A CLAUDE - LEO FERRERO

speaking of italian...... i been trying to translate this poem i found in a tome like literally dirty crumpling paper from the 30s ass tome..........its in an old dialect im having a hard time with it but from what i can understand Woof. i cut a lot out here ok just trust me that i know what im doing even if i dont ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Amico mio, quando aspettammo ansiosi che la carrozza indifferente e l’ora ignota a noi ci separasse, innanzi con il pensiero immaginando il lento gocciar del tempo in quella dolce sera, tacendo per non dir vane parole, mi risovvenni della nostra vita morta per sempre, che godemmo insieme. La misurai, scorsa così veloce di giorno in giorno, che non mi fu dato di abituarmi a te come ad usata cosa e mi rósi prevedendo ogni ora il tuo partire. E non osando in viso dimostrare la nostra ànsia serale, come per giuoco ci truccammo gli occhi con simulata disperazione da marionette, e in quella buffa smorfia certo tristezza era premuta e chiusa. Amico mio, chi più di te sapeva ridere all’ore mattutine, e grave accoglier sempre e alleviar tristezze, indovinar cose non dette, e piana- mente chiosare ogni pensiero, in ore crepuscolari? [...] Dunque partisti. E nella casa vuota di te, nei campi ove non più ridendo cogliamo l’uva ed inseguiamo i branchi delle pecore pazze alto-belanti, sui poggi ogni ora rivestiti in nuovi colori, e rossi di mane e di sera, cerco il tuo sguardo, il tuo gesto impietrato, rinnovo in me la tua perduta voce. E aspetto già che, fatto ormai diverso, ti riportino qui gli anni futuri. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My friend, while we anxiously awaited that the indifferent carriage and the unknown hour seperate us, I thought ahead, imagining the slow drip of time in that sweet evening, keeping quiet as to not say vain words, I reflected on our life, dead forever, that we enjoyed together. I measured it, passing so quickly day after day, that I was unable to get used to you as a (used thing) and every hour I was (consumed) by forseeing your departure. And not daring to show our nightly anxiety, like a game we painted our eyes with the simulated despair of a marionette, and in that silly affect there was a certain sadness, repressed and closed off. My friend, who knew better than you how to laugh in the early morning, to always take sadness seriously and alleviate it, to intuit things left unsaid, and gently remark upon every thought in the twilight hours? [...] So you left. And in your empty house, in the field where there is no longer laughter, we collect the grapes and we chase the herds of crazy bleating sheep, on the hills redressed every hour in new colors, red in the morning and the evening, I search for your gaze, your petrified gesture, I renew in me your lost voice. And I already await that, now that it is different, the future years bring you back here.