In the last few days I am diving in the energies of 'Il Canzoniere' ("Song Book"), a collection of 366 poems of our conscious being Francesco Petrarch, one of the earliest Renaissance Humanist. (1304-1374)He was 23 when, after giving up his vocation as a priest, met in a church 'Laura', the woman that was going to inspire him and evoke in him many feelings: love, excitement, sorrow, regret, repentance, hope and .... despair at the thought that "what the world likes the most is a short dream."
His poems reflect the earthly passion, deep feelings and the labor of this restless spirit.
Petrarch writes:
"Laura, famous for her own virtues, and so long celebrated in my verses, was first seen by me in my early youth, in the year of our Lord 1327, on the sixth of April, in the Church of Saint Clare at Avignon, in the morning hour ...."
Later in his "Letter to Posterity", Petrarch wrote: "In my younger days I struggled constantly with an overwhelming but pure love affair – my only one, and I would have struggled with it longer had not premature death, bitter but salutary for me, extinguished the cooling flames. I certainly wish I could say that I have always been entirely free from desires of the flesh, but I would be lying if I did".
Let us enjoy together the poem #3 and some verses of the poem #325.
3. ‘Era il giorno ch’al sol si scoloraro’
It was on that day when the sun’s ray
was darkened in pity for its Maker,
that I was captured, and did not defend myself,
because your lovely eyes had bound me, Lady.
It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself
against Love’s blows: so I went on
confident, unsuspecting; from that, my troubles
started, amongst the public sorrows.
Love discovered me all weaponless,
and opened the way to the heart through the eyes,
which are made the passageways and doors of tears:
so that it seems to me it does him little honor
to wound me with his arrow, in that state,
he not showing his bow at all to you who are armed.
325. ‘Tacer non posso, et temo non adopre’
I can’t be silent, yet I fear to use
my tongue lest it contradicts my heart,
though it wishes to do honor
to its lady listening from heaven.
How can I, unless you teach me, Love,
how to match mortal words to things
divine, that high humility
conceals, and gathers to itself?
Her gentle soul had only been, a little while
within that prison she’s now freed from,
at that time when I first saw her:
so that I suddenly ran,
since it was spring of the year and my life,
to gather flowers in the fields around,
hoping, so adorned, to please her eyes.
............
The day that she was born, the planets
that produce happy effects among you
were in a special and noble array,
turned to each other in love:
Venus, and Jupiter of benign aspect,
took a lovely and auspicious place,
and the evil, harmful lights
were scattered over almost all the sky.
The sun had never shone on so fair a day:
the air and earth rejoiced, and the waves
in the seas and rivers were at rest.
Among so many friendly stars,
one distant cloud displeased me:
which I fear will melt away in tears
if Pity does not nobly change heaven’s course.
When she entered this low earthly life,
which, to tell the truth, was not worthy of her,
a new sight to see,
already saintly, and sweet yet bitter,
she seemed a fine white pearl enclosed in gold:
then as she crawled, then took faltering steps,
wood, water, earth, and stone
grew green, clear, soft, and the grass
proud and new under her hands and feet,
and made the fields flower with her lovely eyes,
and quietened the winds and the storm
with a voice still not formed,
with a tongue still wet with her mother’s milk:
showing clearly to the deaf, blind world
how much of heaven’s light was already in her.
I send You immense Love.
A
His poems reflect the earthly passion, deep feelings and the labor of this restless spirit.
Petrarch writes:
"Laura, famous for her own virtues, and so long celebrated in my verses, was first seen by me in my early youth, in the year of our Lord 1327, on the sixth of April, in the Church of Saint Clare at Avignon, in the morning hour ...."
Let us enjoy together the poem #3 and some verses of the poem #325.
3. ‘Era il giorno ch’al sol si scoloraro’
It was on that day when the sun’s ray
was darkened in pity for its Maker,
that I was captured, and did not defend myself,
because your lovely eyes had bound me, Lady.
It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself
against Love’s blows: so I went on
confident, unsuspecting; from that, my troubles
started, amongst the public sorrows.
Love discovered me all weaponless,
and opened the way to the heart through the eyes,
which are made the passageways and doors of tears:
so that it seems to me it does him little honor
to wound me with his arrow, in that state,
he not showing his bow at all to you who are armed.
325. ‘Tacer non posso, et temo non adopre’
I can’t be silent, yet I fear to use
my tongue lest it contradicts my heart,
though it wishes to do honor
to its lady listening from heaven.
How can I, unless you teach me, Love,
how to match mortal words to things
divine, that high humility
conceals, and gathers to itself?
Her gentle soul had only been, a little while
within that prison she’s now freed from,
at that time when I first saw her:
so that I suddenly ran,
since it was spring of the year and my life,
to gather flowers in the fields around,
hoping, so adorned, to please her eyes.
............
The day that she was born, the planets
that produce happy effects among you
were in a special and noble array,
turned to each other in love:
Venus, and Jupiter of benign aspect,
took a lovely and auspicious place,
and the evil, harmful lights
were scattered over almost all the sky.
The sun had never shone on so fair a day:
the air and earth rejoiced, and the waves
in the seas and rivers were at rest.
Among so many friendly stars,
one distant cloud displeased me:
which I fear will melt away in tears
if Pity does not nobly change heaven’s course.
When she entered this low earthly life,
which, to tell the truth, was not worthy of her,
a new sight to see,
already saintly, and sweet yet bitter,
she seemed a fine white pearl enclosed in gold:
then as she crawled, then took faltering steps,
wood, water, earth, and stone
grew green, clear, soft, and the grass
proud and new under her hands and feet,
and made the fields flower with her lovely eyes,
and quietened the winds and the storm
with a voice still not formed,
with a tongue still wet with her mother’s milk:
showing clearly to the deaf, blind world
how much of heaven’s light was already in her.
I send You immense Love.
A
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