Isa Nutter – traduzione poesia n°84 – Spoon River

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Spoon river libro online gratis
@ foto di William Willinghton

Ecco il testo della poesia con a fronte la traduzione italiana:

Isa Nutter

DOC MEYERS said I had satyriasis,
Il dottor Meyers diceva che soffrivo di priapismo
And Doc Hill called it leucæmia—
e il dottor Hill la chiamava leucemia-
But I know what brought me here:
Ma io so cosa mi portò qui:
I was sixty-four but strong as a man
avevo sessantaquattro anni ma ero forte come un uomo
Of thirty-five or forty.
di trentacinque o quaranta.
And it wasn’t writing a letter a day,
e non fu scrivere una lettera al giorno,
And it wasn’t late hours seven nights a week,
e non fu il fare tardi sette notti a settimana,
And it wasn’t the strain of thinking of Minnie,
e non fu l’aggravio al pensiero di Minnie,
And it wasn’t fear or a jealous dread,
e non fu la paura o il temere geloso,
Or the endless task of trying to fathom
o il dovere senza fine di cercare di capire
Her wonderful mind, or sympathy
la sua mente fantastica, o la simpatia
For the wretched life she led
per la vita miserabile che conduceva
With her first and second husband—
con il suo primo e secondo marito-
It was none of these that laid me low—
niente di questo mi distrusse-
But the clamor of daughters and threats of sons,
ma il chiasso delle figlie e le minacce dei figli,
And the sneers and curses of all my kin
e gli scherni e le maledizioni di tutti i miei parenti
Right up to the day I sneaked to Peoria
fino al giorno in cui me la svignai a Peoria
And married Minnie in spite of them—
e sposai Minnie a loro dispetto-
And why do you wonder my will was made
e perchè vi stupite se il mio testamento fu fatto
For the best and purest of women?
per la migliore e più pura delle donne?

Testo inglese di Isa Nutter:

DOC MEYERS said I had satyriasis,
And Doc Hill called it leucæmia—
But I know what brought me here:
I was sixty-four but strong as a man
Of thirty-five or forty.
And it wasn’t writing a letter a day,
And it wasn’t late hours seven nights a week,
And it wasn’t the strain of thinking of Minnie,
And it wasn’t fear or a jealous dread,
Or the endless task of trying to fathom
Her wonderful mind, or sympathy
For the wretched life she led
With her first and second husband—
It was none of these that laid me low—
But the clamor of daughters and threats of sons,
And the sneers and curses of all my kin
Right up to the day I sneaked to Peoria
And married Minnie in spite of them—
And why do you wonder my will was made
For the best and purest of women?

 

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