A WINTER NOON, BY UMBERTO SABA

A WINTER NOON

Who in the moment of my happiness

(God forgive my using a word so grand,

so terrible) reduced my brief delight

nearly to tears? "A certain lovely creature,"

you'll surely say, "who smiled at you in passing."

But no: a blue meandering balloon

against the azure air, my native sky

never so clear and cold as then, at noon

that dazzling winter day: a few small clouds,

and upper windows flaming in the sun,

and faint smoke from a chimney, maybe two--

and over everything, every divine

thing, that globe that had escaped a boy's

incautious fingers (surely he was out there,

broadcasting through the crowded square his grief,

his immense grief) between the great facade

of the Stock Exchange and the cafe where I,

behind a window, watched with shining eyes

the rise and fall of what he once possessed.

by Umberto Saba, --Translated by Geoffrey Brock

from The Alhambra Poetry Calendar, 2010

Poetry Anthology