Trieste, by Umberto Saba

I traversed the entire town.
Then I climbed a steep slope,
crowded at first, deserted further up,
closed by a low wall:
a nook where I sit
alone; and it seems to me that where it ends
the town ends too.
 
Trieste has a surly
grace. If one likes it,
it is like a rascal, harsh and voracious,                                              
with blue eyes and hands too big
to offer a flower;
like a love
with jealousy.
Up from this slope every church, any street
I discover, whether it takes to the huddled beach,
or to the hill where, onto the rocky
top, a house, the last one, clings.
All around
circles all things
a strange air, a tormented air,
the native air.

My town that is in every of its part alive,
has a nook made just for me and my life,
pensive and reserved.

from “Trieste and a woman” (1910-12)
Translation in English by LiteraryJoint,
Copyright © LiteraryJoint by Alessandro Baruffi