I miss Italy. I miss Italy a lot. Not Italy in general - I miss the mountains from Valsugana, I miss it’s beautiful landscapes and the simple life. I miss the colours.
I miss the solitude from the time I was living in Italy.
Villa Maria, Roncegno (TN), Italy
There is a great poet from Roncegno - the small city where my family is from - named Marco Pola.
I am not good on translations, but I will try to translate this one…
La solita ora. / The same time.
La solita strada. / The same road.
L’ansia che pesa de dentro e de fòra. / The anxiousness from the inside and from the outside.
I dì che passa come na sventada. / The day that passes as a windblow.
E i dì che torna ancora. / And the days are back once again.
La solita strada. / The same road.
La solita ora. / The same time.
L’è come che i te déssa na peàda / It’s like kicking you
per farte rudolar come na bora. / making you spin as the bora.*
Vita de tuti i dì / Everyday life
come che te cognosso, / I know it well,
come che me sento ‘ncadenà da ti! / how I feel chained to you!
E no gh’è ‘n bus da scònderse, / And there is no place to hide,
na tana da salvarse, / a safe place
bison strenzer i denti e dir de sì. / it’s necessary to clinch the teeths and say yes.
No gh’è che le montagne, / There is nothing but montains,
le montagne sole, / only the montains,
ma forsi no le basta per scampar, / perhaps is not enought to survive,
per liberarse ‘l còr dale taiòle, / to set the heart free from the trap,
per nar lontani, per desmentegar. / to go far away, to forget.
Desmentegar quel’ora / To forget that time
Remenga, quela strada, / Frustation, that road,
quel colp, quela peàda, / that hit, that kick,
quel rudolar come na bora… / spinning as the bora*…
*bora=cold northeast wind.
By Marco Pola. BRAVO!
Roncegno
