UMBERTO SABA
The Goat
I spoke wi th a goat.
She was alone in the meadow,
bound, bloated wi th grass, soaked
from the rain, she was bleating.
That steady cry was my own sorrow's brother,
and I answered her,
first in jest, but then because sorrow lasts forever,
with a single voice that never varies.
I heard that voice moaning
in a soli tary goat.
In a goat's semitic face
I heard the cry of every trouble,
and of every living thing.
Words
Words
that once mirrored the heart of man, naked
and amazed - in the beginning. A corner
of the world is all I seek, an oasis
where my tears could rinse you of that blinding lie.
And together with those frightful memories
the weight of things would vanish, like snow in the sun .
Translated from the Italian
by
Avi Sharon
