Agrigentum road (Strada di Agrigentum)There a wind endures that I remember kindled in the manes of horses racing aslant across the plains, a wind that stains and scars the sandstone and the heart of mournful telamones toppled on the grass. Aged soul, grey with rancor return to that wind, breathe in the delicate musk that clothes the giants cast down by heaven. How alone in the space that’s left to you! And more do you grieve if still you hear the sound that drifts toward the sea where Hesperus trails at early morn the jew’s harp’s melanchonic twang in the throat of the cartman who slowly ascends the moon-cleansed hill mid the murmur of moorish olive trees.
Salvatore Quasimodo – translation by Prof. Micheal Campo – Trinity College-Hartford CT