About a letter that wasn't written
(English translation of 'Su una lettera non scritta' by Eugenio Montale)
Is it for a myriad of dawns, for the few wires
I don't know how to disappear, nor reappear;
on which the fleece of life
catches and sticks its hours and years,
that today the dolphins in pairs
somersault with their young? Oh let me hear
nothing from you, let me escape the glare
of your eyes. There’s more to the world out there.
the vermilion forge of night
is slow in coming, the evening grows longer,
prayer is torture, and once again
the bottle from the sea hasn't come through
the steep rocks to reach you. The empty waves
break on the point, at Finisterre.
For more translations of poems by Eugenio Montale, go to Translations.