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Album :
Bütìga de antiquare
Paroles originales
Traduction
Paiàss
Dòpo l’resterà nóma quach brache
de sògn in aria: i mìgole stantide.
Rimbómbo d’ure dace e röbatìde,
spissighì de bèl tép, paròle strache.
I amìs in de l’indà l’par che i grignine,
sö l’öss, per ischersàm. ’S’öt che ghe dighe?
Föra la nèbia i a trangót sö i righe,
la fèsta l’à smorsàt i candeline.
Gh’è amò i rübì ’n d’i càles che i culura
l’öltem amùr: ün ansaröl de s-ciöma,
bandunàt a la pólver che consöma.
L’asìt l’è in àüge, ol spéret in malura!
Gh’è amò quach föm a gulatrà in soféta,
i paròle i gh’è piö, e i mé pensér i néga.
E l’aria l’è pesante, adèss la me stoméga.
E gh’è piö nissü che i m’abie a dì,
che i m’abie a dì "poéta". (—éta)
Só ché a ciamà per nòm i mé pötèle:
cansù bötàde a ’l vènt. Quate a m’regórde!
La serenada la me ’mbòcia a i córde,
cóme ü paiàss che l’ghe la cante a i stèle!
Gh’è amò i rübì ’n d’i càles che i culura
l’öltem amùr: ün ansaröl de s-ciöma,
bandunàt a la pólver che consöma.
L’asìt l’è in àüge, ol spéret in malura!
Gh’è amò quach föm a gulatrà in soféta,
i paròle i gh’è piö, e i mé pensér i néga.
E l’aria a l’è pesante, adèss la me stoméga.
E gh’è piö nissü che i m’abie a dì,
che i m’abie a dì "poéta". (—éta)
Cansù bötàde a ’l vènt. Quate a m’regórde!
La serenada la me ’mbòcia a i córde,
cóme ü paiàss che l’ghe la cante a i stèle!
Clown
Just a handful of dreams in the sky
will be left afterwards — stale breadcrumbs.
Rumbling of hours given and bounced back,
nibbles of good time, weary words.
On the doorstep, as they’re leaving,
my friends seem to be smirking, as if to mock me. What should I say?
The mist outside swallows them up at the crosswalk;
the party’s candles have been put out.
There remain the rubies in the stem glasses, colouring1
the last love — some foam leftover,
abandoned to the dust that consumes everything.
Vinegar is all the rage; the spirit is decaying!2
There’s still some smoke fluttering in the attic;
there are no more words, and my thoughts are drowning.
The air is heavy, it’s making me sick now.
And nobody calls me a poet,
calls me a poet anymore.
Here I am, calling my baby girls by name:
songs that have been thrown away. I still remember so many of them!3
The serenade strikes my chords,
I’m like a clown singing to the stars!
There remain the rubies in the stem glasses, colouring
the last love — some foam leftover,
abandoned to the dust that consumes everything.
Vinegar is all the rage; the spirit is decaying!
There’s still some smoke fluttering in the attic;
there are no more words, and my thoughts are drowning.
The air is heavy, it’s making me sick now.
And nobody calls me a poet,
calls me a poet anymore.
Songs that have been thrown away. I still remember so many of them!
The serenade strikes my chords,
I’m like a clown singing to the stars!
- 1. The ruby color refers to wine.
- 2. Vinegar is wine (“spirit”) gone sour. For the author, instead, it’s his mood to have gone bad, with his dejection about his condition as a forgotten poet.
- 3. The “songs” might actually be poems: the author Carmelo Francia was one of the greatest scholars and poets of Bergamo’s recent history; he contributed significantly to the preservation of Bergamo’s language and culture; for instance, he curated a renowned Bergamasque-Italian dictionary, and collaborated for a long time with the cultural association Ducato di Piazza Pontida.
Détails du morceau
Détails de la traduction
Stefano8
soumis le 11 nov 2021 - 18:41
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All my translations are in the public domain. You can use them any way you want.