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#ugo foscolo
andrea-non-sa-tornare · 6 months
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weeklypoetry · 7 months
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Foscolo, Alla Sera
Forse perché della fatal quïete Tu sei l’immago a me sì cara, vieni, O Sera! E quando ti corteggian liete Le nubi estive e i zeffiri sereni,
E quando dal nevoso aere inquiete Tenebre, e lunghe, all’universo meni, Sempre scendi invocata, e le secrete Vie del mio cor soavemente tieni.
Vagar mi fai co’ miei pensier su l’orme Che vanno al nulla eterno; e intanto fugge Questo reo tempo, e van con lui le torme
Delle cure, onde meco egli si strugge; E mentre io guardo la tua pace, dorme Quello spirto guerrier ch’entro mi rugge.
Poetic translation (pretty accurate):
Perhaps because of that fatal quiet you are the image so dear to me, you come, O Evening! And when happy summer clouds and the gentle Zephyr are your escort, and when from snowy restless air you throw darkness, and long, into the universe, you descend summoned always, and the secret roads of my heart gently hold.
You make me wander with my thoughts on tracks that vanish into eternal nothing; meanwhile flees this cursed time, and with it, the throng
of worries with which it destroys with me itself; and while I gaze on your peace, sleeps that warlike spirit that within me roars.
Foscolo, my dear love - in poetry only. My guy is wonderful when thoroughly confined to his standard eleven sillables, and starts to become obnoxiously verbose in anything longer than that. Hope you'll forgive me for messing up the methrics in traslation; there's not much i can do about language, and i felt like the meaning was better to carry across than the rhythm. It is to be said that his adherence to the standard forms down to the rhyme - precise ABAB ABAB CDC DCD as it's usual for sonnets - really does add something to the poems. The mix of influences coming from both different art currents (neo classicism and romanticism, mainly) and direct cultures (italian, english, greek) comes in through the content as well as the form.
As his poems often do, this one talks of death, and contemplation of nature. A man pained with sorrows - it's Foscolo, so we're mostly looking at political turmoil, but classic romantic anguish and generic nostalgia are not excluded - takes peace in a quiet evening, taking in his own mortality (as it is death, in the end, that takes away everything). Even then, the poet isn't just sad, isn't abandoned to his own feelings: as every Just Soul would, a quiet anger simmers in his veins, waiting for the right moment.
There's something to be said, as always, on the mechanism phylosphy as a whole - even if it doesn't shine in this poem as well as others (go read De Sepolcri right now actually). Nature can be hard and cruel like it can be soft and summery, but it offers to all the peaceful rest of death, returning in Her. Many call it pessimism, but i personally can't see how being a smell little cog in the big machine of nature would be a bad thing - is it so cruel to be a being who's purpose in life is just to live, and be granted peace to any sorrows?
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flavio-milani00 · 6 months
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M'accorsi come le sue pupille erano rosse di pianto. Non mi parlo, ma mi ammazzò con un'occhiata, quasi volesse dirmi "tu mi hai ridotta così".
Ugo Foscolo
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machiavellli · 8 days
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The REAL miss delulu
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ragazzoarcano · 1 year
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“Io sono destinato ad avere l'anima perpetuamente in tempesta.”
— Ugo Foscolo
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stephen9260 · 1 month
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So do we wanna add to this or what?
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martasslife · 1 month
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i’m trying to study but i don’t understand nothing! ew, italian literature is so difficult. help me:(
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monologhidiunamarea · 2 months
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Taci, taci: - vi sono de’ giorni ch'io non posso fidarmi di me: un demone mi arde, mi agita, mi divora.
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fedrrri · 2 months
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Fuori è un mondo fragile
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cuoreenero · 7 months
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Sempre.
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unabashedqueenfury · 8 months
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Reign 2013-2017/ 01-08•03-05
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Toby Finn Regbo as Francis Valois
T'amai, dunque, t'amai, e t'amo ancor
di un amore che non si può concepire
che da me solo. È poco prezzo,
o mio angelo, la morte per chi
ha potuto udir che tu l'ami,
e sentirsi scorrere in tutta
l'anima la voluttà del tuo bacio,
e pianger teco - io sto col piè
nella fossa; eppure tu anche
in questo frangente ritorni,
come solevi, davanti a questi occhi
che morendo si fissano in te,
in te che sacra risplendi
di tutta la tua bellezza...
(...)
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Io muoio... pieno di te,
e certo del tuo pianto...
(Ugo Foscolo, L'Ultimo Addio, from "Ultime Lettere di Jacopo Ortis, 1802)
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sadness26sworld · 4 months
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• Ugo Foscolo •
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ecoamerica · 23 days
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altri-menti · 5 months
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Ma io sono predestinato ad avere l'anima perpetuamente in tempesta.
(Ugo Foscolo)
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somehow---here · 1 year
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Il cuore domanda sempre o che i suoi piaceri sieno accresciuti, o che i suoi dolori sieno compianti; domanda di agitarsi e di agitare, perchè sente che il moto sta nella vita e la tranquillità nella morte; e trova unico aiuto nella parola, e la riscalda de’ suoi desideri, e la adorna delle sue speranze, e fa che altri tremi al suo timore e pianga alle sue lacrime, affetti tutti che senza questo sfogo proromperebbero in moti ferini e in gemito disperato.
Ugo Foscolo, da "Discorso dell'origine e dell'ufficio della letteratura"
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abatelunare · 10 months
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Eterno Iddio! perché hai scolpito così tenacemente nella memoria la felicità che tu, tu… m'hai rapito per sempre? (Ugo Foscolo, Didimo Chierico e altri scritti).
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stephen9260 · 1 month
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Let's give it all up for 25th march, which not only pulls off being Dantedì but also the anniversary of Jacopo Ortis' death
Ottima (e deprimente) giornata per la gente che pensa alla letteratura italiana in maniera totalmente normale e per nulla ossessiva. Auguri gente :))
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