Ungaretti: Variazioni su Nulla

(Città Di Vetro)
no copyright infringement intended

Quel nonnulla di sabbia che trascorre
Dalla clessidra muto e va posandosi,
E, fugaci, le impronte sul carnato,
Sul carnato che muore, d’una nube…

Poi mano che rovescia la clessidra,
Il ritorno per muoversi, di sabbia,
Il farsi argentea tacito di nube
Ai primi brevi lividi dell’alba…

La mano in ombra la clessidra volse,
E, di sabbia, il nonnulla che trascorre
Silente, è unica cosa che ormai s’oda
E, essendo udita, in buio non scompaia.

(http://cittadivetro.wordpress.com/2010/11/)

That negligible bit of sand which slides
Without a sound and settles in the hourglass,
And the fleeting impressions on the fleshy-pink,
The perishable fleshy-pink, of a cloud...

Then a hand that turns over the hourglass,
The going back for flowing back, of sand,
The quiet silvering of a cloud
In the first few lead-gray seconds of dawn...

The hand in shadow turned the hourglass,
And the negligible bit of sand which slides
And is silent, is the only thing now heard,
And, being heard, doesn't vanish in the dark.

(http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/variations-on-nothing/)

That less-than-nothing of sand that streams
Through the hourglass, mute, and comes to tis resting,
And, fleeting, the impressions of the flesh,
On the rosy flesh that dies, of a cloud...

Then hand that reverses the hourglass
The return to its moving, of sand
The tacit silvering of cloud
At the first brief pallors of the dawn...

The hand in shadow turned the hourglass,
And, of sand, the less-than-nothing that streams
Silent, is sole something henceforth heard
And, being heard, in darkness does not vanish

(rendering by Joseph Cary)
(http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/40124791?uid=3739936&uid=2129&uid=2&uid=70&uid=4&uid=3739256&sid=21101864970621)

Acel nimic de nisip ce se scurge
Tăcut din clepsidră şi se depune
Şi, trecătoarele întipăriri pe incarnaţie,
Pe incarnaţia ce moare, a unui nor...

Apoi mâna ce răstoarnă clepsidra,
Întoarcerea, spre a se mişca, a nisipului,
Transformarea tăcută de argint a norului
La întâile scurte palori ale zorilor...

Mâna în umbră a întors clepsidra
Şi nimicul de nisip ce se scurge
Tăcut, e unicul lucru ce se mai aude
Şi, auzindu-se, nu piere-n beznă...

(talmacire de Miron Radu Paraschivescu si Alexandru Balaci)

(http://agonia.ro/index.php/poetry/13899825/Varia%C5%A3iuni_despre_nimic)

(Giuseppe Ungaretti)