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Le ore della sofferenza
Le ore della sofferenza
erano spesso
opache,
come vetri appannati
sulla primavera
dei miei anni.
Quelle ore
avevano il disagio
d’inopportune parole
nelle rime
della mia Canzone.
Come potevo sapere,
allora,
ch’esse erano
lì,
ad indicar discrete
la via dell’Umiltà?
Come potevo capire
che, senza il dono divino
del dolore,
avrei vissuto a lungo
il limbo
di un inutile frou frou?
Mi è dolce
(e duro assai)
viaggiar la vita,
adesso,
in loro compagnia.
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The Hours of Suffering
The hours of suffering
were opaque
like steamy glass
in the spring of years.
Those hours
had the uneasiness
of mispoken words
in the rhyme of my life’s song.
How could I have known then
that they were there
only to show me,
discretely,
the way to humility?
How could I have known
that without the divine gift
of those hours
I would have lived long
in the limbo
of useless frou frou... ?
Now it is with a hard sweetness
that I walk through life
in their company.
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Die Stunden des Leidens
Die Stunden des Leidens
waren oft dunkel
wie belegte Glasscheiben
mitten im Frühling meiner Jahre.
Jene Stunden hatten
die Unbequemlichkeit
von unangebrachten Worten
in den Reimen
meines Liedes.
Wie konnte ich wissen
damals,
dass sie dort waren
diskret zu zeigen
den Weg der Demut.
Wie konnte ich das verstehen
ohne die göttliche Gabe
des Schmerzes,
als hätte ich lange
in der Vorhölle gelebt
wie ein unwissender,
leichtfertiger Mensch.
Meine Lebensreise ist süss
(und auch schwer)
jetzt,
in ihrer Gesellschaft.
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