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| Southern Europe: Italy | |
|---|---|
| El pass del gatt The Cat's Step | |
Original text | |
Sun vegnüü graand — ma mea taant — in questu siit ind'è 'l suu te sbrana, 'duè scapüscia anca la bissa, e induè 'l tramuunt el g'ha mai prèsa. G'ho scià 'n curtell per tajà i stagion, o per lo meno per facch pagüüra; vo in giir adasi per mea fà pulver, e parli mai perchè fa tropp cold. E ho faa 'l bagn insema ai aspis, ho majaa scerees o ho majaa caden; gh'è anca una foto induè paar che ridi, ma l'è una smorfia per la tropa lüüs. E in questu siit passa mai nissön, se ferma piö gnanca 'l tempuraal; ma me una sira ho basaa una dona, e de dree a una pianta la m'ha dii 'l so nomm. E sto in söl müür della ferruvia quan che rüva un treno una volta al dé, perchè una sira ho basaa una dona e sö quela pianta ho scrivüü 'l so nomm. E l'è rüada cunt el pass del gatt, senza culzètt e senza amiis, el so suriis l'era meza facia, l'oltra metà l'era una cicatriis. L'ha mai spiegaa de induè la vegniva, l'ha mai parlaa de quel anell al dii, ma 'l tatüagg che g'han faa in presonn, me l'ho vedüü quand l'ha traa fö i vestii. Strengéva foort e se lassavi streeng, cumè un ragn stremii, muvevi i brasc che gh'eri, e me pareva de balà in un tango tra l'erba salvia e tücc i pagn stendüü. E in questu siit passa mai nissön, e anca se 'l passa prema o pö 'l ne va; ma quela sira ho faa 'l giir del muund, o forsi 'l muund l'ha faa 'l giir de me. E smorzi 'l suu cunt una cicada, speci la nocc per tajacch el coll, e m'hann vedüü anca basà una pianta propri nel punto 'duè ho scrivüü 'l sö nomm. Quaivön se sfoga a catà i magiustri, a giügà ai caart là de dree a 'n tratuur; quaivön el dorma sura a una gazzetta, per tücc i oltri gh'è dumà un büceer. E in questu siit passa mai nissön, ma 'l sö prufömm urmai l'è ché de cà; ogni taant la rüa, ogni taant la va, ho imparaa a speciàla e pö lassàla na. | |
English Translation | |
I grew up — though not that much — in this place where the sun mauls you, where even grass snakes stumble, and where sunset is never in a hurry. I have a knife on me, to cut seasons, or at least to scare them; I walk slowly not to kick up the dust, and I never speak because it's too hot. And I've taken baths together with asps, I've eaten cherries and I've eaten chains; there's also a picture where I look like I'm laughing, but that's a wince because there was too much light. And in this place where nobody ever passes by, not even storms stop anymore; yet, one evening I kissed a woman, and behind a tree she told me her name. And I sit on the railway wall when a train is coming, once a day, because one evening I kissed a woman and on that tree I wrote her name. And she came with a cat's step, with no socks and no friends, her smile was half her face, the other half was a scar. She never explained where she came from, she never spoke about that ring on her finger, but the tattoo she got in prison, I saw it when she took off her clothes. She held tight and I let myself be held, like a scared spider, I was flailing the arms I had, and I seemed to be dancing a tango among the sage and the hung up clothes. And in this place nobody ever passes by, and even if they pass by, sooner or later they go; but that evening I traveled around the world, or maybe the world traveled around me. And I put out the sun with a spit, I wait for the night to cut its throat, and they saw me kissing a tree too, right on the spot where I wrote her name. Someone finds comfort in harvesting strawberries, in playing cards, there behind a tractor; someone sleeps on a newspaper, for all the rest there's just a glass. And in this place nobody ever passes by, but her smell dwells here by now; every now and then she comes, every now and then she goes, I learned to wait for her and then to let her go. Credits Song: Lombard folk song Artist: Davide Van de Sfroos Text & translation: lyricstranslate.com Music video: Courtesy of staquata | |
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