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

The Carter

There was a carter once
who, very slow,
wind or sun,
would come down
from San Marco to San Severo.
He went through Stignano
and already smelled
the fragrant wheat,
he went through Jancuglia
and already smelled
the wine of Puglia.
From San Marco to San Severo,
the carter came.
But no longer.
The carter is this thought,
and the handcart
destiny:
Always, always follow
the same path
is my life’s destiny.
San Marco and San Severo...
Amen, so shall it be!