Vittoria Colonna – searchable text
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‘Poi che ’l mio casto amor’ (1538)
Poi che ’l mio casto amor gran tempo tenne
L’alma di fama accesa, ed ella un angue
In sen nudrio, per cui dolente or langue
Volta al Signor, onde ’l rimedio venne,
I santi chiodi omai sian le mie penne,
E puro inchiostro il prezioso sangue,
Vergata carta il sacro corpo exangue,
Sì ch’io scriva ad altrui quel ch’ei sostenne.
Chiamar qui non convien Parnaso o Delo,
Ch’ad altra aqua s’aspira, ad altro monte
Si poggia, u’ piede uman per sé non sale.
Quel sol, che alluma gli elementi e ’l cielo,
Prego ch’aprendo il suo lucido fonte
Mi porga umor a la gran sete eguale.
‘Since my chaste love’ (1538)
Since my chaste love for many years
kept my soul aflame with the desire for fame, and it nourished
a serpent in my breast so that now my heart languishes
in pain turned towards God, who alone can help me,
let the holy nails from now on be my quills,
and the precious blood my pure ink,
my lined paper the sacred lifeless body,
so that I may write down for others all that he suffered.
It is not right here to invoke Parnassus or Delos,
for I aspire to cross other waters, to ascend
other mountains which human feet cannot climb unaided.
I pray to the sun, which lights up the earth and the
heavens, that letting forth his shining spring
he pours down upon me a draught equal to my great thirst.
‘Quasi rotonda palla’ (1546)
Quasi rotonda palla accesa intorno
Di mille stelle veggio, e un sol che splende
Fra lor con tal virtù che ogni or le accende,
Non come il nostro che le spegne il giorno.
Or quando fia che l’alma in quel soggiorno
Segua il pensier, che tanto in su s’estende,
Che spesso quel che in ciel piglia non rende
A la memoria poi nel suo ritorno?
Ond’io dipingo in carte una fosca ombra
Per quel sol vivo, e de le cose eterne
Parlo fra noi con voci rotte e frali.
Quant’ei si vuol talor mostrar discerne
La mente, e sol quand’ei le presta l’ali
Vola, e mentre le nebbie apre e disgombra.
‘I see what seems to be a sphere’ (1546)
I see what seems to be a sphere lit up around
by a thousand stars, and a sun which shines
amongst them with such brightness that it lights them at all times,
not like our own, which hides their light in daytime.
But when may it be that my soul will follow my mind,
which strives to rise so high, to that place,
for often the things my mind sees in heaven are not
committed to memory on its return?
Thus I inscribe upon these pages a dark shadow
to represent that dazzling sun, and I speak to others here
of heavenly things with broken and inadequate words.
Our minds can only see as much as he chooses
to reveal of himself, and can only fly if he lends wings
and if he clears and banishes the fog for us.
‘In forma di musaico’ (1546)
In forma di musaico un alto muro
D’animate scintille alate e preste,
Con catene d’amor sì ben conteste
Che l’una porge a l’altra il lume puro,
Senz’ombra che vi formi il chiaro e scuro
Ma sol vivo splendor del sol celeste
Che le adorna, incolora, ordina e veste,
D’intorno a Dio col mio pensier figuro.
E quella poi, che in velo uman per gloria
Seconda onora il ciel, più presso al vero
Lume del figlio ed a la luce prima,
La cui beltà non mai vivo pensiero
Ombrar potea, non che ritrar memoria
In carte, e men lodarla ingegno in rima.
‘In the form of a mosaic’ (1546)
A high wall in the form of a mosaic
of lively sparks flying rapidly
and so tightly bound by chains of love,
that one casts upon the other a pure light
without any shadows to give chiaroscuro,
but only resplendent light from the heavenly sun
which decorates, colours, arranges and adorns them,
all this I envision in my mind surrounding God.
And then I imagine her, whom heaven honours
in human form as second in glory, closest to the true
light of the son and the first light,
whose beauty no living thought
could ever draw, nor could memory ever commit it
to paper, much less the intellect describe it in verse.
‘S’in man prender’ (1546)
S’in man prender non soglio unqua la lima
Del buon giudizio, e ricercando intorno
Con l’occhio disdegnoso io non adorno
Né tergo la mia rozza incolta rima,
Nasce perché non è mia cura prima
Procacciar di ciò lode o fuggir scorno,
Né che dopo il mio lieto al ciel ritorno
Viva ella al mondo in più onorata stima;
Ma dal foco divin, che ’l mio intelletto,
Sua mercé, infiamma, convien ch’escan fore
Mal mio grado talor queste faville,
Et s’alcuna di lor un gentil core
Avien che scaldi, mille volte e mille
Ringraziar debbo il mio felice errore.
‘If I often fail’ (1546)
If I often fail to take up the file
of good sense and, looking around me
with scornful eyes, I refuse to embellish
nor yet erase my rough, uncultivated verses,
this is because my primary concern is not
to garner praise for it or avoid contempt,
nor that after my joyful return to heaven
my poems will live on in the world more highly honoured;
but the divine fire, which through its mercy
inflames my mind, sometimes gives out
these sparks of its own accord,
and if one such spark should once warm
some gentle heart then a thousand times
a thousand thanks I owe to that happy mistake.
‘Debile e ’nferma ricorro’ (1542)
Debile e ’nferma a la salute vera
Ricorro, e cieca il sol cui solo adoro
Invoco, e nuda bramo il celest’oro,
E vo al suo foco fredda in pura cera;
E quanto in sé disfida, tanto spera
L’alma in quel d’ogni ben vivo tesoro,
Che la può far con largo ampio ristoro
Sana, ricca, al suo caldo arder sincera.
Onde con questi doni e questo ardire
Lo veggia non col mio ma col suo lume,
L’ami e ringratii col suo stesso amore.
Non saranno alor mie l’opre e ’l desire,
Ma lieve andrò con le celesti piume
Ove mi spinge e tira il santo ardore.
‘Weak and infirm I run’ (1542)
Weak and infirm I run towards true salvation,
and blindly I call out to the sun which alone
I worship, and naked I burn for his heavenly gold,
and approach his flames fashioned in pure, cold wax;
and however much I distrust myself, so much more
then does my soul trust in his wondrous gift,
which has the great healing power to make me
healthy, enriched, and whole in his loving fires.
Thus once armed with these gifts and this burning ardour
I may behold him not through my own powers of vision but through his,
and may love and worship him through the power of his love for me.
Thus my deeds and my desires will no longer be my own,
but lightly I will move upon celestial wings
wherever the force of his holy love might fling me.
Temo che ’l laccio (1546)
Temo che ’l laccio, ov’io molt’anni presi
Tenni li spirti, ordisca or la mia rima
Sol per usanza, e non per quella prima
Cagion d’averli in Dio volti et accesi.
Temo che sian lacciuoli intorno tesi
Di colui ch’opra mal con sorda lima,
E mi faccia parer da falsa stima
Utili i giorni forse indarno spesi.
Di giovar poca, ma di nocer molta
Ragion vi scorgo, ond’io prego ’l mio foco
Ch’entro in silenzio il petto abbracci ed arda.
Interrotto dal duol, dal pianger roco
Esser dee il canto vèr colui ch’ascolta
Dal cielo, e al cor non a lo stil riguarda.
‘I am afraid that the knot’ (1546)
I am afraid that the knot, with which for many years
I have kept my soul bound up, now orders my verses
only through long habit, and not for that first reason
that they are turned towards God and inflamed by him.
I am afraid that they are knots tied tightly
by one who works badly with a dull file,
so that fired with false esteem I believe
that my days are useful when in fact I waste them.
I perceive little reason why they should be of use,
but much evidence that they do harm, so I pray that
this internal fire may embrace and scald my heart in silence.
The song I sing to God who listens from above
should be interrupted by pain and hoarse cries,
for he studies my heart and not my style.
Source
Italian texts and English translations are from Abigail Brundin, ed. and trans. (2005), Vittoria Colonna: Sonnets for Michelangelo (Chicago University Press, 2005).