani, and Nascita e morte della massaia Bompiani, , three collections of short stories Decadenza della morte Casa editrice Alberto Stock, , Racconto grosso e altri Bompiani, and Colloquio di notte published posthumously by La Luna in , as well as a book of poetry, Poesie Bompiani, Un agnellino venne a leccargli il volto; lui mosse appena il capo.

Allora venne ad annusarlo il cane Argo. Argo sembrava inquieto e non contento del sonno del pastore. Tutte le pecore ora gli si venivano raggruppando intorno e gli ag- nelli cercavano ognuno la propria madre. Laio mosse di nuovo il capo come se stesse per svegliarsi. Sulla strada maestra, lontanissima alle loro spalle, passavano carri trainati da bovi. Lo sciacquio cresceva di minuto in minuto, per la foce si spandeva nel flume che tutto ne risonava palpitando.

Le vene minime della corrente, i piccoli gorghi a riva sotto i cespugli di crescione, le cascatelle tra i ciottoli, furono cancellati dalle onde sabbiose risalenti il corso delle acque. The sheep, scattered along the banks of the river, looked like the white curls of a kind, sleepy river god stretched across the valley. Laio, like the river, stretched out in the grass and stared at the sky going silver. His eyes were bright, a reflection of the luminous sky; he closed his eyes slowly, and he lay asleep. A lamb came to lick his face, but Laio barely moved.

His dog Argo came to sniff him. The dog seemed concerned, unhappy his master was asleep. A sheep bleated and ran from the bank; others followed, scattering. Far away, a peasant woman cried out. Sea gulls, escaping from the sea, flew low over the ground, screeching. The dog chased their shadows, then stopped, faced the river, and howled. The sheep gathered around Argo, the lambs searching for their mothers. The sky had turned ashen over the mountains and the pewter-colored sea, the undercurrent like veins of blood. Only over the river had the sky kept its spring-like glow, mirror- ing the tender grass.

Laio moved his head slightly, as if about to wake up. The dog was still facing east, howling now and then. On the main road, far behind them, in the distance, carts went by, pulled by oxen. Somewhere, another dog answered. The air was so thin it carried the sounds. Even the surf breaking on the invisible shore could be heard, and it grew louder and louder as the waters rushed from the plain into the river. The river echoed and throbbed, seemed to swell, its surface tightening, now the same pewter-color as the clouds rising so suddenly from the sea, speeding towards the mountains, with a low rumbling thunder.

The waves carried sand upstream, erasing the small veins in the current, the tiny whirlpools under the watercress, the little cascades between the rocks. The sheep were quiet, muzzles raised. Then, a purple lightning flashed across the sky and the clouds crashed together, echoing in the mountains. Alla nuova curva anche Argo scompare. In un angolo della cucina, seduto sul mucchio delle patate, sta un uomo vecchissimo e sconosciuto, con pochi fili bianchi di barba per il mento.

Appena lo sconosciuto vede Laio dice: Attizza il fuoco prima che muoia. Si volge al vecchio. Il vecchio sorride con malizia e sussurra: The sun is blazing and the quartz sparkles. The dust dries in a hot cloud behind the meander- ing sheep vanishing around the bend. At the next curve, Argo disappears as well. He almost smells the hay in the pens, hears the murmur of the spring on the rocks behind the hut and sees the rosemary bush next to the door. He calms down and goes inside.

In a corner of the kitchen, he sees a stranger, an old man sitting on a mound of potatoes. He has a few white whiskers on his chin, and he sits with his legs apart, leaning forward a little, trying to blow on the fire in the hearth on the opposite side of the room.

As soon as he sees Laio, the old man says: Poke the fire before it dies. Laio always obeys his elders, so he goes to the fireplace to set a log on the burning coals. He takes the fire in his hands, tries to pull it apart. But he realizes the fire is as cold as ice, as hard as metal. He looks up, and the old man whispers, smiling mischievously: Even gold needs fire. Why not set me on fire? Io sono un vecchio tronco, subito ardo.

Sentirai che buon profumo spando, e che calore. I giovani devono nutrirsi dei vecchi, i figli usare i padri. Gli risponde un gran rombo che fa tremare il monte e una luce lo investe e lo trascina lontano. Gocce pesanti e chicchi di grandine misti piovendo diritti con violenza, gli bucavano gli oc- chi. Fulmini di un colore marcio traversavano il cielo da occidente a oriente, salivano dal mare a ferire i monti che gemevano dalle viscere profonde.

The young must feed on the old; sons must use their fathers. His answer is a sharp thunderclap that shakes the mountain, then a flash of lightning that hits him and hurls him aside. He looks back, and his hut, struck by lightning, has burst into flames, is being consumed, the carbonized pieces floating up, like burning paper, falling on him, all around him, and as they fall, the pieces are turning yellow, round, shiny: With this pain, Laio awoke. Big heavy rain drops and hail were falling, a violent downpour, stinging his eyes and his hands. Flashes of lightning, the color of rot, crisscrossed the sky from west to east, rising from the sea to batter the mountains, making them moan from deep within their bowels.

They were barely on their way when the rain began spinning in sudden gusts from the whirling winds that made the clouds crash together with a terrible noise. The rain fell straight down, a solid wall. It was more like being submerged in a lake, where some new law made breathing possible. They pressed to the ground, trying to hide in the furrows. Argo, too, unable to help, huddled with them, bark- ing pitifully. Now and then, Laio heard the sweet bleating of the lambs, growing ever weaker.

Groping around in the dark, he picked up two, tucking one inside his cloak, setting the other on his shoulders. But now walking was exhaust- ing. The ground was saturated, a muddy mire, and he sank in Rozier. Andava avanti senza pensiero, accompa- gnato dal sibilo della serpe, dal battito pauroso del cuore dei due pecorini. Solo allora si accorse di un fragore mo- notono che accompagnava quello della pioggia, ma come di fianco, irregolare e minaccioso.

Laio aveva fin qui conosciuto Dio onnipotente e giusto, ma ora stava perplesso davanti a quello sperpero di potenza, a quella indecifrabile giustizia. Dio, mi senti, o forse sei troppo lontano? Che cosa ne fanno del mio armento, la tempesta e il mare? Hanno un corpo da vestire di lana? The blood from its wings filled his mouth and tasted sweet. A little further, he stepped on a snake that wrapped itself around his ankle, hissing, but Laio did not try to shake it off. He kept going, not thinking, accompanied by the hissing of the snake and the frightened heartbeats of the two lambs.

Only then did he hear the dull crashing alongside the rain, but this was all to the side, something sporadic, menacing. Lightning lit up the landscape. This section of the river bank was manmade, with boulders stacked inside metal wire to hold back the wild waves rushing down the rocky gorge. He pleaded for another flash of lightning and the lightning came. It broke through the clouds, came down so close, screaming and burning, that Argo yelped and ran from his master. Where was the flock?

The shepherd poked him gently with his staff, and he knew the lamb was dead. They were all dead. Until now, the shepherd had believed in a just and omnipotent God, and he stood bewildered before such a misuse of power, such indecipherable justice. Can you hear me, God, or are you too far away? What good is my flock to the storm and the sea? Do they have a body that needs to be dressed in wool? Lord, how will my sheep find the entrance to your fields without me?

Why punish us so? Do you want this lamb as well? But no one answered, and he started walking again. Forse io ora dovrei darti anche questa? Ma nessuno rispose e Laio riprese a camminare. Grondava acqua e barcollava. Poi si volse indietro a chi gli aveva aperto e disse: E guarda come infanghi tutto. Quando riscendo a valle te la riporto. Laio non si muoveva e non guardava, stava nella propria desolazione come in una nebbia.

Stava piegato in avanti ad ascoltare con terrore la voce cattiva e tuttavia con le mani rattrappite continuava a dividere le patate sane dalle germogliate. E fu una buona lana davvero. Fu anche mio padre, quando serviva a qualche cosa. Laio ora batteva i denti dal ribrezzo e sentiva le ginocchia Rozier. He walked until he hit a wall. All at once the wall at least he thought it was a wall opened and a nasty voice called from inside: He was dripping wet and unsteady on his feet. He went to the table, took the lamb from inside his cloak and set it down.

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Finally, there came a tense, cunning laugh: For the love of God -- that I can do. But only if you promise never to bring it back. Just give it to me. There, in the corner, on a pile of potatoes, sat a very old man with a few white whiskers on his chin. Terrified, he was leaning forward to listen to the evil voice and meanwhile his stiff old hands divided the good potatoes from the bad. And a real old goat as well. And my father besides, back when he was still worth something. But the voice came again, closer now: La voce riprese, avvicinandosi: Prendi quanto hai chiesto e vattene.

Pareva che fosse meno vecchio, fuori dalla casa del figlio, si moveva con un certo vigore e senza lamenti. Il pastore lo seguiva, vergognoso di aver osato parlargli, timoroso ora di interrogarlo sulla direzione da prendere: Il vecchio certo doveva conoscere i luoghi e sapere dove voleva andare se moveva con tanta certezza. Il vecchio con gesti brevi indicava a Laio il passo e i pericoli. Il vecchio accettava tutto con naturalezza, ma non parlava. Laio volle seguirlo, invece cadde di schianto in terra chiamandolo. They looked each other in the eye, as if trying to recognize each other.

Then the shepherd bowed his head and let the old man leave first. Laio picked up the lamb. Besides, going back to the hut would be useless; better to find some village and ask for work there. If the old man walked so decisively, he had to know where they were going.

They walked all night without a word, across washed-out paths, across ditches and landslides. With brief gestures the old man showed him where to go and what to avoid. Finally, by dawn they reached the main road and rested in a hayloft. The shepherd made a pallet for his companion and lit a small fire between two stones where the old man could dry himself and warm up.

And what was there to say? When daylight broke and the rain had slowed, the old man awoke and prepared to leave. Laio stood to follow, but then collapsed to the ground, calling out. The old man stopped to listen: Who knows where it is. But at least I wanted you, a father to love and comfort. Ieri io aspet- tavo te. Mi volevi per figlio? Allora il vecchio rise: Ma il vecchio prosegue: Quanto Dio ha stabilito. Dio che stabilisce ci sia un figlio che regala via suo padre. Forse capire non si deve.

Solo ubbidire si deve. E se il padre ha detto: Doveva essere passato molto tempo. Un poco di sole entrava nel fienile e in quel poco sole stava il vecchio, che sorrideva con arguzia: Oh, poor flock of mine, what are you doing at the bottom of the sea? Yesterday, I was the one waiting for you. You wanted me for a son?

Help you cross the meadow. The old man added: There was a little sun in the hayloft and in that sun stood the old man as he said with a knowing smile: Outside, under a sky of fluffy clouds sat a crimson cart drawn by white oxen. The old man climbed in and gestured for Laio to sit beside him. They set off, along a wide winding road through the young Rozier. I bovi si mossero. Laio si meravigliava, il suo compagno rispondeva con un cenno del capo, donne e bambini, misteriosamente avvertiti, uscivano dai casolari per guardarli.

Forse qualcuno potrebbe darmi lavoro. Lasciami scendere a chiedergliene. At the first bend in the road, they came out of a grove of pop- lars, and they climbed, surrounded by dwarf vineyards and fields of corn and alfalfa. Farmers, hearing the cart, stopped their work to see who was going by, and they shielded their eyes from the ever- rising sun, and seeing the old man, they greeted him with humble words of respect and devotion.

Laio was surprised; his companion responded with a nod; women and children, somehow aware of their presence, came out of their homes to watch them pass. They went over several more knolls and then the shepherd said: Maybe one of them might give me work. Let me go ask. Now the fields returned, stretched out in a valley cut by stands of poplars and thickets of cane, here and there, water spar- kling behind them. The sun was almost in the middle of the sky and the old man slumped over more and more from the heat. Laio took pity on him: Soon they were in a gentle meadow, following a river that flowed from the mountains to the sea, under a sky of the palest green, the air smelling like mint.

The shepherd thought of the day before, of Argo and his sheep that drowned, and he covered his eyes with his hands. When he looked again he saw flocks of sheep grazing on pasturelands. Laio stood up in the cart. He looked to the right, to the left, as though searching, seeing. A dog ran to meet them, and he almost called out, but he stopped and a tear rolled down his face. Then, without another thought for himself, concerned only for the old man: Let me milk one of these sheep and give you a little milk. Un cane corse loro incontro e lui fece per chiamarlo, ma si trattenne e una lacrima gli scendeva per il volto.

Lascia che io munga una di queste pecore e ti dia un poco di latte. I contadini sanno che, da ora in poi, debbono a te chiedere opere, tetto e nutrimento. Non era per questo che ti ho chiamato padre: Prendi dunque la guida del carro e sii il padrone, Laio. Mi aveva preso tutto quel che conosceva essere mio. Se fosse venuto a saperlo mi avrebbe ucciso.

Ci sono io a difenderti. Portami nella tua casa - e gli volgeva, sereno, una fronte piena di bianca luce. I bovi ripresero lenti il cammino percorso. Laio guardava con Rozier. Because those flocks are mine, the houses and the farms you saw belong to me. He saw the old man from his dream, and he was frightened. To dispel his fear, he whispered: All this belongs to your other son, your flesh and blood, even if he rejected you.

Now take the reins, Laio. He was no longer thinking about his dream, about himself, about the miracle that was happen- ing to him. The old man knew what he was thinking and he said at once: He took everything he thought was mine. But I hid most of it away. I wanted to give it to him later as a surprise. Now take me to your home. The oxen slowly turned and were on their way again. Deeply moved, Laio stared at the road ahead, at the fields all around, a young man who sees the woman he loves sleeping for the first time, her face tinged with modesty and mischief. The old man was no longer watching the road, the oxen, or all that was his; he was watching his son, his greatest possession.

Now, you must use the same care and lead me away from the land and the reasons that make men want to live. A professional journalist, she lives in Rome where she works for RAI. She has published the following books of poetry: Manni, , La cattedrale Milan: Mondadori, Almanacco dello specchio, , and La nascita, solo la nascita Lecce: Anthony Molino is an award-winning translator, anthropolo- gist, and psychoanalyst. Gray Sutherland is the author of five collections of poetry and a novel.

In he began translating contemporary Italian poetry into English. The Cliffs of Solitude: Together with his wife he has also translated, from the Greek, Thirty Years in the Rain: Download e-book for iPad: Potent dropout prevention recommendations for educators! This source deals instructions for enforcing dropout prevention ideas within the lecture room and during the institution procedure.

The influence of elevated commencement charges reaches farther than statistics-more graduates suggest extra people who are greater ready to fulfill the demanding situations of existence after college, and higher results for early life, faculties, and society regularly. La carezza del buio: Diese Arbeit befasst sich mit der Erziehung und ihrer Entwicklung: Eine gewisse Verunsicherung gibt es bei der Frage nach der richtigen Erziehung. Der Tenor zeigt uns eigentlich auf, dass die Weiterentwicklung in den autoritativen Erziehungsstil abgeschlossen wird. In any case, men suspended over the depths al- ready have too much fury in their hearts and require serenity, namely, impersonality as colorless as water.

Take a look at those X-rays in your drawer, at how mushy my brain is. Just imagine whether the noble, inexpressive face of this figure- head of Anversa could ever be reduced to this, even Dachau would leave her cold. I also like to carve and sculpt them. I wish I could copy all of them, all the figures in this catalog, unacquainted with passion, with sorrow, with identity — unaware like that, of course being immortal would be worth it… It says here that Thorvaldsen, a master of neo- classic sculpture, served his apprenticeship in the studio of his fa- ther, who carved figureheads for the Danish fleet — like me, creator of these figures that nobody will be able to send to forced labor camps.

Look how well they turn out, the torso grows out of a whirl- wind that, at the base, seems to ripple the waves and continue on to the fluttering garment, an undulating line that will dissolve into amorphousness, but meanwhile… And those eyes wide open on the beyond, on imminent, unavoidable catastrophes. E invece queste maligne vorrebbero la tua perdizione, la tua tragedia A me non le taglierete, vero? Mi comporto be-ne, non faccio sciocchezze, sono rispettoso.

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E come si fa a non essere rispettosi, con queste figure bellissime? E quelle Euridici che rientrano nelle tenebre How could you not be respectful, with these beautiful figures? Look at this enchanting mouth, the unreadable smile, the same smile she wore when she sank that day with her ship, the Falkland, near the Scilly Isles, the book says. Vorrei pisciare sulla mia tomba, su una tomba bisogna annaffiare i fiori, no?

Ma ho letto che qualche volta le polene naufragate ritornano. Still, I pretended not to notice any- thing, everyone gets by any way they can. We buried one of them — read what it says here — the one from the Rebecca, a whaling ship from New Bedford, among the rocks by the sea. Lewdness too, as is fitting; death is lewd and sorrow is lewd. I even do it, when nobody can see me, there in the park of Saint David. Even a face composed of flesh soon deteriorates, the fish devour it and it quickly becomes unrecognizable, an unrecognizable piece of refuse from the sea.

It was I who pushed Maria, on the open sea and under the sea; I threw her to the sharks as food and so I was spared by them. And so she disappeared in that dark sea, in that obscurity. But I read that sometimes shipwrecked figureheads return. Every day he watched the sea discon- solately, he could not believe she was dead and when the ship re- entered the port he saw the figurehead, standing upright on the prow, identical to her — he leaped into the water to go to her, longing to embrace her, but he went under.

Waterlogged and dazed, water in his nose in his mouth in his ears, it was impossible to see the ship as it passed by, to see whether she was there or not. President, as you can see, I am still here. He too was all ex- cited, he never thought he would be granted permission to enter the Home, when he requested it, so he could come and get me. When my health unexpectedly deteriorated, he forced me to enter the Rest Home to recover — an attractive, comfortable, well equipped place, no doubt about it — and he bawled and ranted and let himself go completely, needing a shave and not even changing his under- wear.

He bored every friend he met with a long story about his mis- fortune and how lonely he was. Per questo esistono le Case di Riposo. We have to resign our- selves, indeed be content and at peace with our conscience, when we accompany them there and entrust them to that qualified staff. Con te, diceva, vicino a te so chi sono e non sono niente male. Anche la vita — non gli ho chiesto se la sua o la mia — oppure ammutolire, che per me sarebbe peggio che morire. In short, only when we were together did he feel entirely se- rene, confident, even about what he wrote, after he had read it to me and had seen in my eyes — rather on your mouth, he would say, when my lips, pouting a bit at first, opened slightly… almost a smile, no, not yet, but… I would prune his words, of course — excessive, immoderate and magnanimous as he has always been, he lavished words profusely and I pared them for him, discarding the rind, the core and even a lot of the pulp, when it was necessary.

He would not have been capable of it, fervent, unrestrained and compulsive as he was, always a morsel and a glass too much, but he let himself be put on a diet by me and he knew that, if something remained on the plate after I had passed everything through the sieve, it was truly something good. Here outside we can only see those doors, whose gleaming convex plates reflect splintered images of things that lengthen obliquely or expand and swell — stretching out, inflating, shrinking — if we move backward or forward a little.

All we know are those ephemeral travesties, not the truth that is hidden on the other side, behind those bronze mirrors. But I, my love, he would say to me, can no longer celebrate only the mirages of those mirrors, those illusory reflections. My verse must be about reality, the truth, that which holds the world together or dissolves it, no matter what the cost. Even if the cost is life — I did not ask him whether he meant his or mine — or else fall silent, which for me would be worse than death.

At those words, Mr. Forse, ho pensato, era venuto a prendermi soprattutto — soltanto? Me lo vedevo, aggrappato a me, ad attendere le mie parole, i suoi occhi verdi febbrili Pure qui gli oggetti mentono, si dissimulano e trascolorano come meduse. The road impassable, the bridge collapsed, the abyss insurmountable.

It seemed to me that I could already hear him asking me about the Home, and about you, Mr. Of course, because he too, Mr. President, is convinced — like everyone, like me before I came here — that once you enter the Home you finally see the truth as it is — no longer veiled, reflected and dis- torted, disguised and made-up as it is seen on the outside, but di- rectly, face to face. President, people yearn to know; even those who pretend they have no interest in knowing would give anything to know. Maybe, I thought, he had come to get me primarily — only? I could just see him, clinging to me, awaiting my words, his green eyes feverish… and how could I tell him that… You see my point, Mr.

How could I tell him that here inside, aside from the light that is so much fainter, it is just the same as outside? That we are behind the mirror, but that the back is also a mirror, no different from the other. Here too objects lie, disguising themselves and changing color like medusas. There are a lot of us, like outside; even more of us, which makes it even more difficult to know one another. Gli sarebbe venuto un colpo, al mio vate. Mi figuravo le sue lamentele, un uomo finito, un poeta cui hanno rubato il tema; avrebbe pensato che quella congiura cosmica era tutta una manovra contro di lui, per metterlo a terra, per condannarlo al silenzio.

For that matter, why should we know more than those on the outside, more than we ourselves knew when we were out there? And as for you, Mr. President, why should we have seen you here? Those ailments and infirmities that sent us to these corridors and to these dark vales, those small calamities of the heart or brain, the venomous bane of a snake or of a gas valve do not help us to better understand this immense laby- rinth of before and after, of never and always, of I and you and… We are on the other side of the mirror, but it is still a mirror, and all we see is a pallid face, without being certain whose it is.

The river flows, blood flows, a dike breaks, the water overflows and floods the fields, the swimmer goes under, takes in water, re-emerges, goes on swim- ming without seeing anything, either in the blinding midday light or the dark of night. Tell him that I, even here inside, know no more than he does? He would have had a shock, that bard of mine. I could just picture his complaints, a man who was done for, a poet whose theme had been stolen from him; he would think that that cosmic conspiracy was all a scheme against him, to break him, to condemn him to si- lence.

Ma forse avrei stretto i denti e inghiottito la mia stanchezza e avrei tirato avanti. Conosco questo stupido pettegolezzo. Anche da sola, anche senza di lui sarei stata felice di fare una passeggiata da quelle parti. And when the time came, for him or for me, to return to the Home again, this time for good, what a farce having to repeat goodbyes reduced to conventionalities. I felt so tired all of a sudden. Still, perhaps I would have gritted my teeth and swallowed my fatigue and I would have carried on. Women can do this, they do it almost all the time, even when they no longer know why or for whom.

President, it was not on account of such a pitiful, trite reason that he turned around and lost me. It is a lie by envious colleagues who want to depict him as a narcissistic egotist to make him lose favor with the public, maybe the same ones who spread those rumors about the pretty boys whom he supposedly consoled himself with in my absence, infuriating all those adoring female admirers of his, jealous enough to scratch his eyes out.

He wanted to know and I prevented him. God knows it cost me. Ora infatti, a casa, a casa nostra, dorme, tranquil-lo. Still, I would have loved to go out for a little while — just for a little while, we both knew it — into that summer light — at least for one summer, a summer on that small island where he and I… Even by myself, even without him I would have been happy to go walking there. But I would have destroyed him, by going with him and an- swering his inevitable questions. You will therefore understand, Mr.

President, why, when by then we were almost at the doors, I called to him in a strong, firm voice, the voice from when I was young, on the other side, and he — I knew he would not be able to resist — he turned around, as I felt myself being sucked back, lighter and lighter, a paper doll in the wind, a shadow that lengthens retreats and merges with the other shadows of the evening, and he watched me, turned to stone, but safe and sound, and I vanished happily before his eyes, because I could already see him returning to life tormented but strong, igno- rant of the void, still capable of serenity, perhaps even of happiness.

Now in fact, at home, our home, he is sleeping quietly. He has also taught at Rutgers University. The former president of the New Jersey College English Association and the New Jersey Association for Developmental Education, he has presented at several professional conferences in the US and was a keynote speaker at the University of Natal South Africa conference on lan- guage instruction in He is the author and co-author of six col- lege texts on writing published by McGraw-Hill. Buscemi is the son of Sicilian immigrants from the province of Agrigento. After studying law at the University of Catania, he began to write plays for a company of amateur actors and showed an intense interest in popular poetry.

In , he moved to Florence, then capital of Italy, and began his career as a literary critic by writing for La Nazione. Florence also introduced him to the work of Balzac and of other French novelists. By , Capuana was in Milan writing for Corriere della Sera. In , he was appointed to the chair of aesthetics and stylistics at the University of Catania. As a literary critic, Capuana established a reputation for objec- tivity and analytical acumen. He is also remembered for having championed theories of romantic naturalism in works such as Studi sulla letteratura contemporanea In addition, his ability to expose the psychology of his characters won him lasting fame as a novelist.

Among his best works in this genre are Giacinta , Profumo , Le Paesane , and his masterpiece, Il Marchese di Roccaverdina I am indebted to my good friend Nino Russo for his help in translating a number of particularly difficult idiomatic expressions and for all of his encouragement. Quando arrivava la stagione delle arance, il Re vi metteva a guardia una sentinella notte e giorno; e tutte le mattine scendeva lui stesso a osservare coi suoi occhi se mai mancasse una foglia.

Una mattina va in giardino, e trova la sentinella addormentata. Canta, canta, canta, mi si aggravavano gli occhi. Canta, canta, canta, non mi reggevo dal sonno. Il Re non gli fece nulla. Una mattina va in giardino e trova il Reuccio addormentato. Figuriamoci la sua collera! Ti sei addormentato anche tu? Ed esso a canzonarmi: Cardellino traditore, col Reuccio non ti giova! E canta, canta, canta Il Re volle provarsi lui stesso; e arrivata la stagione si mise a far la guardia. Quando le arance furon mature, ecco il cardellino che si posa sopra un ramo, e comincia a cantare.

Il Re avrebbe voluto tirargli, ma faceva buio come in una gola. Intanto aveva una gran voglia di dormire! Santi Buscemi It is said that there was once a king, who had a magnificent garden behind his royal palace. Every type of tree could be found in the garden, but the rarest and most valued was the one that pro- duced golden oranges. When the season for the oranges arrived, the king ordered a sentry to guard it night and day. And every morning he came down himself to inspect the oranges with his own eyes to make sure that not even one leaf was missing.

One morning, he went into the garden and found the sentry asleep. He looked at the tree…The golden oranges were gone! Oh, wretched sentry, you will pay with your head. Majesty, it is not my fault. A goldfinch landed on a branch and began to sing. He sang, and sang, and sang so much that my eyes became heavy. I drove him from that branch, but he then flew to another. He sang, and sang, and sang so much that I could not fight off my sleepiness.

I drove him from that branch too, and as soon as he stopped singing, my sleepiness disappeared. How- ever, he then perched on the top of the tree and he sang, and sang, and sang. I have been sleeping until this very moment! The next season, he placed the prince himself in charge of guarding the tree. One morning he went into the garden and found the prince asleep.

He looked at the tree…the golden or- anges were gone! Even you fell asleep? The prince is falling asleep. The prince is falling asleep! And when the oranges rip- ened, the goldfinch perched on a branch and began to sing. The king wanted to pull him down, but the garden was covered in darkness and the king felt very sleepy. Traitorous goldfinch, this time you will not succeed, but he had a hard time keeping his eyes open.

The goldfinch began to serenade him: La mattina apriva gli occhi: Allora fece un bando per tutti i suoi Stati: Passarono sei mesi, e non si vide nessuno. Finalmente un giorno si presenta un contadinotto molto male in arnese: Ma quando le arance furon mature, una mattina va in giardino Il Re si fece scuro. Doveva dare la Reginotta a quello zoticone? Ma quanto alla Reginotta, nettati la bocca. Il Re disse al cardellino: Il cardellino strillava, sentendosi strappare le penne ad una ad una.

Bisogna sapere il motto; e lo sanno due soli: Vorrei entrare nella Grotta delle sette porte, e non so il motto. The king is sleeping! In the morning, he opened his eyes; the golden oranges were gone! Therefore, he pro- claimed throughout his realm: Finally, one day there appeared a crusty old peasant, who was shabbily dressed: Promise me the hand of the princess, and in less than three days you shall have him. The next day, he returned. However, the peasant was stubborn, and the next day he returned. Meanwhile, he ordered that an iron net be built around the tree; such a barrier eliminated the need for a guard.

When the oranges had ripened, the king went into the garden one morning…and the golden oranges were gone. Now he was obliged to come to terms with the crusty old peasant. Now the princess is mine. Do you want gold? You can have as much as you want. But as for the princess, say no more. The king turned to the goldfinch. However, guarding them is a merchant wearing a red cap. You need to know the magic words, and only two people know them: The king called for the peasant. In quella grotta i diamanti, a mucchi per terra, abbagliavano.

Il Re si vuotava le tasche, e tornava a riempirsele di questi. Dovea dare la Reginotta a quello zoticone? Ma per la Reginotta nettati la bocca. Si mette le mani nelle tasche, i diamanti son diventati tanti gusci di lumache! Ma il cardellino la pagava. Quanto alla Reginotta, nettati la bocca.

Un giorno la Reginotta disse al Re: If you tell me them, the princess is yours. The peas- ant waited outside and waited for him. Within the grotto on the ground was a pile of diamonds, shining brilliantly. Seeing that he was alone, the king stooped down and filled his pockets. But in the next room, the diamonds, also in a pile, were bigger and more beau- tiful.

The king emptied his pockets, and he refilled them with these. Thus it was until he came to the last room, where he saw the golden oranges of the royal palace piled up in a corner. Nearby, there hap- pened to be a knapsack, and the king filled it. Now that he knew the magic words, he would return over and over again. As he left the grotto with the knapsack on his back, he found the peasant waiting for him.

But instead of golden oranges, he found rotten oranges. He put his hands in his pockets, and he found that the diamonds had turned to snail shells. This is the work of that crusty old peasant! But the goldfinch would pay for it. And he decided to torture the bird. Tell me the magic words to get back the oranges and the princess will be yours.

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Therefore, the peasant returned: But as for the princess, say on more. E gli aperse la gabbia. Intanto la povera Reginotta viveva in ambascia: Intanto venne un ambasciatore del Re di Francia che la chiedeva per moglie. Il Re non lo potevan trattenere: Come rimediare con quella figliolaccia caparbia? E la Reginotta zitta. Per mantenere la parola ora patisco tanti guai! Non vuol farsi vedere? Il Re non sapeva che rispondere, imbarazzato. Sentendosi rispondere dallo scatolino, la Reginotta lo aperse.

Quante lagrime ho sparse. E noi restiamo a grattarci la pancia. Because the gold- finch was in a cage, the golden oranges stayed on the tree from one year to the next. One day, the princess said to the king: Go tell him that and return right away. But the goldfinch did not return. One day, the king asked the princess: I have not heard him for quite a while.

Meanwhile, the poor princess lived in anguish. Meanwhile, there ar- rived an ambassador from the king of France, who wanted to marry the princess. Her father was extremely happy, and he quickly gave his consent. However, the princess refused: I want to remain a maid.

But she was obstinate: How was the king to deal with his stubborn daughter? He became so angry that he tied her hands and feet, and he lowered her into a well: The king then lowered her half way down. The king then lowered her even further into the water with only her head above it. And he pulled her up, but he locked her up in a room, giving her only bread and water.

Un giorno venne uno, e disse al Re: Dovea dire che lei era la figlia del Re. It was a small box made of gold and dia- monds. However, the princess put it aside without desiring to open it. I have shed so many tears. But now your destiny is fulfilled. The Bronze Horse by Luigi Capuana translated by Santi Buscemi There once was a king and queen who had a daughter more beautiful than the moon and the sun, and they loved her more than the pupils of their own eyes. One day, someone came and said to the king: If she is not here within three days, woe to him!

What were they to do? The savage was terrifying; he could devastate the entire kingdom. She was told to say that she was the daughter of the king. The next day, the girl returned to the palace. The princess has a birth- mark on this arm! If the princess is not with him within two days, woe is you! Doveva dire che lei era la figlia del Re. Il povero Re e la povera Regina avrebbero battuto il capo nel muro.

E mi ha rimandato dicendo: Per la salvezza del regno, bisogna sacrificare la Reginotta! Il Re non sapeva rassegnarsi: Passato un anno, un mese e un giorno, arriva a corte un forestiero, che chiede di parlare col Re. Era un nanetto alto due spanne, gobbo e sbilenco, con un naso che pareva un becco di barbagianni e certi occhietti piccini piccini.

Il Re non aveva voglia di ridere; ma come vide quello sgorbio non seppe frenarsi. The savage knows that the princess has a birthmark on her left arm; it is impossible to fool him. She was to say that she was the daughter of the king. However, the next day, the young woman came back.

Why should they throw that joy of a daughter into the arms of the savage? We will look for another young woman. The artist will paint the birthmark on her arm, and he will dye three hairs on the nape of her neck white. The savage will not know the difference. But the next day, even this young woman came back. He looked through the hair on the nape of my neck. In order to save the kingdom, you will have to sacrifice the princess! The king could not resign himself to this; he would rather sacrifice the blood of his own veins than give up his daughter.

But fate would have it this way, and he had to submit. The princess showed herself to be more courageous than them all. After all, the savage would not eat her! She put on a wedding gown, and accom- panied by the king, the queen, members of the court, and an im- mense number of subjects, she made her way toward the forest amid weeping and heart-rending cries. E non era trascorsa una settimana, che il Re riceveva un avviso: Il Nano, di quando in quando, gli domandava: Ma quello cambiava discorso: Si era rizzato di terra, si era ripulito il vestitino, ed era andato via, lesto lesto, come se nulla fosse stato.

Lei dunque voleva quel Nano gobbo e sbilenco? Anche la Regina non viveva tranquilla: Il Re rispondeva con una spallucciata: Ma la Reginotta ripeteva: From that point, nothing was heard about her or about the savage. However, after a year, a month, and a day, there came to court a stranger who wished to speak with the king. If you give me half the kingdom as well as the hand of the princess in marriage, I will free her from the hands of the savage.

And before a week passed, the king received a message: They believed that this runt was trying to trick them. And at sunrise, there appeared the hunchbacked, lop-sided dwarf, who was leading the princess by the hand. She was dressed as a bride, just as she had been she entered the forest to meet the savage. The celebrations and the banquets never ended.

However, no one ever spoke of the wedding or of giving half the kingdom away. Now that he had his daughter and the savage had been killed by the dwarf, the king no longer knew how to keep his word. From time to time, the dwarf asked him: They went to search for him in the street, but he was gone. He had gotten up from the ground, had cleaned himself off, and had run away very quickly. It was as if he had never been there. However, from that day forward, the princess became melancholic. She refused to speak and to laugh, and she had lost the color in her cheeks. Did you want that hunchbacked, lopsided dwarf?

Il giorno delle nozze era vicino. La gente accorreva in folla nel giardino del Re, dove il cavallo di bronzo era stato collocato su un magnifico piedistallo. Par di sentirlo nitrire! Scese a vederlo anche il Re con la corte; e tutti: Solo la Reginotta non diceva nulla.

Gli tastava il ciuffo, gli accarezzava il collo, lo spronava leggermente col tacco; e intanto diceva scherzando: Tutti erano atterriti; non osavano fiatare. Ma in mezzo a quel silenzio scoppia a un tratto una risatina, una risatina di canzonatura! Il Nano continuava a contorcersi dalle risa: Cavallo, mio cavallo,Non metter piede in fallo;Torna sul piedistallo,Cavallo, mio cavallo.

Allora il Nano disse al Re: The prince of Portugal sent word that he wanted to marry the princess. The princess said neither yes nor no, but the king and queen could not wait to celebrate the marriage. The prince of Portugal started his journey, and on the way he met a man who was driving a large cart with a bronze horse in it, which looked as if it were alive. The day of the wedding neared. They were all astonished: Amazed, the prince asked her: She stroked his forelock, she caressed his neck, she spurred him lightly with her heel , and all the while she said jok- ingly: In the wink of a eye, the horse and the princess were no longer to be seen.

The king watched, and he saw the dwarf who was writhing with laughter, he with his little hump and his crooked little legs. He knew right away that what the horse had done was the work of the dwarf. Sorrowfully, the King said: But the dwarf continued to writhe with laughter: And finally, even the queen began to laugh. Only the poor king now felt scorned and humiliated, a pitiful sight. E noi restiamo a leccarci le dita. However, his love for his daughter made him consent. He turned his back to the dwarf and waited for the kick; however, the dwarf wanted to show himself to be more generous than he and, instead of kicking him, he said: Then, the dwarf said: With that, the dwarf ceased to be a dwarf and became a handsome, tall young man.

The prince of Portugal realized that he could not marry the princess, and he said: The princess and the dwarf they always called him that became husband and wife. And here we remain, just licking our fin- gers. This book won the foreign section of the National Frascati award in and was rendered into Italian by Antonella Anedda and Carle. Alfredo De Palchi was born in near Verona. He grew up with his mother and grandfather and as a teenager was tortured by the Fascists and the Partisans. He was then imprisoned for six years.

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De Palchi has resided in New York City for over thirty years, yet maintains strong ties to his native Italy. It consists of writing no American poet would undertake. Although his poetic line is drawn out, his poems do not tell stories. They are always based on a precise physical or concrete experience, which is then arrested and trans- formed.

We can say that his style is devoid of sentimentality. De Palchi is not afraid to confront sex and eroticism with shattering metaphoric visions. The three poems here translated all from Paradigma, Mimesis Hebenon, are typical of his work from a thematic and stylistic standpoint, the erotic amorous vein, the trans- gressive spirituality, and the ever-present memory of wartime trau- mas all merge into distinctly charged poetic entities. In uno di questi alberghi, il Phoenicia, col nome inglese pronto per ituristi americani, ci diedero una bellissima camera con la terrazza sul mareaccogliendoci con un enorme cesto di frutta.

Poi ci mettemmo alla ricerca della solita guida disposta a trasportare le macchine fotografiche. Era basso, grasso, puzzolente, sporco: Kirschenbaum Some fifteen years after the end of the war [World War II] we went to Beirut, which was then a splendid city, its shoreline studded with fabulous hotels, those that the criminal madness of munitions makers would have destroyed some twenty years later, mowing down so many human lives on the pretext of this or that ideology.

In one of these hotels, the Phoenicia, its English name ready for Ameri- can tourists, we were given a very lovely room with balcony overlooking the sea, a room that welcomed us with an enormous basket of fruit.

La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition) La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition)
La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition) La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition)
La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition) La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition)
La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition) La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition)
La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition) La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition)
La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition) La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition)
La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition) La carezza del buio: Guild Hunter [vol. 2] (Italian Edition)
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