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Autunno, A Collection Of Verse
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TITLE (EDIT)
Autunno, A Collection Of Verse |
DESCRIPTION
Italian poetry with English translation:
Luglio/July, July is the month of the author. It is very dear to Paolo Debernardi
Autunno/Autumn, Autumn is a season where everything died
Primavera/Spring, The return of life
Brusson/Brusson, The author spent a lot of holiday in this village
Miriana: Il risveglio dell'amore / Miriana: The awakening of love Miriana Trevisan is an Italian tv presenter and Paolo Debernardi fell in love with her
English poetry:
The little train, His friend bought a little train for his nephew and a poem came out from the author's inspiration
Marching Soldiers, This poem came out from inspiration
Love bubbles It is a love poem
[924 words] |
AUTHOR
Paolo Debernardi |
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ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I was born in Casale Monferrato in province of Alessandria Italy on 03 July 1973 and had lived since 1997 in Mortara (province of Pavia). Since I was a child, I started to gain medals in school sport events and others in painting competitions in a higher education.
In 1989 I had started to study Accountancy in the College San Carlo of Borgo San Martino where I discovered other two talents: being a football manager and a poet. As a football manager I helped my teams to win trophies in several football tournaments.
I discovered also I could write poetry when I was studying French Symbolists, who gave me a first poetic structure.
Afterwards my Italian writing evolved and began to have its own style.
Since 1991 I had entered a lot of Italian poetry competitions where I had been recognised with trophies, medals and publications.
In 1996 I had published my first collection of Italian poems with proverbs and literacy critics titled “Saranno state le onde del mare d’inverno” (Translation “It will be the waves of the sea in winter”) Edizioni Nuove Proposte U.A.O.C. in Naples.
In 1997 I transferred for work in York where I began to write English poems.
I attended several writers groups and my writing improved enormously.
I entered English poetry competition in England, Switzerland, Italy, Australia and Germany and many poems had been published in Anthologies and magazines in these Countries and in Brazil too.
In 2000 I started to write English short stories, which had been published in magazines.
In the forthcoming future I am going to publish the following books: my second collection of Italian poetry and maxims with reviews with English translations, my first collection of English poems with reviews and my first collection of short stories.
[November 2003] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4)
Angel, A Collection Of Verse (Poetry) A collection of verse. Angel. I was in a internet cafe where we were reading poetry and there were candles everywhere that gave me a great inspiration to write this poem. This poem has been published... [131 words]
Delta Centauri (Short Stories) The alien abduction of a man who will see life different from this experience. [1,593 words]
The Waiting (Short Stories) The tragic love of a guy who is waiting for his lover but everything turned tragically. [704 words]
They Always Come Back (Short Stories) The ghost story of a dead husband who wants to see again his wife. [541 words]
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Autunno, A Collection Of Verse
Paolo Debernardi
Autunno
In un dì di autunno,
Vidi una foglia
Dalla mia finestra
Cadere.
Era multicolore,
Rinsecchita e fragile.
Nei giorni seguenti,
Vento,
Pioggia e il camminare
Dei passanti
La trasformavano
In un impasto indistinguibile
Dalla terra.
E pensare che
In uno spazio
Temporale passato,
Una miriade di fanciulli
Era impressionata e ammirata,
Ora nulla più gli cale,
E tale è la morte
Che rinasce avvicinandosi
Alla propria “vecchiezza”.
Autumn
One autumn day,
I saw a leaf
From my window
Fall.
It was multi-coloured,
Dried and fragile.
In the days that followed,
Wind,
Rain and the passing
Of people
Transformed it
Into a paste indistinguishable
From the earth.
And to think that
In a space of
Time passed
A myriad of young
Was impressed and admired,
Now nothing more falls,
And such is death
Which rises taking us closer
To our own “old age”.
Brusson è una città montana nella Valle d’Ayas nella regione Valle d’Aosta, dove l’autore trascorreva l’estate. La natura domina attorno.
Le montagne e colline sembrano così vicine che sembra di toccarle.
Brusson
Il giovane
Ode
Il fragore dell’acqua corrente
E il cinguettare dei passerotti,
Liberandosi dai rumori guastatori.
E scrutando uno scorcio
Del vasto paesaggio pineto,
Grida nell’anima sua
Un inno religioso al divin Creator:
“Alleluia, alleluia, mio Signor,
alleluia, alleluia”.
Per ringraziarTi
Della meravigliosa natura
Che ci hai donato
E della sensazione provata,
Rispondo con una felicità indefinibile
D’esser nato.
Brusson is a mountain town in the Valle d’ Ayas in the Valle d’ Aosta region, where the author used to spend the summer. Nature is all around.
The mountains and hills seem so close that they seem to touch each other.
Brusson
The young boy
Hears
The roar of running water
And the chirps of the sparrows,
Freeing themselves from the loud noises.
And spying a glade
In the vast pine forest landscape
Cries out in his heart
A religious hymn to the divine Creator
“Hallelujah, hallelujah, my Lord,
hallelujah, hallelujah.”
To thank you
For the wonderful nature
You have given us
And from what I feel
I reply with indefinable joy
At having been born.
Love bubbles
Gloo gloo,
Balls of water
And air
Bubbling
Under the sea.
Gloo gloo,
Bubbles
Spinning,
Dancing
Everywhere
Near you and me.
Bubbles
To be blown
With you.
My joy,
Your fun
In the sun
Or in the rain.
Bubbles
Without you
My heart
Is in pain.
Bubbles
Of me and you
We blew together
Loving each other
Forever.
Luglio
O mese infuocato,
Con l’alternanza dei giorni
E della temperatura,
Ora bassa e poi alta,
Colpisci tutti.
Al fanciullo,
Non gli duole
Egli continua
Con i suoi simili,
Collaborando all’unico
Scopo il Gioco.
È questo il tuo significato:
Allegria, divertimento,
Voglia di vivere,
Fino a quando il sole anche
Lui stanco dalle fatiche quotidiane
Non cade in un luogo ove regna
Lietezza e Tranquillità.
July
O month of fire,
With the alternating of days
And temperature,
Now cool and then hot,
You strike us all.
The child
Is not bothered,
He continues
With his contemporaries,
His only aim
To play the Game.
For this is your essence:
Gaiety, amusement,
Joie de vivre,
Until the time when the sun too
Become weary from the daily fatigue
And falls into a place where
Joy and Tranquillity reign.
Miriana Trevisan è un tema ricorrente in “Sentieri Idillici”. Miriana Trevisan è una presentatrice televisiva, alta, capelli di color castano, bellissima che ispira l’autore e fa battere il suo cuore.
Miriana:
Il risveglio dell’amore
Alla tua vista, Miriana, il cor palpita
E l’esser mio gioisce,
Perché mai ammirarono tanta bellezza e virtù
In una sola fanciulla.
Tu mostri alla gente che ti mira:
I capelli, di color castano,
Sciolti, soffici e belli
Che al tatto d’un giovane
Sono vellutati;
Gli occhi profondi,
Pieni d’amore e di serenità
Che non videro mai tristezza e dolore;
Le labbra sottili che accendono
Un sorriso gioioso, splendente,
Come il sol nascente,
Che illumina il viso chiaro e gentile;
La pelle delicata,
Rosata è in armonia
Con tutta la persona.
Grazie alla poesia e alla fantasia
Ho potuto fare il quadro,
Ma sei a volte misteriosa
E timida che capirti non ti posso.
Quando, tuttavia, incominci a ballare
E a cantare una canzone
Con la voce melodica ed angelica
Imprimi energia alla tua esibizione.
Io non ti voglio ingabbiare d’amore,
Ma se ti pare
Desidererei
Che diventassimo amici,
Per sempre.
Miriana Trevisan is a recurring theme in “Idyllic Paths”. Miriana Trevisan is a television presenter who is tall, with chestnut coloured hair and is very beautiful who inspires the author and makes his heart beat faster.
Miriana:
The Awakening of Love
Seeing you, Miriana, my heart beats faster
And my whole being rejoices,
Because never have they admired such beauty and virtue
Rolled into one girl.
You show the people who watch you:
Your chestnut coloured hair,
Loose, soft and beautiful
That to the touch of a young man
Is like velvet;
Deep eyes
Full of love and serenity
That never saw sorrow and pain;
Defined lips that switch on
A bright, happy smile.
Like a sunrise,
That lights up your gentle and sunny face;
Your delicate, rosy
Skin is in harmony
With the rest of you.
Thanks to poetry and imagination
I have been able to paint a picture
But you are at times mysterious
And shy so that I cannot understand you.
When, however, you start to dance
And to sing a song
With your melodic and angelic voice
You inject energy into your performance.
I do not want to imprison you with love,
But if you agree
I would like
For us to become friends,
Forever.
Marching Soldiers
Memories
Appear in my mind
Like marching soldiers
Carrying guns.
For peace
They fight against
Evil spirits
Who want to kill
All humankind.
In the mist
Rigid hands
Lying down
Like trampled
Flowers
On the grass.
Below a grey sky
Cold eyes
Asking
God forgive us.
We lost.
Primavera
Odo il cinguettare
D’un passerotto
Parlante d’amore,
No, non ferisce con le frecce
D’Eros,
Contrariamente parole
Musicali e di dolci dichiarazioni.
Un alito di vento caldo
Preannuncia la nuova stagione:
Intensa di profumi e rinascite vitali,
Come un fiore spuntato nel proprio
Cimitero sensitivo e sentimentale,
Avvertiamo che ci mutiamo
In esseri gioiosi e caritatevoli.
Questo stato, ahimè, è poco durevole
E ben presto coll’inizio dei mesi futuri
Diventiam
Indifferenti al mondo intiero.
Spring
I hear the twittering
Of a baby sparrow
Speaker of love,
No, it doesn’t wound with the arrows
Of Eros,
But with words
Musical and sweet declarations.
A breath of warm wind
Heralds the new season:
Heady with perfumes and vital renewal,
Like a flower germinating it its own
Sensory and sentimental graveyard,
We notice that we are changing
Into joyful and charitable beings.
This state, alas, does not last long
And too soon with the beginning of future months
We become
Indifferent to the whole world.
The little train
Choo-choo
The little train
Comes again
Up and down the hill
And runs across plains.
Choo-choo
The little train
Crosses towns
With a whizzing sound
The little train says
Please don’ t stop me now
I am too late.
Choo-choo
It’ s the end of the day
His final journey
Comes again
It’ s time to go to bed.
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READER'S REVIEWS (1)
DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Like enjoyed many of your poems but I would have submitted them individually so people could read and review them. t was difficult to read one after the other and not be able to comment. I liked the Bubbles poem but thought the line in Autumn I saw a leaf from my window fall. This gives the impression that the leaf fell off your window instead of a tree. "from my window I saw a leaf fall!" seems clearer! All and All very good imagery and flow of words." -- e. rocco caldwell.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2003 Paolo Debernardi |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
November 2003 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2114
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