Some wonder, I'm sure, why I sometimes write in Friulian. In doing so I mean no disrespect, really. It's just my way of attempting to prop up a language (western Friulian) that risks extinction. It's kind of Quixotic, I know, but worth at least a try.
Anyway, here is a short Friulian poem by Pier Paolo Pasolini (with my English translation) in which the poet, with a few simple strokes, evokes commonly felt, and timeless, sensations of (Friulian) country living.
I make reference to this poem in my reading of Pasolini's “Il Quaranta Sinc”, below.
È questa la piccola poesia alla quale mi riferisco, qui sotto, nella mia lettura de “Il Quaranta Sinc” del Pasolini.
Timp furlan! Na scussa umida
di sanbùc, na stela
nassuda nenfra il fun
dai fogolàrs, na sera
pluvisina - un pulvìn di fen.
tai ciavièj o in tal sen
di un frut ch’al ven
sudàt da la ciampagna
ta la sera rovana.
(Friulian time! A damp bit
of elder bark, a star
issuing from the smoke
of the hearths, a gentle
evening shower—fine hay dust
on the hair or on the chest
of a young boy who comes home
sweating from the fields
in the heat of the night. )
Per la mia lettura de “Il Quaranta Sinc” di Pasolini si vada a:
https://youtu.be/6YQM8FTI7Ro
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