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L'astratto
Original Language: Italian
Voglio, sì, vò cantar: forse cantando
Trovar pace potessi al mio tormento;
Hà d'opprimere il duol forza il concento.
Sì, sì, pensiero, aspetta,
A sonar comintiamo,
E a nostro senso una canzon troviamo.
"Hebbi il core legato un dì
D'un bel crin..."
La stracerei: subito ch'apro un foglio
Sento che mi raccorda il mio cordoglio.
"Fuggia la notte e sol spiegava intorno..."
Eh, si confondon qui la nott' e'l giorno.
"Volate, o Furie,
E conducete
Un miserabile
Al foco eterno..."
Ma che fo nell'inferno?
"Al tuo ciel, vago desio,
Spiega l'ale e vanne..."
A fè, che quel che ti compose
Poco sapea dell'amoroso strale:
Desiderio d'amante in ciel non sale.
"Goderò sotto la luna..."
Hor questa sì ch'è peggio!
Sa il destin degl'amanti, e vuol fortuna.
Misero, i guai m'han da me stesso astratto,
E cercando un soggetto
Per volerlo dir sol cento n'ho detto.
Chi nel carcere d'un crine
I desiri ha prigionieri,
Per sue crude aspre ruine
Ne men suoi sono i pensieri.
Chi ad un vago alto splendore
Diè fedel la libertà,
Schiavo alfin tutto d'amore,
Ne men sua la mente havrà.
Quind'io, misero e stolto,
Non volendo cantar cantato ho molto.
Poet:
English
Distracted Lover
I want, yes, I want to sing: maybe in singing
I can find relief from my torment;
music has the power to overcome suffering.
Yes, yes, wait, I'm thinking,
Let's start playing
and find a song that suits our mood.
"If one day my heart were bound
by beautiful tresses..."
I'd rip them off! As soon as I look at a page
of music I'm reminded of my torment.
"The night fled and the sun spread its light..."
Oh sure, here we go confusing day and night!
"Fly, o Furies,
and carry
this miserable creature
to the eternal fire."
But what am I doing in Hell?
"To your heaven, blithe yearning,
spread your wings and go..."
Clearly, the person who wrote you
didn't know much about love.
A lover's desires don't rise to Heaven.
"I'll rejoice under the moon..."
This is even worse! He knows what happens to lovers
and expects good fortune.
O misery! My woes have estranged me
from myself, and seeking a subject to
express it I've proposed a hundred.
For one whose hopes are bound
by beautiful tresses,
to his cruel bitter ruin,
not even his thoughts are his own.
One who entrusts his liberty
to a fair proud beauty,
in the end is completely enslaved by love,
and he won't even have his mind.
Thus I, miserable and foolish,
not wanting to sing have sung much.
Translated by:
Richard Kolb
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L'Astratto
Published by Cor Donato Editions in historically correct modern transcription, including critical introductory notes on the work, editorial procedures, original texts with new English translations, and other contextual information about the piece.
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