Poet and writer, Ada Negri was born in Lodi (Lombardia) in 1870. Her father, a coachman, died when she was only one year old, and her mother worked as a weaver in a factory. Ada recounts in her autobiography “Stella Mattutina”  (Morning Star), published in 1921, how she spent many years of her lonely childhood in the lobby of an aristocratic house, where her grandmother worked as a doorkeeper, watching people passing by in the street.

In 1887 she qualified as a primary school teacher and the following year she started teaching in a school at Motta Visconti, a village near Milan. These were her happiest years, and it was in this period that she started writing poetry. Her lyrics, first printed in a local newspaper, were collected and published in 1892 in the volume “Fatalità” (Fate), which was well received by critics and the public.

Following the success of her poems, she was appointed “per chiara fama” (due to her merits) as a teacher in a secondary school in Milan. It was in Milan that Ada Negri came into contact with members of the socialist party, which at that time included Benito Mussolini. Her second volume of poems, “Tempeste” (Tempests), published in 1894, describes the plight of the poor and neglected in society, and for this reason she was called “la poetessa del Quarto Stato” (the poetess of the Fourth Estate, i.e. the proletarians).

In 1896 she married the industrialist Giovanni Garlanda, and they had two daughters, Bianca and Vittoria. Vittoria died in 1904 when she was just a few months old, after which Ada’s poetry became more introspective and personal. However, with WWI her poems became more patriotic, and for this reason she became associated with the Fascist regime: in 1931 she received il Premio Mussolini for her career, and in 1940 she became the first female member of l’Accademia d’Italia. Ada Negri died in her studio in Milan in 1945.

Here is a little poem by Ada Negri, which I thought perfect for a grey, melancholic, rainy day like it is here at the moment. The Italian original is followed by Geoff’s translation into English.

Piove

Piove da un’ora soltanto,
ma il bimbo pensa che già
piove da tanto, da tanto,
sopra la grande città.
Piove sui tetti e sui muri,
piove sul lungo viale,
piove sugli alberi oscuri
con ritmo triste e uguale;
piove; e lo scroscio si sente
giungere dalle vetrate,
che versano lacrime lente
come fanciulle imbronciate.
Piove; e laggiù sulla via
e in ogni casa, già invade
l’intima malinconia
di quella pioggia che cade.

It’s Raining

It’s only been raining for an hour,
but the child thinks that it has
been raining for a long long time,
above the big city.
It rains on the roofs and the walls,
it rains on the long avenue,
it rains on the dark trees
with a sad repetitive rhythm;
it rains; and you hear the roar
coming from the windows,
that pour slow tears
like sullen girls.
It rains; and down there in the street
and in every house,
the intimate melancholy
of the falling rain
takes over.