Gente di Pola
Narrativa dialettale 

People of Pola
A tale in my dialect

Polesan

Esodo

Niente sospiri
caresse o baseti
i novi sposini
smontado da i leti
xe l'ultima note
note profonda

le strade le piasse
de colpi rimbomba
i pochi che passa
int'ei vicoli streti
le rece ghe stropa
i tam tam maledeti
de casse inciodade
finestre sprangade
sbaradi anche i scuri
tra quei veci muri

se ingruma le strasse*
careghe e sgabei
com e credense
sorele e fradei
port zo la roba
xe el caro che speta
tra poco riparti
la vecia careta

la porta la gente
in tera lontana
sta grossa batana
de nome Toscana
o povera Pola
i fioi te va via
ti rester sola
che malinconia

stacada la sima
su l'ancora a bordo
a tera no resta
che qualche balordo

come sardele
stivadi sul ponte
coi oci rigonfi
de lagrime sconte
girandose indrio
el cuor se tormenta
la riva la 'Rena
pi pice diventa
passada la diga
finissi l'incanto
de tuto quel mondo
non resta ch'el pianto.

Exodus

Without sighs
caresses or quick kisses
the newlyweds
have left their beds
it is the last night,
the darkest of nights.

The streets, the squares
resound with hammering
few people hurry
through narrow streets
with ears deafened
by the cursed drumming
of boxes being nailed,
and also by windows secured
by shutters slammed shut
amidst those old walls

The belongings* are gathered:
chairs and the stools,
dressers and sideboards
Brothers and sisters,
bring down the stuff
the cart is awaiting
shortly will we leave
in the little old cart.

She ferries people
to a faraway land
this large ship
called "Toscana."
Oh poor Pola
your sons are leaving,
alone you will remain
with your sadness

The mooring is released,
pulled the anchor aboard;
on land remain
only a few fools.

Like sardines
packed on the deck
with eyes swollen
by hidden tears
peering backwards
the heart suffers even more:
as smaller become
the Arena and the shore
once past the dike
the enchantment is over,
of all that world
only tears remain.

Translated to English by Franco G. Aitala

Quei mobili e quelle suppellettili, giacciono, da allora, in un hangar del Porto Vecchio a Trieste. Nessuno, di tutti gli esuli sparsi per il mondo, mai venuto a ritirare "le sue strasse" (trad.: le sue povere cose). Attrezzi di contadini, di pescatori, di mille altri mestieri, tuta quall roba insomma. Sta' sempre l'. Per un aggiornamento, clicca qui.

All that furniture and household goods have remained since then in a hangar of the Old Harbor of Trieste. None, of all the Exiles scattered around the world has ever come to claim "le sue strasse" (i.e. his poor things = his belongings). Tools and implements belonging to peasants, to fishermen, to a thousand other artisans, all their stuff in short: it is still there. For an update, click here.