Finché posso, da “Gli amorosi incanti” (2010), Sara Teasdale

Vento, grandine, pioggia tempestosa,
foschia che vela il giorno al suo languire,
d’anima e corpo ogni pena gravosa
finché posso vorrei per te patire.

E se potessi amarti t’amerei
perché in una notte infinita
presto si perderanno i giorni miei
e anche la pena mi sarà proibita.

(Traduzione di Silvio Raffo)

While I May

Wind and hail and veering rain,
Driven mist that veils the day,
Soul’s distress and body’s pain,
I would bear you while I may.

I would love you if I might,
For so soon my life will be
Buried in a lasting night,
Even pain denied to me.


All Of Me – John Legend & Lindsey Stirling

Calendario perpetuo, da “La música extremada” (1991), Miguel D’Ors

Il lunedì è il nome della pioggia
quando la vita è tanto malevola
da sembrare la vita.

Il martedì passano treni lontani
sui quali non andremo mai.

Mercoledì e giovedì, venerdì, niente.

Il sabato promette, la domenica non mantiene
e torna un’altra volta – o neppure quella:
la stessa volta – la pioggia dei lunedì.

Calendario perpetuo

El lunes es el nombre de la lluvia
cuando la vida viene tan malintencionada
que parece la vida.

El martes es que lejos pasan trenes
en los que nunca vamos.

El miércoles es jueves, viernes, nada.

El sábado promete, el domingo no cumple
y aquí llega otra vez – o ni siquiera otra:
la misma vez – la lluvia de los lunes.


Lola Astanova plays Rachmaninoff Moment Musicaux Op. 16, No. 4

Conoscenza della notte, da “Conoscenza della notte e altre poesie” (1988), Robert Frost

Io sono uno che ha conosciuto la notte.
Ho fatto nella pioggia la strada avanti e indietro.
Ho oltrepassato l’ultima luce della città.

Io sono andato in fondo al vicolo più tetro.
Ho incontrato la guardia nel suo giro
ed ho abbassato gli occhi, per non spiegare.

Io ho trattenuto il passo e il mio respiro
quando da molto lontano un grido strozzato
giungeva oltre le case da un’altra strada,

ma non per richiamarmi o dirmi un commiato;
e ancor più lontano, a un’incredibile altezza,
nel cielo un orologio illuminato

proclamava che il tempo non era giusto, né errato.
Io sono uno che ha conosciuto la notte.

(Traduzione di Giovanni Giudici)

Acquainted With the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain – and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.


David Garrett – Bitter Sweet Symphony (Official Video)

Crepuscolo, da “Love Songs” (1917), Sara Teasdale

Sognante sopra i tetti
La fredda pioggia primaverile sta cadendo;
Fuori nell’albero solitario,
Un uccello sta chiamando, chiamando.

Lentamente sopra la terra
Le ali della notte stanno calando;
Il mio cuore come l’uccello nell’albero
Sta chiamando, chiamando, chiamando.


Dreamily over the roofs
⁠The cold spring rain is falling;
Out in the lonely tree
⁠A bird is calling, calling.

Slowly over the earth
⁠The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird in the tree
⁠Is calling, calling, calling.



David Garrett – Lacrimosa, W.A. Mozart – Verona 05.09.2015

Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me, from “What Do We Know: Poems and Prose Poems” (2003), Mary Oliver

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,

what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again

in a new way
on the earth!
That’s what it said
as it dropped,

smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches

and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing

under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment
at which moment

my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars

and the soft rain—
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.


Valentina Babor – When the rain begins to fall 2015
Original von Jermaine Jackson und Pia Zadora 1984

Alchimia, da “Gli amorosi incanti” (2010), Sara Teasdale

Schiudo il mio cuore come a primavera
nella pioggia la gialla margherita:
sarà una coppa di gioia squisita
benché trabocchi di puro dolore.

Di fiori e foglie prenderò il colore,
d’ogni goccia che mi potranno dare,
ed il vino di morte trasformare
saprò nell’oro di una vita vera.

(Traduzione di Silvio Raffo)


I lift my heart as spring lifts up
A yellow daisy to the rain;
My heart will be a lovely cup
Altho’ it holds but pain.

For I shall learn from flower and leaf
That color every drop they hold,
To change the lifeless wine of grief
To living gold.

La strada, da “Orientarsi con le Stelle”, Raymond Carver

Che nottata! I sogni o non vengono affatto
oppure si tratta di un sogno che forse forse
annuncia una perdita. La scorsa notte mi hanno abbandonato
senza una parola su una strada di campagna.
In una casa laggiù sulle colline c’era una luce
non più grande di una stella.
Ma avevo paura di andarci e ho continuato a camminare.

Poi mi sono risvegliato al rumore della pioggia sui vetri.
Vicino alla finestra un vaso di fiori.
L’odore del caffè e tu che ti tocchi i capelli
con il gesto di chi non c’è più da anni.
Ma c’è un pezzo di pane sotto al tavolo
accanto ai tuoi piedi. E una fila di formiche
va avanti e indietro da una fessura nel pavimento.
Non sorridi più.

Fammi un favore stamattina. Chiudi le tende e torna a letto.
Lascia perdere il caffè. Faremo finta
di essere in un paese straniero, innamorati.

(Traduzione di Riccardo Duranti e Francesco Durante)

The Road

What a rough night! It’s either no dreams at all,
or else a dream that may or may not be
a dream portending loss. Last night I was dropped of
without a word on a country road.
A house back in the hills showed a light
no bigger than a star.
But I was afraid to go there, and kept walking.

Then to wake up to rain striking the glass.
Flowers in a vase near the window.
The smell of coffee, and you touching your hair
with a gesture like someone who has been gone for years.
But there’s a piece of bread under the table
near your feet. And a line of ants
moving back and forth from a crack in the floor.
You’ve stopped smiling.

Do me a favor this morning. Draw the curtain and come back to bed.
Forget the coffee. We’ll pretend
we’re in a foreign country, and in love.

Lascia che la pioggia ti baci, Langston Hughes

Lascia che la pioggia ti baci
Lascia che la pioggia batta sopra la tua testa
con liquide gocce d’argento
Lascia che la pioggia ti canti una ninna nanna

La pioggia crea quiete pozzanghere sul marciapiede
La pioggia crea pozzanghere che scorrono nella grondaia
La pioggia canta una piccola canzone per dormire
sul nostro tetto di notte

E io amo la pioggia.

April Rain Song

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night—

And I love the rain.

Langston Hughes from Collected Poems, 1994

We Ain’t Got No Money, Honey, But We Got Rain, Charles Bukowski

call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn’t rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the
depression era.
there wasn’t any money but there was
plenty of rain.
it wouldn’t rain for just a night or
a day,
it would RAIN for 7 days and 7
and in Los Angeles the storm drains
weren’t built to carry off that much
and the rain came down THICK and
MEAN and
and you HEARD it banging against
the roofs and into the ground
waterfalls of it came down
from roofs
and there was HAIL
exploding smashing into things
and the rain
just wouldn’t
and all the roofs leaked-
cooking pots
were placed all about;
they dripped loudly
and had to be emptied
again and
the rain came up over the street curbings,
across the lawns, climbed up the steps and
entered the houses.
there were mops and bathroom towels,
and the rain often came up through the
toilets:bubbling, brown, crazy,whirling,
and all the old cars stood in the streets,
cars that had problems starting on a
sunny day,
and the jobless men stood
looking out the windows
at the old machines dying
like living things out there.
the jobless men,
failures in a failing time
were imprisoned in their houses with their
wives and children
and their
the pets refused to go out
and left their waste in
strange places.
the jobless men went mad
confined with
their once beautiful wives.
there were terrible arguments
as notices of foreclosure
fell into the mailbox.
rain and hail, cans of beans,
bread without butter;fried
eggs, boiled eggs, poached
eggs; peanut butter
sandwiches, and an invisible
chicken in every pot.
my father, never a good man
at best, beat my mother
when it rained
as I threw myself
between them,
the legs, the knees, the
until they
“I’ll kill you,” I screamed
at him. “You hit her again
and I’ll kill you!”
“Get that son-of-a-bitching
kid out of here!”
“no, Henry, you stay with
your mother!”
all the households were under
siege but I believe that ours
held more terror than the
and at night
as we attempted to sleep
the rains still came down
and it was in bed
in the dark
watching the moon against
the scarred window
so bravely
holding out
most of the rain,
I thought of Noah and the
and I thought, it has come
we all thought
and then, at once, it would
and it always seemed to
around 5 or 6 a.m.,
peaceful then,
but not an exact silence
because things continued to

and there was no smog then
and by 8 a.m.
there was a
blazing yellow sunlight,
Van Gogh yellow-
crazy, blinding!
and then
the roof drains
relieved of the rush of
began to expand in the warmth:
and everybody got up and looked outside
and there were all the lawns
still soaked
greener than green will ever
and there were birds
on the lawn
CHIRPING like mad,
they hadn’t eaten decently
for 7 days and 7 nights
and they were weary of
they waited as the worms
rose to the top,
half drowned worms.
the birds plucked them
and gobbled them
down;there were
blackbirds and sparrows.
the blackbirds tried to
drive the sparrows off
but the sparrows,
maddened with hunger,
smaller and quicker,
got their
the men stood on their porches
smoking cigarettes,
now knowing
they’d have to go out
to look for that job
that probably wasn’t
there, to start that car
that probably wouldn’t
and the once beautiful
stood in their bathrooms
combing their hair,
applying makeup,
trying to put their world back
together again,
trying to forget that
awful sadness that
gripped them,
wondering what they could
fix for
and on the radio
we were told that
school was now
there I was
on the way to school,
massive puddles in the
the sun like a new
my parents back in that
I arrived at my classroom
on time.
Mrs. Sorenson greeted us
with, “we won’t have our
usual recess, the grounds
are too wet.”
“AW!” most of the boys
“but we are going to do
something special at
recess,” she went on,
“and it will be
well, we all wondered
what that would
and the two hour wait
seemed a long time
as Mrs.Sorenson
went about
teaching her
I looked at the little
girls, they looked so
pretty and clean and
they sat still and
and their hair was
in the California
the the recess bells rang
and we all waited for the
then Mrs. Sorenson told us:
“now, what we are going to
do is we are going to tell
each other what we did
during the rainstorm!
we’ll begin in the front row
and go right around!
now, Michael, you’re first!. . .”
well, we all began to tell
our stories, Michael began
and it went on and on,
and soon we realized that
we were all lying, not
exactly lying but mostly
lying and some of the boys
began to snicker and some
of the girls began to give
them dirty looks and
Mrs.Sorenson said,
“all right! I demand a
modicum of silence
I am interested in what
you did
during the rainstorm
even if you
so we had to tell our
stories and they were
one girl said that
when the rainbow first
she saw God’s face
at the end of it.
only she didn’t say which end.
one boy said he stuck
his fishing pole
out the window
and caught a little
and fed it to his
almost everybody told
a lie.
the truth was just
too awful and
embarrassing to tell.
then the bell rang
and recess was
“thank you,” said Mrs.
Sorenson, “that was very
and tomorrow the grounds
will be dry
and we will put them
to use
most of the boys
and the little girls
sat very straight and
looking so pretty and
clean and
their hair beautiful in a sunshine that
the world might never see

From The Last Night of the Earth Poems
Published in 1992 by Black Sparrow Press

The Cats Will Know, da “I gatti lo sapranno” (2010), Cesare Pavese

Ancora cadrà la pioggia
sui tuoi dolci selciati,
una pioggia leggera
come un alito o un passo.
Ancora la brezza e l’alba
fioriranno leggere
come sotto il tuo passo,
quando tu rientrerai.
Tra fiori e davanzali
i gatti lo sapranno.

Ci saranno altri giorni,
ci saranno altre voci.
Sorriderai da sola.
I gatti lo sapranno.
Udrai parole antiche,
parole stanche e vane
come i costumi smessi
delle feste di ieri.

Farai gesti anche tu.
Risponderai parole –
viso di primavera,
farai gesti anche tu.

I gatti lo sapranno,
viso di primavera;
e la pioggia leggera,
l’alba color giacinto,
che dilaniano il cuore
di chi più non ti spera,
sono il triste sorriso
che sorridi da sola.
Ci saranno altri giorni,
altre voci e risvegli.
Soffriremo nell’alba,
viso di primavera.

The Cats Will Know

Rain will fall again
on your smooth pavement,
a light rain like
a breath or a step.
The breeze and the dawn
will flourish again
when you return,
as if beneath your step.
Between flowers and sills
the cats will know.

There will be other days,
there will be other voices.
You will smile alone.
The cats will know.
You will hear words
old and spent and useless
like costumes left over
from yesterday’s parties.

You too will make gestures.
You’ll answer with words—
face of springtime,
you too will make gestures.

The cats will know,
face of springtime;
and the light rain
and the hyacinth dawn
that wrench the heart of him
who hopes no more for you—
they are the sad smile
you smile by yourself.

There will be other days,
other voices and renewals.
Face of springtime,
we will suffer at daybreak.

(Translated by Geoffrey Brock)

“The Cats Will Know” from Disaffections: Complete Poems 1930-1950 by Cesare Pavese. Published in 2002 by Copper Canyon Press.

Composta il 10 aprile 1950, pubblicata postuma in “Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi” (Torino, Einaudi, 1951). L’edizione più recente delle “Poesie” di Cesare Pavese è Torino, Einaudi, 2005.