cruelly resurrect and kill

Standard

Spring…
Umberto Saba
I don’t care for you at all. It used to be
that when I turned a corner in the street,
the premonition of your coming would cut me
like a razor. The still slender shadows
of bare branches cast upon the still bare earth
make me uneasy, as if I too
might somehow be
reborn. Ancient
spring, even the grave seems uncertain
at your approach. You of all the seasons
most cruelly resurrect and kill.

Original

Primavera
Primavera che a me non piaci, io voglio
dire di te che di una strada l’angelo
svoltando, il tuo presagio mi feriva
come una lama. L’ombra ancor sottile
di nudi rami sulla terra ancora
nuda mi turba, quasi ancho’io potessi
dovessi
rinascere. La tomba
sembra insicura al tuo appressarsi, antica
primavera, che più d’ogni stagione
crudelmente risusciti ed uccidi.

Photo by Redd Angelo on Unsplash

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