DANTE TRANSLATIONS

These are my modern English translations of poems by Dante Alighieri.

Little sparks may ignite great Infernos.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In Beatrice I beheld the outer boundaries of blessedness.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

She made my veins and even the pulses within them tremble.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Her sweetness left me intoxicated.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Love commands me by dictating my desires.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Follow your own path and let bystanders gossip.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The devil is not as dark as depicted.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

There is no greater sorrow than to recall how we delighted in our own wretchedness.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As he, who with heaving lungs escaped the suffocating sea, turns to regard its perilous waters.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O human race, born to soar heavenward, why do you nosedive in the mildest breeze?

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O human race, born to soar heavenward, why do you quail at the least breath of wind?

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Midway through my life’s journey

I awoke to find myself lost in a trackless wood,

for I had strayed far from the straight path.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

INSCRIPTION ON THE GATE OF HELL

Before me nothing created existed, to fear.

Eternal I am, eternal I endure.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sonnet: “Ladies of Modest Countenance” from LA VITA NUOVA

by Dante Alighieri

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You, who wear a modest countenance,

With eyelids weighed down by such heaviness,

How is it, that among you every face

Is haunted by the same pale troubled glance?

Have you seen in my lady's face, perchance,

the grief that Love provokes despite her grace?

Confirm this thing is so, then in her place,

Complete your grave and sorrowful advance.

And if, indeed, you match her heartfelt sighs

And mourn, as she does, for the heart's relief,

Then tell Love how it fares with her, to him.

Love knows how you have wept, seeing your eyes,

And is so grieved by gazing on your grief

His courage falters and his sight grows dim.

Paradiso, Canto III:1-33, The Revelation of Love and Truth

by Dante Alighieri

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

That sun, which had inflamed my breast with love,

Had now revealed to me―as visions move―

The gentle and confounding face of Truth.

Thus I, by her sweet grace and love reproved,

Corrected, and to true confession moved,

Raised my bowed head and found myself behooved

To speak, as true admonishment required,

And thus to bless the One I so desired,

When I was awed to silence! This transpired:

As the outlines of men’s faces may amass

In mirrors of transparent, polished glass,

Or in shallow waters through which light beams pass

(Even so our eyes may easily be fooled

By pearls, or our own images, thus pooled):

I saw a host of faces, pale and lewd,

All poised to speak; but when I glanced around

There suddenly was no one to be found.

A pool, with no Narcissus to astound?

But then I turned my eyes to my sweet Guide.

With holy eyes aglow and smiling wide,

She said, “They are not here because they lied.”

Sonnet: “A Vision of Love” or “Love's Faithful Ones” from LA VITA NUOVA
by Dante Alighieri
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

To every gentle heart true Love may move,
And unto whom my words must now be brought
For wise interpretation’s tender thought,
I greet you in our Lord's name, which is Love.

Through night’s last watch, as winking stars, above,
Kept their high vigil over men, distraught,
Love came to me, with such dark terrors fraught
As mortals may not casually speak of.

Love seemed a being of pure Joy and held
My heart, pulsating. On his other arm
My lady, wrapped in thinnest gossamers, slept.
He, having roused her from her sleep, then made
My heart her feast�"devoured with alarm.
He then departed; as he left, he wept.

Sonnet: A Vision of Love from LA VITA NUOVA

by Dante Alighieri

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

To every gentle heart which Love may move,

And unto which my words must now be brought

For true interpretation’s tender thought―

I greet you in our Lord's name, which is Love.

Through night’s last watch, as winking stars, above,

Kept their high vigil over us, distraught,

Love came to me, with such dark terrors fraught

As mortals may not casually absolve.

Love seemed a being of pure joy, and had

My heart held in his hand, while on his arm

My lady, wrapped in her fine mantle, slept.

He, having roused her from her sleep, then made

Her eat my heart; she did, in deep alarm.

He then departed; as he left, he wept.

Excerpts from LA VITA NUOVA

by Dante Alighieri

Ecce deus fortior me, qui veniens dominabitur mihi.

Here is a Deity, stronger than myself, who comes to dominate me.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra.

Your blessedness has now been manifested unto you.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Heu miser! quia frequenter impeditus ero deinceps.

Alas, how often I will be restricted now!

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fili mi, tempus est ut prætermittantur simulata nostra.

My son, it is time to cease counterfeiting.

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ego tanquam centrum circuli, cui simili modo se habent circumferentiæ partes: tu autem non sic.

Love said: “I am as the center of a harmonious circle; everything is equally near me. No so with you.”

―Dante, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sonnet: “Love’s Thoroughfare” from LA VITA NUOVA

by Dante Alighieri

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

“O voi che par la via”

All those who travel Love's worn tracks,

Pause here, awhile, and ask

Has there ever been a grief like mine?

Pause here, from that mad race;

Patiently hear my case:

Is it not a piteous marvel and a sign?

Love, not because I played a part,

But only due to his great heart,

Afforded me a provenance so sweet

That often others, as I went,

Asked what such unfair gladness meant:

They whispered things behind me in the street.

But now that easy gait is gone

Along with the wealth Love afforded me;

And so in time I’ve come to be

So poor that I dread to ponder thereon.

And thus I have become as one

Who hides his shame of his poverty

By pretending happiness outwardly,

While within I travail and moan.

Sonnet: “Cry for Pity” from LA VITA NUOVA

by Dante Alighieri

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

These thoughts lie shattered in my memory:

When through the past I see your lovely face.

When you are near me, thus, Love fills all Space,

And often whispers, “Is death better? Flee!”

My face reflects my heart's blood-red dammed tide,

Which, fainting, seeks some shallow resting place;

Till, in the blushing shame of such disgrace,

The very earth seems to be shrieking, “Die!”

’Twould be a grievous sin, if one should not

Relay some comfort to my harried mind,

If only with some simple pitying

For this great anguish which fierce scorn has wrought

Through faltering sights of eyes grown nearly blind,

Which search for death now, like a blessed thing.

Excerpt from Paradiso

by Dante Alighieri

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Virgin Mother, daughter of your Son,

Humble, yet exalted above creation,

And the eternal counsel’s apex shown,

You are the Pinnacle of human nature,

Your nobility instilled by its Creator,

Who did not, having you, disdain his creature.

Love was rekindled in your perfect womb

Where warmth and holy peace were given room

For this, Perfection’s Rose, once sown, to bloom.

Now unto us you are a Torch held high

Our noonday sun―the light of Charity,

Our wellspring of all Hope, a living sea.

Madonna, so pure, high and all-availing,

The man who desires grace of you, though failing,

Despite his grounded state, is given wing!

Your mercy does not fail, but, Ever-Blessed,

The one who asks finds oftentimes his quest

Unneeded: you foresaw his first request!

You are our Mercy; you are our Compassion;

you are Magnificence; in you creation

Unites whatever Goodness deems Salvation.

THE MUSE

by Anna Akhmatova

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My being hangs by a thread tonight

as I await a Muse no human pen can command.

The desires of my heart ― youth, liberty, glory ―

now depend on the Maid with the flute in her hand.

Look! Now she arrives; she flings back her veil;

I meet her grave eyes ― calm, implacable, pitiless.

“Temptress, confess!

Are you the one who gave Dante hell?”

She answers, “Yes.”

I have also translated this poem written by Marina Tsvetaeva for Anna Akhmatova:

Excerpt from “Poems for Akhmatova”

by Marina Tsvetaeva

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You outshine everything, even the sun

at its zenith. The stars are yours!

If only I could sweep like the wind

through some unbarred door,

gratefully, to where you are ...

to hesitantly stammer, suddenly shy,

lowering my eyes before you, my lovely mistress,

petulant, chastened, overcome by tears,

as a child sobs to receive forgiveness ...

Dante Criticism by Michael R. Burch

Dante’s was a defensive reflex

against religion’s hex.

―Michael R. Burch

Dante, you Dunce!

by Michael R. Burch

The earth is hell, Dante, you Dunce!

Which you should have perceived―since you lived here once.

God is no Beatrice, gentle and clever.

Judas and Satan were wise to dissever

from false “messiahs” who cannot save.

Why flit like a bat through Plato’s cave

believing such shadowy illusions are real?

There is no "hell" but to live and feel!

How Dante Forgot Christ

by Michael R. Burch

Dante damned the brightest and the fairest

for having loved―pale Helen, wild Achilles―

agreed with his Accuser in the spell

of hellish visions and eternal torments.

His only savior, Beatrice, was Love.

His only savior, Beatrice, was Love,

the fulcrum of his body’s, heart’s and mind’s

sole triumph, and their altogether conquest.

She led him to those heights where Love, enshrined,

blazed like a star beyond religion’s hells.

Once freed from Yahweh, in the arms of Love,

like Blake and Milton, Dante forgot Christ.

The Christian gospel is strangely lacking in Milton’s and Dante’s epics. Milton gave the “atonement” one embarrassed enjambed line. Dante damned the Earth’s star-crossed lovers to his grotesque hell, while doing exactly what they did: pursing at all costs his vision of love, Beatrice. Blake made more sense to me, since he called the biblical god Nobodaddy and denied any need to be “saved” by third parties.

Dante’s Antes

by Michael R. Burch

There’s something glorious about man,

who lives because he can,

who dies because he must,

and in between’s a bust.

No god can reign him in:

he’s quite intent on sin

and likes it rather, really.

He likes sex touchy-feely.

He likes to eat too much.

He has the Midas touch

and paves hell’s ways with gold.

The things he’s bought and sold!

He’s sold his soul to Mammon

and also plays backgammon

and poker, with such antes

as still befuddle Dantes.

I wonder―can hell hold him?

His chances seem quite dim

because he’s rather puny

and also loopy-looney.

And yet like Evel Knievel

he dances with the Devil

and seems so damn courageous,

good-natured and outrageous

some God might show him mercy

and call religion heresy.

Of Seabound Saints and Promised Lands

by Michael R. Burch

Judas sat on a wretched rock,

his head still sore from Satan’s gnawing.

Saint Brendan’s curragh caught his eye,

wildly geeing and hawing.

I’m on parole from Hell today!

Pale Judas cried from his lonely perch.

You’ve fasted forty days, good Saint!

Let this rock by my church,

my baptismal, these icy waves.

O, plead for me now with the One who saves!

Saint Brendan, full of mercy, stood

at the lurching prow of his flimsy bark,

and mightily prayed for the mangy man

whose flesh flashed pale and stark

in the golden dawn, beneath a sun

that seemed to halo his tonsured dome.

Then Saint Brendan sailed for the Promised Land

and Saint Judas headed Home.

O, behoove yourself, if ever your can,

of the fervent prayer of a righteous man!

In Dante’s Inferno, Satan gnaws on Judas Iscariot’s head. A curragh is a boat fashioned from wood and ox hides. Saint Brendan of Ireland is the patron saint of sailors and whales. According to legend, he sailed in search of the Promised Land and discovered America centuries before Columbus.

RE: Paradiso, Canto III

by Michael R. Burch

for the most “Christian” of poets

What did Dante do,

to earn Beatrice’s grace

(grace cannot be earned!)

but cast disgrace

on the whole human race,

on his peers and his betters,

as a man who wears cheap rayon suits

might disparage men who wear sweaters?

How conventionally “Christian” ― Poet! ― to damn

your fellow man

for being merely human,

then, like a contented clam,

to grandly claim

near-infinite “grace,”

as if your salvation was God’s only aim!

What a scam!

And what of the lovely Piccarda,

whom you placed in the lowest sphere of heaven

for neglecting her vows ―

She was forced!

Were you chaste?

Intimations V

by Michael R. Burch

We had not meditated upon sound

so much as drowned

in the inhuman ocean

when we imagined it broken

open

like a conch shell

whorled like the spiraling hell

of Dante’s Inferno.

Trapped between Nature

and God,

what is man

but an inquisitive,

acquisitive

sod?

And what is Nature

but odd,

or God

but a Clod,

and both of them horribly flawed?

Endgame

by Michael R. Burch

The honey has lost all its sweetness,

the hive―its completeness.

Now ambient dust, the drones lie dead.

The workers weep, their King long fled

(who always had been nude, invisible,

his “kingdom” atomic, divisible,

and pathetically risible).

The queen has flown,

long Dis-enthroned,

who would have given all she owned

for a promised white stone.

O, Love has fled, has fled, has fled ...

Religion is dead, is dead, is dead.

The Final Revelation of a Departed God’s Divine Plan

by Michael R. Burch

Here I am, talking to myself again . . .

pissed off at God and bored with humanity.

These insectile mortals keep testing my sanity!

Still, I remember when . . .

planting odd notions, dark inklings of vanity,

in their peapod heads might elicit an inanity

worth a chuckle or two.

Philosophers, poets . . . how they all made me laugh!

The things they dreamed up! Sly Odysseus’s raft;

Plato’s Republic; Dante’s strange crew;

Shakespeare’s Othello, mad Hamlet, Macbeth;

Cervantes’ Quixote; fat, funny Falstaff!;

Blake’s shimmering visions. Those days, though, are through . . .

for, puling and tedious, their “poets” now seem

content to write, but not to dream,

and they fill the world with their pale derision

of things they completely fail to understand.

Now, since God has long fled, I am here, in command,

reading this crap. Earth is Hell. We’re all damned.

Keyword/Tags: Dante, Italian, translation, sonnet, Italian sonnet, crown of sonnets, rhyme, love, affinity and love, Rome, Italy, Florence, terza rima