giovedì 30 giugno 2011

Di' tutta la verità, ma dilla sbieca

Tell all the truth but tell it SLANT -
Success in CIRCUIT lies
TOO BRIGHT for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
with explanation kind
The Truth must DAZZLE gradually
or every man be blind-  

Emily Dickinson, -1129-

Di' tutta la verità ma dilla sbieca
E' nel giro largo la riuscita... (trad. Silvia Bre)

mercoledì 1 giugno 2011

James Joyce, The dead, finale

It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward.
Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly
falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves.
It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried.
It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns.
His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.