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Dylan Thomas, "Non andar mesto in quella buona notte"

 

Traduzione di Donald Bathgate e Andrea Sirotti 

 

 

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

 

 

Non andar mesto in quella buona notte,

da vecchio ardi e deliri al calar del dì

infuria furente con la luce morente.

 

Pur consci i savi alla morte che buio sia giusto

ché mai lor parola fulmine biforcò, eppure

non vanno mesti in quella buona notte.

 

L’uomo buono, passata l’ultima onda, grida

i suoi fragili fatti brillanti ballando in baia verde,

Infuria furente con la luce morente.

 

L’uomo rude che catturò e lodò il sole in volo,

capendo, troppo tardi, ne pianse il passaggio

non va mesto in quella buona notte.

 

L’uomo grave al trapasso che vede con vista accecante

occhi ciechi a bruciar di meteora, eppur lieti,

infuria furente con la luce morente.

 

E tu, padre mio, là sull’altura triste maledici

benedici me ora con le tue lacrime feroci ti scongiuro

non andar mesto in quella buona notte

infuria furente con la luce morente.

 

 

 

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