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

Santa Clara Square

Closed in by buildings and walls
it’s always alone
almost spellbound
in the fiery reflection
descending
enchanted
on the seashore
that in the harbor mixes
water murmurings
and fishermen’s voices;
every window has clothes
out to dry,
sails, small flags,
children’s outfits,
sailors’ oilskins.
Santa Clara Square
no larger than a courtyard
When the northeastern blows
a few women sit
under the eye of the sun,
they don’t sew, they don’t weave,
they don’t do anything,