by David Young
can quench his thirst by drinking from a glass.
My trust was in St. Peter but no more,
figure me out if you can I understand.
A rotten tribute is a heavy load to bear.
As fully as I can I free myself.
I hear Apollo’s son fell in the Po, died,
and that the blackbird has now crossed the stream.
Hey, come and take a look (I’d rather not, myself),
it’s not a joke, a rock among the waves
or else, in branches, birdlime! And I’m hurt
when overbearing pride can hide
a wealth of virtues in a lovely lady.
Some people come when no one’s called to them;
others you beg for disappear and flee;
and some melt from the ice
and others long for death, both night and day.
Proverb: “Love who loves you” ancient fact;
I know exactly what I say I’ll drop it,
people need to learn some things at their expense.
A humble lady makes her sweet friend grieve.
Assessing figs is difficult; it’s prudent
to undertake no task too hard to do,
and pleasant homes exist in every country.
Hope, when it is infinite, usually kills,
and there were times when I would dance that dance.
What little bit is left of me
ought to please someone if I give it to him.
I put my faith in Him who rules the world
and shelters His disciples in the woods
to lead me with His flocks,
wielding His shepherd’s crook of mercy.
Not everyone who reads can understand,
and he who sets up nets may well catch nothing;
who tries to be too subtle breaks his neck.
Don’t let the law be lame when folks are waiting.
To have good health you might go many miles.
Some things seem marvelous and then we hate them;
a cloistered beauty is the sweetest, softest.
Blessed be the key that slipped into my heart
and turned the lock and gave my soul its freedom
from very heavy chains
releasing from my breast unnumbered sighs.
There where I grieved the most another suffers,
and makes my sorrow sweet by having shared it;
and so I offer thanks to Love,
because I feel it not and yet it’s there.
And in the silence, words wise and proficient
become the sound that takes all other care
the darkened prison where there shines a light;
nocturnal violets growing on the bank,
and wild beasts at large within the walls,
and fear, sweet fear, and lovely customs,
and from two fountains grows a peaceful river
flowing where I want it gathering there;
Love and Jealousy walked off taking my heart,
the stars of that fair face
that lead me forward on a level path
along toward my own hope my pain concluded.
Oh, hidden sweetness and your close companions—
now peace, now war, now truce,
do not desert me in this earthly garb.
For all my injuries past I weep and laugh
because I set such store in what I hear;
I like the present some and look for better,
and I go counting years silent and crying.
And I construct my nest on a fair branch
in such a fashion thanking the grand refusal
that finally overcame the hardened feelings
and in my soul engraved: “I would be heard of
and pointed at for that,” and she’s erased
(I’m driven to extremes
that I am going to say it): “You were not bold enough!”
She pierced my side and then she healed it too,
I write more in my heart than on this paper,
she makes me die and live;
she makes me freeze and then she makes me burn.
106
A little angel, new, on nimble wings,
came down from Heaven to the springtime shore
where Fortune had me walking, all alone.
Because she saw I had no company or guide
she spread a lasso she was making out of silk
out on the grass with which the way was green.
She caught me then; I wasn’t sorry later
because so sweet a light was in her eyes.
107
I don’t see anymore how to escape;
her eyes have been at war with me so long
that I’m afraid, alas, the ongoing torment
will kill my heart, which never knows a truce.
I’d like to flee, but those inspiring rays
shine in my mind by night and then by day,
so bright that in this fifteenth year they dazzle
more than they did even on that first day;
and their resemblances are scattered round
so that I cannot turn without a glimpse of light,
that light or else a like one, lit from it.
From just one laurel tree a forest grows
so green my enemy, with magic arts,
leads me at will, astray among the branches.
108
More fortunate than any other earth,
you ground, where Love once made her pause her foot
and turn those holy lights in my direction
that make the air around her all serene:
a solid diamond statue would wear out
before I could forget her deed, so sweet
that it has filled my mind till now
and never will desert my memory;
however many times I see you yet
I’ll still bend over you to trace her foot
recalling where it made its gracious turn.
But since Love doesn’t rest in worthy hearts,
ask my Sennuccio, when you see him next,
for just a little tear, or for a sigh.
109
When Love, alas, decides to reassault me
(a thousand times, it seems, by night and day)
I come again to where I saw those sparks
that make the fire in my heart immortal.
The visit calms me down, and now those sparks,
at nones, at vespers, dawn and angelus,
can fill my thoughts, which have become so tranquil
that I am free of cares or painful memories.
The gentle breeze that from her shining face
moves when she speaks her words, so clear and wise,
creates fair weather when she breathes it forth,
and is so much a thought of Paradise
that its pure air can always bring me comfort
and my hurt heart breathes easy nowhere else.
110
Pursued by Love to my accustomed place
I was like one who is prepared for war,
who fortifies the entrances and passes,
and thus I stood, armed with my ancient thoughts.
I turned and saw a shadow on the ground
off to the side, created by the sun,
and recognized it: hers, who as I judge,
is worthy to be thought of as immortal.
I said to my own heart, “Why do you quail?”
and yet before that thought was fully shaped
the rays that melt me were unleashed in full;
the way that thunder comes along with lightning
that’s how those eyes, so brilliant, hit me,
along with a sweet greeting from her lips.
111
The lady whom my heart is always watching
appeared to me where I sat all alone
with lovely thoughts of love, and I, in homage,
moved toward her with a pale
and reverent brow.
As soon as she was conscious of my state
she turned to me and with her color changed
in such a way as would have disarmed Jove
in greatest fury, killing his dread wrath.
I trembled as, conversing, she passed by
because I couldn’t bear to hear her speech
or look directly at her brilliant eyes.
And now I find myself fulfilled with pleasure
as I look back upon that kindly greeting
and feel no pain, nor am I like to soon.
112
Sennuccio, just see how I am treated here
and what my life is like: I live in flames
and burn and suffer just the way I used to,
because the slightest breeze can spin me round.
I saw her humble, then I saw her haughty,
now harsh, now gentle, cruel, then full of mercy,
now clothed in virtue, now decked out in mirth,
one minute tame, the next a wild thing.
Here she sang sweetly, here she was seated,
here she turned back and here she paused her step,
here with her lovely eyes she pierced my heart;
she said a word here, smiled here, I think,
and here she frowned. Wrapped in these thoughts, alas,
is how our lord Love keeps me, night and day.
113
Here where I half exist, my dear Sennuccio
(would I were here completely, and you happy),
I came to flee the storm and mighty wind
that suddenly have made the season harsh.
Here I am safe, and wish to tell you why
I do not fear the lightning as I did,
and why my passion hasn’t lessened any
but looks as though it never will be quenched.
No sooner had I come into Love’s region
and saw the birthplace of the sweet, pure breeze
that calms the air and sends away the thunder,
than Love, who rules my soul, relit the fire
and drove away my fear. What might I do
if then I got to look into her eyes?
114
From wicked Babylon, that’s lost all shame,
from which all good has long since fled away,
now sorrow’s dwelling, mother of all errors,
I’ve run away, to rescue my own life.
I’m here alone, and as Love leads me on,
I gather rhymes and verses, herbs and flowers,
conversing and recalling better times,
the only thing that can sustain me now.
I do not care about the mob, or Fortune,
nor very much about myself, nor do
I feel much heat, inside myself or out;
I ask for just two people in my life:
I’d have her heart be pacified and kind
and him I’d want with his foot whole again.
115
Between two lovers once I saw a lady
all virtuous and proud; she had with her
that lord who rules among both men and gods;
the sun was on one side, I on the other.
When she could see that she had been left out
from the bright sphere of her more handsome friend,
she turned her eyes to me, quite happily,
and I could wish she’d always be no fiercer.
The jealousy that on first sight was born
to see a rival of such height and power
transformed itself to joy within my heart;
his face, meantime, so tearful and so sad,
was covered over by a little cloud,
and he was much annoyed at being bested.
116
Full of that sweet, ineffable delight
that came to my eyes from her lovely face
on that day when I’d willingly have closed them,
never to gaze again at lesser beauties,
I went away from what I yearn for most;
I’ve trained my mind to contemplate her only
and it sees nothing else; what isn’t she
it hates and scorns from long-established habit.
Into a valley closed off on all sides
that cools my weary sighs, I came alone
except for Love, all full of care and late;
I find no ladies here, just rocks and fountains
and then the very likeness of that day
that shapes my thoughts, wherever I may look.
117
If the rock that mainly shuts this valley
(from which it seems to take its very name)
responded with its scornful nature, turning
its back to Babel and its face toward Rome,
my sighs would have a better path to travel
toward where their source of hope is living now;
right now they travel scattered, yet arrive
where I have sent them, not one fails to get there;
and over there they have so sweet a welcome
not one of them, I note, ever returns,
they have such rich enjoyment where they stay.
My eyes sustain the pain, for when dawn comes
their passion for the lovely places lost
brings tears to me and labor to my feet.
118
I’ve now passed through my sixteenth year of sighs
and somewhere up ahead I’ll reach the last one;
and yet it sometimes seems to me as though
this suffering began just recently.
The bitter now is sweet, my losses useful,
living itself’s a heavy weight—I pray
my life outlasts this fortune and I fear
Death may close those eyes that give me speech.
I’m here, alas, and wishing I were elsewhere,
and wish I wished for more, yet cannot wish,
and since I can’t do more, do what I can;
and these new tears, shed for these old desires,
prove that I’m still the thing I used to be,
a thousand things have changed, but I have not.
119
A lady much more splendid than the sun—
more blazing and quite comparable in age—
using her famous beauty
attracted me while young into her ranks.
This one is in my thoughts, my works, my words,
for she’s among the great world’s rarest things;
along a thousand roads
she’s always gone before me, proud and gay.
For her alone I turned from what I was,
endured her gaze up close, and afterward,
in honor of her love,
set myself difficult tasks and undertakings
so that, if I achieve the longed-for harbor,
I hope through her to live,
long after people take me to be dead.
This lady led me on for many years
full of a youthful burning longing,
and, as I understand,
only to ask me for more certain proof—
she’d let me glimpse her shadow, veil, or robes,
sometimes herself, but with her face concealed;
and I, alas, believing
I saw a lot, passed through my younger years
contentedly—the memory makes me happy,
especially now that I can see her better.
A short time past, I’m saying,
she showed herself more fully than before,
showed much to me, and turned my heart to ice,
and that is still the case,
and will be always, till I’m in her arms.
But neither fear nor cold could hinder me
from giving so much daring to my heart
that I fell at her feet
to draw a greater sweetness from her eyes;
and she, who had removed the veil from mine
addressed me, saying: “Now, friend, you can see
how beautiful I am,
and ask me for whatever fits your years.”
“Madonna,” said I, “for a long time now
I’ve set my love on you; it so inflames me
that while I’m in this state,
I cannot wish that anything be altered.”
And then, with voice of such a wondrous temper,
she answered, with a look
that left me always between fear and hope:
“Few are there in this world, among the crowd,
who hearing the discussion of my worth
have not felt in their hearts,
at least a short time, something of a spark;
“but my opponent, who hates all that’s good,
douses those sparks, whereby all virtue dies;
another lord takes over
who promises a life more easygoing.
“Love, who unsealed your mind at first,
tells me the truth about you, and I see
your great desire makes you
worthy of some most honorable end;
and as we are already special friends,
as sign, you’ll see a lady
who’ll make your eyes more fortunate and happy.”
I tried to say “That is impossible,”
when she said: “Look up now (lifting your eyes
to a more secret place)
upon a lady who has shown herself to few.”
Quite suddenly ashamed, I bowed my head,
feeling within a new and greater fire,
and she was much amused,
saying to me: “I see now where you stand;
“just as the sun, with its more powerful rays,
makes every other star retire and vanish,
likewise the sight of me
is much diminished by this greater light.
But I don’t fault you or dismiss you for it,
for she and I (she first),
were born together from a single seed.”
That helped to break the knot of shame
that had been tight around my tongue when I
first felt abashed
because I knew that she had noticed it,
and I began: “If what I hear is true,
blessed be the father and blessèd be the day
that have adorned the world with you,
and all the times when I have run to see you!
“And if I ever strayed from the true path
it pains me more than I can ever show;
but if you think me worthy
to hear more of your nature, why, I burn to!”
She watched me pensively and answered,
her sweet regard so steady
that face and words both sped straight to my heart.
“Because it pleased our everlasting father
to have it so, we each were born immortal.
Poor things, what good is that
to you? Better for you if we did not exist.
