La dismisura, certo, l’incantato
prodigio che si ripete
all’apice del cuore; la parusia
delle foglie dopo il temporale,
quel fervore tra le felci
appena udibile in principio,
poi sempre più fitto,
interminabile.

Finché colti dalla furia
del meriggio, quando persino
l’ombra si ritrae, inermi
davanti alle cose, nudi
come loro.

Ma il sole allo zenit, fermo
sopra la testa dell’eroe,
di colui che è andato oltre –
è insostenibile.

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The immensity, of course, the enchanted
wonder that repeats itself
at the apex of the heart; the parousia
of the leaves after the storm,
that fervour among the ferns
barely audible at first,
then thicker and thicker,
neverending.

Until seized by the fury
of the noon, when even
the shadow retreats, defenceless
before things, naked
as they are.

But the sun at its zenith, steady
above the hero’s head,
of the one who has gone beyond –
is unbearable.

     
     (Translated by Elena Buia Rutt)

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_{About the translator: Elena Buia Rutt is a poet, translator and literary critic who holds degrees in Philosophy and Literature, and an MA in Journalism. With her husband, Andrew Rutt, she translated most poems by Rowan Williams, poems by Mary Oliver and Flannery O’Connor’s Prayer Journal (just to mention a few). Elena has also published three collections of poetry.}

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