In giardino, un laghetto quasi vero, con la frangia di salici piangenti. Noi, tutto il pomeriggio, a schiaffeggiare, da un fradicio guscetto, l’acqua bassa, con pazzi strilli di spensieratezza. Al tramonto, il laghetto insonnolito a lasciarsi ninnare quietamente dal gocciolante acciabattio dei remi: in cielo una diffusa macchia chiara – l’ultima occhiata languida del sole – a farci cenno di parlare piano.
II
Non ricordo chi m’abbia offerto i fiori: credo una ragazzina un po ’scontrosa che aveva delle lunghe trecce, belle. Io presi il mazzo, silenziosamente: e d’un subito cadde, a quel contatto di freschezza recisa, la gaiezza che tutto il giorno aveva ridacchiato nel mio quasi fanciullesco cuore. Guardai ai miei compagni, fissamente; lo sguardo intorbidato di tristezza. Mi dicevo che il mio fratello è andato lontano, senza più fare ritorno: così, domani, anch’essi se n’andranno, ciascuno per seguire il suo cammino. Nascostamente avrei voluto porre in quelle anime ignare di fanciulli tutta la gioia che mi è riservata, perch’essi la ritrovino, da uomini, quando conosceranno la stanchezza e piangeranno, soli, nella vita.
III
Accanto a me, al ritorno, un fascio di serenelle, abbandonate al vento della macchina in corsa, a crollare convulsamente le corolle e il fogliame, come in un riso sfrenato, sulla mia vana malinconia.
Milano, 1° maggio 1929
Scampagnata
I
In the garden, an lifelike pond, fringed by weeping willows. All afternoon we slapped the shallow water from a soggy little stream, with crazy, carefree squeals. At sunset, the sleepy pond was lulled quietly by the dripping beat of the oars: in the sky a scattered patch of light — the last languid glance of the sun — moved us to speak softly.
II
I don't remember who offered me the flowers: I think a surly little girl who had long braids, beautiful. I took the bouquet, silently: And immediately, at that touch of severed freshness, the joy that all day long had been giggling in my almost childish heart dropped away. I looked steadily at my companions; my gaze clouded with sadness. I told myself that my brother had gone far away, he would never come back: tomorrow they’ll go away too, each one to follow his path. Secretly I wanted to put in these unsuspecting young souls all the joy reserved for me, so they could discover it, as adults when they’ll know weariness and weep, alone, in life.
III
Beside me, on my way back, a bundle of lilacs, abandoned to the winds from a moving car, the corollas and foliage tumbling frantically as if laughing, wildly, over my useless melancholy.
Milano, 1st of May, 1929
Born in Milan in 1912, Antonia Pozzi lived a brief life, dying by suicide in 1938. She left behind letters, diaries, and notebooks containing over 300 poems; none of her poetry was published during her lifetime. Her work is significantly underrepresented in translation, and her omission from the 2004 Faber Book of 20th Century Italian Poems has been called “the most obvious lacuna" .
The copyright for the poems of Antonia Pozzi belongs to the Carlo Cattaneo and Giulio Preti International Insubric Center for Philosophy, Epistemology, Cognitive Sciences and the History of Science and Technology of the University of Insubria, depositary and owner of the whole Archive and Library of Antonia Pozzi.
Amy Newman's sixth book of poetry, An Incomplete Encyclopedia of Happiness and Unhappiness, was published in 2023 by Persea Books. Her translations of the poems of Antonia Pozzi appeared recently in The Harvard Review, Poetry, Bennington Review, AzonaL, Poetry, Five Points, Blackbird, and elsewhere; translation of Pozzi's letters appear in Delos and Cagibi.
