Cobs of Corn
by Ada Negri, translated by Thomas Feeny
The corn harvested, the housewives race to hang
the cobs in rows on the side verandas. Attached to wooden
racks, the cobs shine in the sun, giving off a glow so lovely and
deep it is nearly red. Every cob filled with round kernels, each
one appealing at first glance as well as beneath the silken
skin.
The heavy cobs sparkle in the autumn sunlight, such a fine
harvest this is; and the adults describe for the children’s ears
the polenta that their mother is stirring in the cauldron over the fire.
With a single practiced movement, she turns the boiled corn meal onto
the cutting board and from the good smoke that rises, she divides
the thickening mush into as many slices as there are mouths.
And then, January, with sleet sharp as a whip that stings your skin
and with snow up to your calves, oh, thank God for polenta, that warms
your hands, throat and blood, while dry pinecones blaze between the andirons.
Around the stump and from the ceiling beams, amid strange shadows, slowly,
oh so slowly, sleep descends.
Le pannocchie
di Ada Negri
Or che il granturco fu raccolto, a gara
le massaie hanno appeso in molte file
alle rozze verande le pannocchie.
Splendono le pannocchie sui graticci
di legno, gialle, d’un bel giallo ardente
ch’è quasi rosso, fitte di rotondi
chicchi, liete allo sguardo e liete al cuore.
Voi superbe, o massaie, per la casa
parata a festa come al Corpus Domini,
quando fra canti e mortaretti passa
col suo Gesù la Vergine Maria!
Splendono le pannocchie al sol d’autunno,
tutte certezza; ed ai fanciulli parlano
della polenta che la madre al fuoco
del nel paiolo rimesta, e d’un sol colpo
sul tagliere arrovescia, e, nel buon fumo
ravvolta, suddivide in tante fette
quante le bocche.
Giunto poi che sia
gennaio con la sizza come frusta
che scocchi su la pelle e con la neve
alta sino ai polpacci, oh, benedetta
la polenta che scalda mani, gola
e sangue, mentre sugli alari avvampano
secchi rami di pino intorno al ceppo,
e dalle travi del soffitto in strane
ombre discende, adagio adagio, il sonn
The Italian poetess, Ada Negri, enjoyed considerable renown in Europe during the 1930's and 1940's, but remains little known here in the U.S.
Thomas Feeny taught Italian at North Carolina State University for about forty years. His work has appeared in California Quarterly, Blue Unicorn,
Poets On, and Chiron.
by Ada Negri, translated by Thomas Feeny
The corn harvested, the housewives race to hang
the cobs in rows on the side verandas. Attached to wooden
racks, the cobs shine in the sun, giving off a glow so lovely and
deep it is nearly red. Every cob filled with round kernels, each
one appealing at first glance as well as beneath the silken
skin.
The heavy cobs sparkle in the autumn sunlight, such a fine
harvest this is; and the adults describe for the children’s ears
the polenta that their mother is stirring in the cauldron over the fire.
With a single practiced movement, she turns the boiled corn meal onto
the cutting board and from the good smoke that rises, she divides
the thickening mush into as many slices as there are mouths.
And then, January, with sleet sharp as a whip that stings your skin
and with snow up to your calves, oh, thank God for polenta, that warms
your hands, throat and blood, while dry pinecones blaze between the andirons.
Around the stump and from the ceiling beams, amid strange shadows, slowly,
oh so slowly, sleep descends.
Le pannocchie
di Ada Negri
Or che il granturco fu raccolto, a gara
le massaie hanno appeso in molte file
alle rozze verande le pannocchie.
Splendono le pannocchie sui graticci
di legno, gialle, d’un bel giallo ardente
ch’è quasi rosso, fitte di rotondi
chicchi, liete allo sguardo e liete al cuore.
Voi superbe, o massaie, per la casa
parata a festa come al Corpus Domini,
quando fra canti e mortaretti passa
col suo Gesù la Vergine Maria!
Splendono le pannocchie al sol d’autunno,
tutte certezza; ed ai fanciulli parlano
della polenta che la madre al fuoco
del nel paiolo rimesta, e d’un sol colpo
sul tagliere arrovescia, e, nel buon fumo
ravvolta, suddivide in tante fette
quante le bocche.
Giunto poi che sia
gennaio con la sizza come frusta
che scocchi su la pelle e con la neve
alta sino ai polpacci, oh, benedetta
la polenta che scalda mani, gola
e sangue, mentre sugli alari avvampano
secchi rami di pino intorno al ceppo,
e dalle travi del soffitto in strane
ombre discende, adagio adagio, il sonn
The Italian poetess, Ada Negri, enjoyed considerable renown in Europe during the 1930's and 1940's, but remains little known here in the U.S.
Thomas Feeny taught Italian at North Carolina State University for about forty years. His work has appeared in California Quarterly, Blue Unicorn,
Poets On, and Chiron.
