in the greenhouse

The lemon bushes overflowed
with the patter of mole paws,
the scythe shined
in its rosary of cautious water drops.

A dot, a ladybug,
ignited above the quince berries
as the snort of a rearing pony broke through,
bored with his rub-down—then the dream took over.

Kidnapped, and weightless, I was drenched
with you, your outline
was my hidden breath, your face
merged with my face, and the dark

idea of God descended
upon the living few, amid heavenly
sounds, amid childish drums,
amid suspended globes of lightning

upon me, upon you, and over the lemons...




In the Greenhouse by Eugenio Montale
translated by Charles Wright

I was introduced to Eugenio Montale, 1975 Nobel Laureate, by the lovely Merisi, who often posts his work on her blog. Unfortunately, I don't speak Italian, the original language in which he composed, so a bit of the magic is lost. But, even translated into English, his poetry is marvelous. I found a little soft cover book of his poetry the last time I visited my favorite little second hand bookshop; you know, the one with the creaky hardwood floors.

photo from google images

The Earrings

The lampblack of the mirror holds
no shadow of flight. (And of yours no trace remains.)
The sponge has passed across the golden circle,
given the defenseless glimmers chase.
I searched there for your stones, the corals,
the strong power taking you;
I flee the goddess who won't be flesh,
bear my desires till they're burned in your flash.
Elytra drone outside, the insane
funeral drones on and knows two lives don't count.
Evening's soft medusas reappear
inside the frame. Your stamp will come
from below: where pale, contorted
hands affix the corals to your ears.

The Earrings
Eugenio Montale, Collected Poems 1920-1954
translated by Jonathan Galassi


Many of you were interested in more of Montale's poetry, so I chose this particular piece that brings to mind Graham Greene's novel, The End of the Affair, made into two films, the latest in 1999, starring Julianne Moore and Ralph Fiennes. As usual, the book is better than the movie, but I do love this wonderful, dark, wet, foggy, romantic film set in WWII England. Montale's poem brought to mind this film, because Moore, in the role of Sarah Miles, wears a lovely pair of vintage coral earrings in several scenes, before her character meets an untimely death. I couldn't find a good photo of her wearing the coral earrings, but her wardrobe, hair and makeup in this film are exquisite!

elytra or wings of a maybug

Haul your paper ships on the seared
shore, little captain,
and sleep, so you won't hear
the evil spirits setting sail in swarms.

In the kitchen garden the owl darts
and wet smoke hangs heavy on the roofs.
The moment that ruins the slow work of months
is here: now it cracks in secret, now shears with a gust.

The break is coming: maybe with no sound.
The builder knows his day of reckoning.
Only the grounded board is safe for now.
Tie up your flotilla in the canes.

Eugenio Montale
from Collected Poems 1920-1954
Bilingual Edition, translated by Jonathan Galassi


I have spent the weekend in the cool house, hiding from these last
few dog days of ninety degree temps, curled up in my recliner with
some of my brand new poetry books and a perfect tall glass of plain
iced tea with crushed ice. This Collected Poems, by Eugenio Montale
is especially nice and I have marked some of my favorites to share
with you in future posts. Like I mentioned the other day, I am
missing the brilliant beauty of the Italian lyrics, but his poetry is so
dense and deep it stands on it's own, even without the lovely rhythms.

~~photo by Benjamin Probanza, Flickr

In the Greenhouse by Eugenio Montale
translated by Charles Wright

The lemon bushes overflowed
with the patter of mole paws,
the scythe shined
in its rosary of cautious water drops.

A dot, a ladybug,
ignited above the quince berries
as the snort of a rearing pony broke through,
bored with his rub-down—then the dream took over.

Kidnapped, and weightless, I was drenched
with you, your outline
was my hidden breath, your face
merged with my face, and the dark

idea of God descended
upon the living few, amid heavenly
sounds, amid childish drums,
amid suspended globes of lightning

upon me, upon you, and over the lemons...



I was introduced to this poet, Eugenio Montale, last week
by Merisi, who posted a piece of his work on her blog.
Unfortunately, I don't speak Italian, the original language in
which he composed, so I lose some of the magic. But even
translated into English, his poetry is marvelous. I ordered a
book of his poetry last week and am looking forward to
enjoying it.

Photo borrowed from Flicker