Saturday 19 August 2017

Ugo Foscolo, To Zakynthos; A Zacinto; Sonnet on Zante; Ζάκυνθος



A ZACINTO

Né più mai toccherò le sacre sponde
ove il mio corpo fanciulletto giacque,
Zacinto mia, che te specchi nell'onde
del greco mar da cui vergine nacque

Venere, e fea quelle isole feconde
col suo primo sorriso, onde non tacque
le tue limpide nubi e le tue fronde
l'inclito verso di colui che l'acque

cantò fatali, ed il diverso esiglio
per cui bello di fama e di sventura
baciò la sua petrosa Itaca Ulisse.

Tu non altro che il canto avrai del figlio,
o materna mia terra; a noi prescrisse
il fato illacrimata sepoltura.
















English Translation - from allpoetry.com

To Zakynthos

I'll never step ashore and feel your beach
the way I felt it as a barefoot child,
or see you waver in the windy reach
of goddess-bearing sea. You were the island
Venus made with her first smile,
Zakynthos, the moment she was born.
No song embraced your leafy sky,
not even his who sang the fatal storm
and how Ulysses, his misfortunes past
and beautiful with fame, sailed home at last.

Some will not return: I too
offend the powers that be, am banned
from home. Oh maternal land,
my words are all I have to send to you
















The Hill of Strani: monument inspired by Solomos' Hymn to Liberty


















ΥΜΝΟΣ ΣΤΗ ΖΑΚΥΝΘΟ


Πλιά στη ζωή δεν θα πατεί το δύστυχο ποδάρι
Τις άγιες όχθες που άγγιζα στα χρόνια τα χρυσά, 
Ω ποθητή μου Ζάκυνθο, που πάντοτε με χάρη
Στο κύμα καθρεφτίζεσαι, στα Ελληνικά νερά.

Η Αφροδίτη ολόλαμπρη από κει μέσα βγήκε 
Κ’ έκαμε με το γέλιο της γόνιμα τα νησιά, 
Οπού απερίγραφτα ο λαμπρός ο στίχος δεν αφήκε 
Τα νέφη σου τα διάφανα, τα δένδρα τα πυκνά, 

Του ποιητή που έψαλλε τη διάφορη εξορία, 
Της μοίρας τ’ άγρια κύματα, που το μικρό νησί 
Ο Οδυσσέας εφίλησε τρανός στη δυστυχία. 

Απ’ το παιδί σου το άχαρο, ω μητρική μου γη, 
Μονάχα το τραγούδι του θα χεις για συντροφιά.
Σ’ εμένα η Μοίρα μου έγραψε αδάκρυτη ταφή.


Another version in a free Greek translation, by Anna Plaisa Antonopoulou:




Compare: Edgar Allen Poe's Sonnet

To Zante





Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,
Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!
How many memories of what radiant hours
At sight of thee and thine at once awake!
How many scenes of what departed bliss!
How many thoughts of what entombed hopes!
How many visions of a maiden that is
No more- no more upon thy verdant slopes!
No more! alas, that magical sad sound
Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more--
Thy memory no more! Accursed ground
Henceforth I hold thy flower-enameled shore,
O hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante!
"Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"



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