Last Sunday we went for a day out in the hills between Parma and Piacenza, in Emilia Romagna. While we were wandering around Castell’Arquato, a beautiful medieval town on the outskirts of the Pianura Padana, I noticed that almost every garden had un albero di melograno (a pomegranate tree), covered in bright red flowers. My mind immediately went to a poem by Giosuè Carducci entitled Pianto Antico (Ancient Cry).
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Giosuè Carducci |
Giosuè Carducci was born near Pietrasanta, Lucca, in 1835, and died in Bologna in 1907. In 1906 he received the Nobel Prize for Literature. This poem, written in 1871, is dedicated to his son Dante, who had died from typhus the year before, at the age of three. The title, Pianto Antico, refers to the timeless cry of despair made by every father who has lost his son. In the poem Carducci compares the blossoming pomegranate tree in his garden to himself, whom he likens to a tree that has dried out after the death of his only son, the flower of the tree.
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Il fiore del melograno |
The choice of a pomegranate tree is also a symbolic one. Since ancient times the pomegranate has been used as a symbol of fertility and rebirth amongst Mediterranean cultures. It was frequently used by the Etruscans, whose funerary urns often show the deceased, usually a woman, holding a pomegranate in her hands.
Pianto Antico
L’albero a cui tendevi la pargoletta mano, il verde melograno da’ bei vermigli fior,
nel muto orto solingo rinverdì tutto or ora e giugno lo ristora di luce e di calor.
Tu fior della mia pianta percossa e inaridita, tu dell’inutil vita estremo unico fior,
sei ne la terra fredda, sei ne la terra negra; né il sol più ti rallegra né ti risveglia amor.
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Ancient Cry
The tree towards which you stretched your baby hand the green pomegranate with its beautiful vermilion flowers,
in the silent solitary garden has now come back to life, and June refreshes it with light and warmth.
You, flower of my beaten and dried out plant, you, of my useless life last ultimate flower,
you are in the cold earth, you are in the black earth; neither the sun delights you more nor love reawakens you.
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Comments:
Mike:
Che meravigliosa poesia! Grazie. Ho pianto con lui per suo figlio.
Serena:
@Mike Salve Mike!
Sì, è davvero una bellissima poesia e anch’io ho pianto tante volte leggendola, come pure l’altra poesia di Carducci per il figlio Dante: “Funere mersit acerbo”.
Saluti da Serena