WORDSWORTH (INGLESE)

LIFE AND WORKS (pag.D78/D79)

William Wordsworth was born in the English Lake
District (north-west England). He studied in Cambridge and in 1790 he went on a
walking tour of France and the Alps. When he returned to France he fell in love
with Annette Vallon, and they had a
daughter. He then came back to England where he married a childhood friend and
they had five children. In 1798 he published the Lyrical Ballads with his
friend Coleridge. He was one of the first poets that saw also the negative
aspects of industrial revolution. He often wrote about nature, that is
considered good because it is alive, it
can represent the divinity (pantheistic view). Man is part of nature, nature
that gives pleasure and joy.

A CERTAIN COLOURING OF IMAGINATION (pag.D81/D82)

The Preface to the second edition of Lyrical Ballads is
considered the Manifesto of English Romanticism. Here Wordsworth speaks about
the subject matter of poetry that are incidents and situations from common
life, but with a certain imagination (so that ordinary things can be presented
in an unusual way). We find then that the language used is the one used by the
low and rustic people, because it is pure and simple (he attacks poetic
diction). Wordsworth then tells us who the poet is: he is a man speaking to a
man, but the poet is more sensitive and he has a more comprehensive soul. The
creative act presents poetry as the spontaneous overflow of feelings that is
the result of emotion recollected in tranquillity.

A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL (pag.D84)
It is part of the “Lucy Poems”, (we don’t know who
Lucy was). In the first stanza the poet speaks about Lucy alive, that seems untouched
by time, she seems an immortal being. In the second stanza Wordsworth speaks
about Lucy dead, that is now back in nature.


A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round
in earth’s diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.


Un torpore sigillò il mio spirito;
Non avevo timori umani:
Lei sembrava un essere che non potesse
sentire
Il tocco degli anni terreni.
Nessun movimento ha ora, nessuna forza;
Non sente né vede;
Trascinata nel corso diurno della terra,
Con le rocce, le pietre e gli alberi.



DAFFODILS (pag.D85)

Wordsworth went out for a walk in the Lake District with
his sister Dorothy. We can understand it is spring because daffodils are spring
flowers. The poet himself is happy, because he is in contact with nature. In
the first three stanzas is used the simple past because he writes after time (emotion
recollected in tranquility); in the fourth stanza we have the present (when he
probably composes). Wordsworth uses a lot of words for the daffodils that are
usually used for people (personification). Dorothy in her journal writes about
the same experience: for both there’s the same sight; both describe the flowers
as happy and dancing; for Dorothy there’s a furious wind, instead for William
there’s just a breeze; William seems to
be alone, because he concentrates on himself, on his feelings; Dorothy tells us when the fact happens (it is a diary).


I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills ,
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of golden daffodils:
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company
I gazed and gazed but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


Vagavo solo come una nuvola
che galleggia in alto oltre valli e colline,

quando all'improvviso ho visto una
folla, una moltitudine di giunchiglie dorate,

accanto al lago, sotto gli
alberi, svolazzare e danzare nella brezza.

Continue come stelle che splendono
e scintillano sulla via lattea,
si stendevano in una linea infinita
lungo il margine di una baia:
ne vidi diecimila a colpo d'occhio
che scuotevano le teste in una danza vivace.

Le onde ballavano al loro fianco ma

loro superavano le scintillanti onde in
allegria; un poeta non poteva che essere

felice in una compagnia così gioconda;
io le fissavo sempre di più ma pensavo

poco alla ricchezza che quello
spettacolo mi aveva portato:

spesso, quando sto sdraiato sul mio

divano distratto o pensoso,
loro lampeggiano su quell'occhio

introspettivo che è la beatitudine della
solitudine; allora il mio cuore si
riempie di piacere, e danza con le
giunchiglie.

COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE (pag.D86/D87)

In that petrarchan sonnet ( two quatrains and two
tercets) Wordsworth describes the city of London. He is passing through the
city because he is going to France (probably he is going to meet Annet Vallon
to tell her he is going to marry another woman). The date that he writes is
probably the day when he compose it, instead Dorothy writes the real date (when
the fact happens). It is early morning, that’s why the poet notice the silence (London
was a very noisy city).

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!


La terra non ha niente di così bello da mostrare:

sarebbe insensibile l'animo di colui a
cui sfuggisse una vista così toccante
nella sua maestà: la città, come un vestito,

indossa la bellezza del mattino; il silenzio,

limpido, le navi, le torri, le cupole, i teatri, i templi

si apre sui campi e al cielo; tutto chiaro e
splendente nell'aria senza fumo.

Il sole non ha mai inondato una bellezza così
nel suo primo splendore, valli, rocce o colline;

non ho mai visto, non ho mai provato una calma così profonda!

Il fiume scorre dolcemente secondo la sua volontà:

caro Dio! le case stesse sembrano
svegliarsi e tutto il cuore possente sta immobile!

HEART LEAPS UP (pag.D93MY)

That poem shows the link between joy and nature: when
the poet sees a rainbow he still feels the same feelings he felt when he was a
child. The child is very close to nature, and so it is the poet. Here we can
see the worship of nature.


My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

Il mio cuore sussulta quando contemplo un
arcobaleno nel cielo: così era quando la mia vita è cominciata, così è ora che
sono un uomo,così sia quando crescerò. Oppure lasciami morire!
Il bambino è il padre dell'uomo; desidererei che i miei giorni siano legati
l'un l'altro da un naturale rispetto.

SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS

It is part of the “Lucy Poems”, (we don’t know who Lucy was). We can understand that he
loved Lucy because he says that now that she’s dead for him is very different.
Lucy is compared to a violet (beautiful, delicate, fragile, simple and shy).

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!

Ella fra
strade poco percorse dimorava,
presso le sorgenti del Dove, una fanciulla che nessuno aveva da lodare e
pochissimi da amare:
una viola presso una roccia coperta di muschio nascosta agli occhi per metà!
Bella come una stella, quando una sola
splende nel cielo.
Visse sconosciuta, e pochi seppero quando Lucy cessò di esistere; ma ora è nella
sua tomba, e oh, che differenza per me!

THE SOLITARY REAPER

Wordsworth writes this poem after a
walking tour in the Highlands, in Scotland. Here he describes the reaper that
is working and singing (probably in gaelic); there’s a comparison between the
girl and the birds. We can say that he writes time after because he uses the
past and because he says: “ the music in my heart I bore, long after it was
heard no more".

Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:

Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.


Guardatela.
Unica nel campo,
Solitaria ragazza dell'altopiano,
Che miete e fra sè canta!
Fermatevi, o passate oltre in silenzio!
Sola essa taglia e lega il grano
Mentre canta una malinconica canzone.
Udite, la valle immensa
Trabocca della melodia.

Nessun usignolo mai cantò
Più gradevoli note a spossate compagnie
Di viandanti in qualche oasi ombrosa
Nei deserti dell'Arabia:
Mai si udì il cuculo
Rompere a primavera i silenzi marini
Con voce così seducente
Nelle remote Ebridi.

Chi mai mi dirà di cosa essa canta?
Forse le dolenti note scorrono
Per cose antiche, tragiche e lontane,
Per battaglie d'epoche remote:

O forse
è un lamento più umile,
Per faccende familiari, cose d'ogni giorno?
Forse è un dolore normale, una perdita, un dispiacere
Che è stato e potrà ricapitare?

Qualsiasi il tema, la ragazza cantava
Come se il suo canto potesse non finire mai:
La vedevo cantare durante il lavoro
E mentre si piegava sulla falce.
Ascoltavo senza muovermi o parlare,
E salendo la collina
Portai nel cuore quella musica
Ben oltre il momento che più non la sentii.

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

The poet is on the ground, alone. He sees happiness everywhere in nature, and also he
can be happy for that reason (the poet’s soul is linked to nature). Early
spring is very nice for Wordsworth because it represent a sort of rebirth; the
divine is everywhere: it is a pantheistic view. Here he sees the negative
aspects of industrial revolution (“what
man has made of man” refers to the fact that industrial revolution has made men
unhappy).

I heard a
thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her
fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through
primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds
around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,

If such be Nature's holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

Udivo
cento e cento note contrastanti,
Mentre in un boschetto giacevo reclinato,
Nel dolce stato in cui pensieri piacevoli
Portano alla mente pensieri tristi.

Ai suoi splendidi manufatti la natura legò
L'animo umano che dentro me viveva;
E molto il mio cuore s’affliggeva al
pensare
Ciò che l'uomo ha fatto dell'uomo.

Tra ciuffi di primule, in quel verde giardino,
La pervinca le sue spirali intrecciava;
Ed è mia credenza che ogni fiore
Godesse dell'aria che respirava.

Gli uccelli intorno a me saltavano e giocavano,
Non potevo io il lor pensiero conoscere:
Ma il minimo movimento che facevano
Sembrava un fremito di piacere

I teneri virgulti si aprivano a ventaglio,
Per catturare la fresca aria
Ed io pensar dovetti, senza alcun abbaglio,
Che lì c’era piacere.

Se questa fede dal cielo è inviata
Se il sacro disegno della Natura è questo,
Non ho io diritto a lamentarmi
Di ciò che l'uomo ha fatto dell'uomo?