Sebastopol Cemetery
—Photo by Cynthia Linville, Sacramento
AS WHEN SOME HUNGRY FLEDGLING HEARS AND SEES
—Vittoria da Colonna, 1490-1547
As when some hungry fledgling hears and sees
His mother's wings beating around him, when
She brings him nourishment, from which loving
Both meal and her, he cheers up and rejoices,
And deep within the nest, chafes and worries
With desire to follow her, even flying,
And offers thanks with such a caroling
His tongue seems loosed beyond it usual power;
So I, at times, when warm and living rays
Come from the heavenly sun by which my heart
Is fed, shine forth with such a lightening,
And I find my pen moves, urged on always
By an inner love, as if it had no part
In what I say: it is his praise I sing.
(trans. from the Italian by Barbara Howes)
—Vittoria da Colonna, 1490-1547
As when some hungry fledgling hears and sees
His mother's wings beating around him, when
She brings him nourishment, from which loving
Both meal and her, he cheers up and rejoices,
And deep within the nest, chafes and worries
With desire to follow her, even flying,
And offers thanks with such a caroling
His tongue seems loosed beyond it usual power;
So I, at times, when warm and living rays
Come from the heavenly sun by which my heart
Is fed, shine forth with such a lightening,
And I find my pen moves, urged on always
By an inner love, as if it had no part
In what I say: it is his praise I sing.
(trans. from the Italian by Barbara Howes)
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—Medusa
