Dialect Poetry of Southern Italy (Italian Poetry in Translation Book 2)

Christ

From the wall
you stare at me in silence and disdain,
with dark and deep wide open eyes.
What’s on your mind?
In past long winter nights,
when I would listen to the ancient tales
by the fire,
I used to see you walking alone in the world
or pausing behind a blade of wheat,
always cheerful
with your honey colored blond hair,
and a warm smile upon your face.
Behind you
like a lost flock without a bell,
the crowd just ran in mass confusion.
The blind and lame,
the crippled and the deaf, and children,
barefoot women, either unspeaking or possessed,
And, sinning
Magdalene, mad with hair unkempt
Or, in the orchard, amidst the greens.