{"id":9690,"date":"2015-07-20T18:46:25","date_gmt":"2015-07-20T16:46:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/italian\/?p=9690"},"modified":"2015-07-20T18:46:25","modified_gmt":"2015-07-20T16:46:25","slug":"a-hot-summers-afternoon-in-italy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/italian\/a-hot-summers-afternoon-in-italy\/","title":{"rendered":"A Hot Summer\u2019s Afternoon In Italy"},"content":{"rendered":"

Today, as is our custom, we got up at six o\u2019clock and, after a quick breakfast, set off for a walk in the early morning freshness. As we walked up the mountain road towards the picturesque village of Pracchiola, constantly surrounded by the strident screeching of cicadas, I gazed up at the intense blue cloudless sky. The dazzling sunlight drew perfectly defined shadows on the road, and the stone walls that enclose vineyards and vegetable plots, now abandoned, brought to mind the words of a poem by the poet Eugenio Montale (Genova 1896 \u2013 Milano 1981). Meriggiare<\/em><\/strong> is one of his most famous compositions and without a doubt my favourite.<\/p>\n

\"Eugenio<\/a>

Eugenio Montale<\/em><\/span><\/p><\/div>\n

I love the way in which the poet perfectly renders the sense of tiredness and idleness brought on by the heat that causes you to observe the most minute details of nature, such as the lines of busy ants that continually form and break up as they follow the cracks in the walls. The poem\u2019s title, Meriggiare<\/strong>, is a verb that literally means \u2018to pass the hottest hours of the day in a shady outdoor place\u2019, how lovely to have one word that expresses a whole phrase! I also like the succinctness of Montale\u2019s language, which is able to convey in a few simple words the intensity of light and heat, e.g.: il rovente muro d\u2019orto <\/strong>(the scorching garden wall).<\/p>\n

However, the thing I love the most about this poem is the way in which Montale uses whole strings of alliterations and harsh, almost unpronounceable syllables, that recreate the sensation of tiredness you feel as you stumble under the hot sun:<\/p>\n

Meriggiare di Eugenio Montale<\/u><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Meriggiare pallido e assorto
\npresso un rovente muro d\u2019orto,
\nascoltare tra i pruni e gli sterpi
\nschiocchi di merli, frusci di serpi.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Nelle crepe del suolo o su la veccia
\nspiar le file di rosse formiche
\nch\u2019ora si rompono ed ora s\u2019intrecciano
\na sommo di minuscole biche.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Osservare tra frondi il palpitare
\nlontano di scaglie di mare
\nmentre si levano tremuli scricchi
\ndi cicale dai calvi picchi.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

E andando nel sole che abbaglia
\nsentire con triste meraviglia
\ncom\u2019\u00e8 tutta la vita e il suo travaglio
\nin questo seguitare una muraglia
\nche ha in cima cocci aguzzi di bottiglia.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

–<\/span><\/p>\n

Meriggiare by Eugenio Montale<\/span>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

interpreted by Millicent Bell (Professor Emerita of English at Boston University)<\/p>\n

To slump at noon thought-sick and pale
\nunder the scorching garden wall,
\nto hear a snake scrape past, the blackbirds creak
\nin the dry thorn thicket, the brushwood brake.<\/span><\/p>\n

Between tufts of vetch, in the cracks of the ground
\nto spy out the ants\u2019 long lines of march;
\nnow they reach the top of a crumb-sized mound,
\nthe lines break, they stumble into a ditch.<\/span><\/p>\n

To observe between the leaves the pulse
\nbeneath the sea\u2019s scaly skin,
\nwhile from the dry cliffs the cicada calls
\nlike a knife on the grinder\u2019s stone.<\/span><\/p>\n

And going into the sun\u2019s blaze
\nonce more, to feel, with sad surprise
\nhow all life and its battles
\nis in this walk alongside a wall
\ntopped with sharp bits of glass from broken bottles.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\"\"

Today, as is our custom, we got up at six o\u2019clock and, after a quick breakfast, set off for a walk in the early morning freshness. As we walked up the mountain road towards the picturesque village of Pracchiola, constantly surrounded by the strident screeching of cicadas, I gazed up at the intense blue cloudless…<\/p>\n

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