Summary

The webpage discusses a 129-year-old poem by Gabriele D'Annunzio titled "Consolation," which is shared to provide comfort during the pandemic, evoking themes of childhood innocence, nature's beauty, and the connection between a mother and her son.

Abstract

The poem "Consolation" by Gabriele D'Annunzio, a prominent Italian writer, was originally sent to the author of the webpage by a friend and is now being shared on Medium to offer solace during challenging times. Written in 1892, the poem reflects on European Decadentism and serves as a tender invitation from a son to his mother to step outside, reconnect with the beauty of their garden, and reminisce about the past. It emphasizes the sweetness of revisiting cherished memories and the hope of creating new ones while embracing the present. The poem reassures the mother that despite the passage of time, their bond and the essence of their shared experiences remain intact, suggesting that beauty and renewal are possible even in the face of sorrow and loss.

Opinions

The poem is presented as a symbol of European Decadentism, highlighting the author's intent to capture the movement's essence.
The act of sharing the poem on Medium indicates a belief in its universal appeal and relevance to contemporary audiences, particularly in the context of the pandemic.
The poem is described as a 'caress' to a dear person, suggesting it is meant to provide emotional comfort and support.
The author emphasizes the beauty of the natural world and its capacity to inspire and uplift, even in a state of neglect or decay.
The poem conveys a message of resilience and hope, encouraging the mother (and by extension, the reader) to embrace life and its possibilities, despite past hardships.
The mention of the original Italian version and the offer to compose a new poem for the mother reflect the author's deep appreciation for poetry and its power to connect and heal across time and space.

This 129 Year Old Poem Is Great for Pandemic Times

Enjoy ‘Consolation’, written by Gabriele D’Annunzio and dedicated to his dear mother

Last year, a dear friend sent me this wonderful poem by Gabriele D’Annunzio, one of the best Italian writers. I read it in the original Italian language and liked it so much, that I want to share it with everyone here on Medium, hoping that you will enjoy the translation.

This 129 years-old poem is a symbol of European Decadentism: the poet’s intention is to come back to his lonely mother, and to his lost childhood innocence. It’s meant to be a caress to a very dear person. Don’t cry anymore — let’s go outside, enjoy a walk in the garden while remembering things from the past, and maybe create beautiful memories right now, while we are still alive.

Consolation

Don’t cry anymore. Is back your beloved son

to your house. He is tired of lying.

Come; let’s go out! It’s time to blossom again.

You are too pale: the face is almost a fleur-de-lis.

Come; let’s go out. The abandoned garden

still holds for us some paths.

I will tell you how sweet is the mystery

that veils certain things of the past.

Still, a few roses are in the rose bushes,

still, a few timid herbs are scented.

In the abandonment, the dear place still

will smile, if you smile.

I will tell you how sweet is the smile

of certain things that oblivion grieved.

How would you feel if the earth

blossomed under your feet, all of a sudden?

It will happen anyways, although not in April.

Let’s go out. Don’t cover your head. It is a slow

sun of September, and still, I don’t see silver

on your head, and the parting is thin still.

Why do you refuse with your tired look?

The mother does what the good son asks.

You need to catch some sun,

some sun on that pale face.

You need to be strong; you need

not to think about the bad things… If we go towards those roses,

I talk slowly, your soul dreams.

Dream, dream, my beloved soul! All,

all will be the same as in the old time.

I will entrust to your pure hand

all my heart. Nothing is destroyed yet.

Dream, dream! I will live of your life.

In a life simple and profound

I will live again. The light Host that cleanses

I will receive it from your fingers.

Dream, for the time to dream, has come!

I talk, tell me: does your soul hear me?

See? In the air wafts and lights up

almost the ghost of a defunct April.

September (tell me: does your soul listen to me?)

carries in his scent, in his pallor,

I don’t know, almost the scent and the pallor

of some unearthed springtime.

Let’s dream, for it is time to dream!

Let’s smile. It is our springtime,

this one. At home, later, in the evening,

I’ll open again the harpsichord and play.

Long asleep, the harpsichord! Were missing,

back then, a few chords; a few chords

still are missing. And the ebony recalls

the long, waxy fingers of grandmother.

While through the discolored curtains

will linger some delicate scent,

(do you hear me?) something like a weak

breath of violets a bit wilted,

I’ll play some old dance tune,

very old, very noble, also a bit

sad; and the sound will be veiled, faint,

almost as if it came from the other room.

Then for you alone, I’ll compose a poem

that can receive you like in a cradle,

upon an ancient metrics, but with a

grace that is vague and much careless.

Everything will be the same as in the old time.

The soul will be simple at it was;

and to you will come, when you want, lightly

as comes the water to the hollow of the hand.

Check this site for the original Italian version.

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