Two “Autumn” Poems: translations by A.Z. Foreman

Dino Campana (1885-1932, Italy)

Autumn Garden
.
Unto the ghostly garden, unto the laurels mute
Of the green garlands,
Unto the autumn land
– one last salute!
Out to the dried hillsides
Reddened hard in the terminal sun,
Confounded into grumbles,
Gruff life afar is crying:
Crying to the dying sun that sheds
A blood that dyes the flowerbeds.
A brass band plays
Ear-piercingly away; the river fades
Out amidst the gilded sands. In the quiet
The great white statues stand at the bridgehead
Turned; and what was once is now no more.
And from the depths of quiet, as if it were a chorus
Soft and splendorous
Yearns its way to the heights of my terrace.
And in an air of laurel,
In an air of laurel, languorous and blade-bare,
Among the statues immortal under sundown,
She appears to me – is there.
. . .

Dino Campana
Giardino Autunnale
.
Al giardino spettrale al lauro muto
De le verdi ghirlande
A la terra autunnale
Un ultimo saluto!
A l’aride pendici
Aspre arrossate nell’estremo sole
Confusa di rumori
Rauchi grida la lontana vita:
Grida al morente sole
Che insanguina le aiole.
S’intende una fanfara
Che straziante sale: il fiume spare
Ne le arene dorate: nel silenzio
Stanno le bianche statue a capo i ponti
Volte: e le cose già non sono più.
E dal fondo silenzio come un coro
Tenero e grandioso
Sorge ed anela in alto al mio balcone:
E in aroma d’alloro,
In aroma d’alloro acre languente,
Tra le statue immortali nel tramonto
Ella m’appar, presente.
. . .
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926, Bohemia-Austria-Germany)
Autumn Day
.
Lord: it is time. The summer days were grand.
Now set Thy shadows out across the sun-dials
And set the winds loose on the meadowland.

Bid the last fruits grow full upon the vine,
do them the good of two more southern days
then thrust them on to their fulfillment, chase
the final sweetness into bodied wine.

Whoever has no house yet will build none,
Whoever is alone will stay alone
And stay up, write long letters out, and go
Through avenues to wander on his own
Uneasily when leaves begin to blow.
. . .
Rainer Maria Rilke
Herbsttag
.
Herr: Es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr groß.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren laß die Winde los.

Befiehl den letzten Früchten voll zu sein;
gieb ihnen noch zwei südlichere Tage,
dränge sie zur Vollendung hin und jage
die letzte Süße in den schweren Wein.

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Aleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.
. . .
Translations from the Italian and the German:
A. Z. Foreman
. . . . .