ISN'T THIS FREAKING GORGEOUS, PEOPLE?! or, I WOULD TOTALLY DO SABA

I was reading some Saba this evening and I am so enamoured of this one I can't even type about it without peeing myself a little. Please forgive my halting translation, I am not very good at translating poetry -- but I think Saba gets across okay in spite of my bungling. The translations are painfully and willfully literal, because I think Saba's voice and images are so freakin' universal, special, and unmutable. So screw you, Robert Chandler.

Saba -- L'Ora Nostra – Our Hour

Sai un'ora del giorno che piu' bella

sia della sera? Tanto

piu' bella e meno amata? E' quella

che di poco i suoi sacri ozi precede;

l'ora che intensa e' l'opera, e si vede

la gente mareggiare nelle strade;

sulle moli quadrate delle case

una luna sfumata, una che appena

discerni nell'aria serena.

Do you know an hour of the day that is more beautiful

than that of the evening? More

beautiful and less loved? It is that hour

that its holy idlenesses preceeds by little;

the hour that intense is the work, and one sees

the people flow in the streets;

on the seaside walls of the houses

a faded moon, one that scarely

one discerns in the serene air.

E' l'ora che lasciavi la campagna

per goderti la tua cara citta',

dal golfo luminoso alla montagna

varia d'aspetti in sua bella unita';

l'ora che la mia vita in piena va

come un fiume al suo mare;

e il mio pensiero, il leso camminare

della folla, l'artiere in cima all'alta

scala, il fanciullo che correndo salta

sul carro fragoroso, tutto appare

fermo nell'atto, tutto questo andare

ha una parvenza d'immobilita'.

It is the hour that you were leaving the countryside

to enjoy your dear/expensive city,

from the luminous gulf of the mountain

varied of aspect in her beautiful unity;

the hour that my life in flood goes

like a stream to its sea;

and my thought, the injured walk

of the masses, the poet on top of the high

stair, the little boy that running jumps

on the thunderous cart, it all appears

halted in the act, all that goes

has an appearance of immobility.

E' l'ora grande l'ora che accompangna

meglio la nostra vendemmiante eta'.

It is the grand hour, the hour that accompanies

best our harvested era.

Okay, here are some of my other favorites which I rummaged around for ... I could have posted the Italian too, but I was too lazy to translate AND type in the original text for these ;) Again, sorry about my clumsy translations, but they're hot anyway.

February Evening

The moon appears.

In the avenue it is still

day, a night that rapidly descends.

Indifferent youth is laced;

it disbands to poor goals.

And it is the thought

of the death which, in end, helps one to live.

Ulysses

In my youth I navigated

wide the Dalmation coasts. Small islands

at the crest of the wave emerged, where rare

a bird paused intent on its prey,

covered in algae, slippery, in the sun

as beautiful as emeralds. When the high

tide and the night cancelling each other, the sails

leeward sank deeper into the oblivion,

avoiding the danger. Today my kingdom

is that land of no one. The harbour

turns on the lights for others: for me far from the seashore

pushes still the indominitable spirit,

and for life the sad love.

AW MAN THOSE ARE HOT.