Translations Compared: Same Poem (‘Stalker’) Translated into French and Italian by Gian Franco Spotti

‘Stalker’ by XANADU

Tradotto in Italiano

Mai ho parlato con quest’uomo.
Odierei condividere il suo letto.
Se gli sguardi potessero uccidere—e talvolta lo fanno—
Costui mi avrebbe già uccisa.

Il suo sguardo spaventoso, il suo odioso cipiglio,
Mi segue ovunque.
Lui rappresenta tutto ciò che è immondo
E mi porta alla disperazione.

Vorrei sapere cosa ho fatto
Per meritarmi quest’orribile odio.
Il problema è che sto fuggendo—
Lui mi ha chiesto un appuntamento.

—     §     —

‘Stalker’ translated into French 


Cet homme jamais je l’avais rencontré.
Son lit je hairais le partager.
Si les regards pouvaient tuer–et quelque fois ça peut arriver–
Célui-ci il m’aurait déjà tuée.

Son regard épouventable, son renfregnement haissable,
Me suit partout.
Tout ce qui est immonde lui il le représente
Et m’amène au désespoir.

J’aimerais savoir qu’est-ce que j’ai fait
Et  cette haine horrible avoir mérité.
Le problème, c’est qu’enfuir je m’en vais–
Un rendez-vous lui il m’a demandé.

27 thoughts to “Translations Compared: Same Poem (‘Stalker’) Translated into French and Italian by Gian Franco Spotti”

    1. I sometimes wish someone would translate LD’s verse into French, using rhyme and meter, in the same way that LD has used rhyme and metre to translate Baudelaire’s poems.

      French is a language I understand better than Italian and it’s the type of Romance language (with many beautiful-sounding words in it) that would suit a poet like LD who attaches such great importance to musical sound effects.

      See this old article by LD that explains the supreme importance of sound effects. It was written — good heavens! — ten years ago! Who would have thought so much time has gone by…..?

      1. Hi Saki,
        french is my second language. I will translate this poem in french for you.
        Hope you’ll appreciate.
        Gian Franco

        1. WOW! Thanks Gian, this is too good to be true! I adore French. And I know LD understands French like a second language, so this will be a big bonus for her too!

          How are things in Italy by the way? Is there a Revolution coming? Any chance of a new Mussolini? 🙂

            1. @ Admin

              Thanks, Admin. Just read it. Great translation!
              I Like the Italian too, but find the French one easier to understand.

          1. Hi Saki
            in Italy things are not going well. Government and health authorities are using all means, including blackmail, to convince more people to get jabs. We are living among stupid limits, green pass, PCR tests etc. Students and teachers cannot enter classrooms in September if they’re not vaccinated. If you want to go to a restaurant or a bar you must show your green pass or a PCR test (only if you sit down inside), but if you stay outside in the open air or if you stand up in front of the bar desk you do not need any of them. Now it is summertime and hot so no problem to stay or to book a place outside but what will happen in autumn or winter or during rainy days? We are living in a distopy and people are becoming crazy. I never imagined we could experience such a madness.
            Revolution is not coming, unfortunately and there is no new Mussolini yet.
            People are afraid because we are all living in welfare and each wants to protect his own small garden but it’s a useless illusion. Even our small garden does not belong to us anymore. I hope something will happen but question is: what and when?

            1. (OFF-TOPIC)


              I am so sorry to hear this. I adore Italy and the Italian people and don’t like to see them treated in this shocking way. I know it’s no consolation to tell you that things are even worse in Australia and New Zealand.

              The Brits are not happy either as each day brings new scandals and the government is completely useless.

              As for America, I don’t think most Americans are happy bunnies right now. Joe Biden is almost universally detested.

              In England even children are hanging themselves. God only knows where it will all end.

              I know some Americans are hoping Trump will be back with a magic wand in America soon. Do you see Trump as America’s new Mussolini? 🙂 I don’t think so! I see Ivanka Trump in the White House one of these days, with Jared Kushner pulling the puppet strings for her. The world has turned upside down and personally I don’t have any answers.

              If you know where I can buy some good hempen rope, let me know! 🙂

  1. Saki has The Correct View. French suits Lasha’s temperament better than Italian. The French are better at existentialist angst than Italians are. The French feel existentialist angst deeper than Italians do, to speak in general. Lasha is always suffering profound ennui and all kinds of existentialist horrors. So we should have French translations in addition to the Italian translations. We also need Norwegian translations — to keep our Viking Goddess Warrior Woman Madame Butterfly happy! Odin forbid Viking Goddess is not happy, that would be awful and Spare us Oh Lord from the wrath of the Viking Goddess! So we should have French and Norwegian translations in addition to the Italian translations. Thank you, TROJ!

    ADMIN: Your irony has been noted. Good try!
    I doubt if anyone here wants to read this poem in Norwegian!

  2. I love the Italian language, having studied philosophy in Rome for 4 years, in Italian. Has anyone else heard the Italian translation of St Augustine’s defense for having prostitutes in society? The original Latin is “Aufer meretrices ab rebus humanis et turbaveris omnia libidinibus,” but the Italian translation just wants to explode in a great rhetorical crescendo as one reads it: “Togliete le meretrici dall consortio umano e avrete TURBATO TUTTO LO SCATENAMENTO DELLE PASSIONI!!” 😉 He means, of course, that without prostitutes there would be much more sodomy, a much greater evil, as well as adultery, which often leads to murder.

    1. How did I forget? Without prostitutes there would also of course be much more rape.
      What it comes down to is that some moral evils are better to be tolerated (not approved) in order to prevent even greater evils.


      While I’m at it, and we’re dealing with beautiful Italian verse, here are two beautiful and profound lines from Dante’s Divine Comedy:

      E ’n la sua volontade è nostra pace: 
      ell’è quel mare al qual tutto si move              
      ciò ch’ella cria o che natura face. (Par. 3.85-87)

      And in His will there is our peace: that sea              
      to which all beings move—the beings He              
      creates or nature makes—such is His will.

      85 Ma se a te piace, volontier saprei 
      86 quanto avemo ad andar; ché ’l poggio sale 
      87 più che salir non posson li occhi miei». 
      88 Ed elli a me: «Questa montagna è tale,
      89 che sempre al cominciar di sotto è grave;
      90 e quant’ om più va sù, e men fa male.
      91 Però, quand’ ella ti parrà soave
      92 tanto, che sù andar ti fia leggero
      93 com’ a seconda giù andar per nave,
      94 allor sarai al fin d’esto sentiero;
      95 quivi di riposar l’affanno aspetta.
      (Purgatorio, 4. 85-95)

      But, if it pleaseth thee, I fain would learn How far we have to go ; for the hill rises Higher than eyes of mine have power to rise. And he to me : “This mount is such, that ever At the beginning down below ’tis tiresome, And aye the more one climbs, the less it hurts. Therefore, when it shall seem so pleasant to thee, That going up shall be to thee as easy As going down the current in a boat, Then at this pathway’s ending thou wilt be ; There to repose thy panting breath expect. (Purgatorio, 4. 85-95)

  3. Darrell,

    The poems you composed back in 2013 were very good poems. Why don’t you cultivate, work to increase and to enhance, your own talent at composing poetry, work to hone your talent for poetry — instead of adapting poems of other poets and presenting us with poems from other poets. We know Dante was a very talented poet. We also know you can be a very good poet — when you want to be. Work on your own poetry instead of spending your time and energy focusing on other poets. We know you have the talent for poetry, Use your talent! USE IT OR LOSE IT!!!! It’s some kind of Cosmic Law.

    1. OK, I might give it a try, even though the dire situation in the world makes me think writing poems may be much less important than it used to be when our agents of Satan Overlords were creating less chaos and destruction than they are now, and getting worse all the time.

      But since you asked, here’s a limerick I just thought up. (Note: a sedevacantist is a Catholic who believes the Chair of St Peter is vacant, usually believing that Pius XII’s successors have been antipopes for either theological reasons, as mostly emphasizes, or for historical reasons, which emphasizes, although they do overlap. This is one of my chief interests these days, along with the Message of Fatima, including the “Third Secret of Fatima” which foretold all this.)

      There once was a sedevacantist
      Who was scorned by a proud occupantist;
      But he said, “It’s my mission
      To uphold Church Tradition —
      But what you think is spiritually jaundiced!”

      1. Sorry, not a good ending. It should be

        There once was a sedevacantist
        Who was scorned by a proud occupantist;
        But he said, “It’s my mission
        To uphold Church Tradition —
        As for you, you’re just spiritually jaundiced!”

        How’s that, TROJ?

    2. I should have made this one my first reply, since it’s appropriately called “The Gift of the Muse,” a poem I started writing years ago and just now revisited and polished up a bit. I think it would be called an unorthodox rhyme scheme. I value much more highly orthodoxy in faith, of course, as Lasha and some others here know.

      The Gift of the Muse

      For years I tried to be a poet — I tried
      With all my might and with much toil applied
      Such methods that th’ oracles did confide.
      I labored long until I knew they lied:
      And saw my years of effort were in vain.

      Then what I did, I’ll tell — but please abide
      In confidence, and vow that you will hide
      Within your heart the words I finally cried:
      And what the Lord of Muses then replied
      (For soon would fall on me a heav’nly rain).

      “O Lord,” I cried, “since You for sinners died,
      Do show Your love for me and do not hide
      Your inspirations, which You do confide
      To poets in whose hearts You will reside!” —
      Tears fell in torrents, and I groaned inside:
      Desperate I was — but still I was quite sane.

      Then to my heartfelt prayer the Lord replied
      In fearful words which were a thund’rous chide —
      “O blind and pride-filled worm, you have denied
      Me all your life, and in your heart have lied
      To God and man — you always take the wide
      And easy road on which all sinners ride —
      Repent — or wrath, not gifts, shall be applied!”
      Each word was like a gunshot in my brain!

      From head to toe I felt me petrified —
      Then all went blank: it seemed that I had died,
      And then returned to life — to now confide
      To all that we must needs be on God’s side:
      Not only that we may in Truth abide
      (For falsehood is to minds their blight and bane) —

      And save our souls at life’s dark eventide —
      But, yes — to soar up to the rarified
      Poetic stratosphere, exemplified
      In th’ Great Ones, who most nobly versified —
      If not, we can’t receive the Muse inside:
      The gift to those who’ve conquered their own pride —
      And reached great heights through penance, tears, and pain.

      1. On second thought, the next to last line should really be
        “The gift to those who’ve conquered lust and pride –”
        since lust also darkens the mind to the truth — not to mathematical and empirical truth, of course, but to wisdom, understanding, true philosophy, religious truth, clear perception of the objective moral order.

        Even the Marxist/sexologist/sexual pervert Wilhelm Reich discovered that fact. He discovered that trying to convince others of atheistic Marxism by the strongest arguments possible had much less success than by preaching sexual liberation. He discovered that getting people to become sexually active, beginning with masturbation (his primary targets were children, youth, and the clergy), made the idea of God “evaporate from their minds.” See E Michael Jones, “Wilhelm Reich and the Wanking Women” (online) which is a chapter in his monumental Libido Dominandi: Sexual Liberation and Political Control, at

        “Lust’s firstborn offspring is blindness of spirit.” (St Thomas Aquinas)

      2. Forgive me, but I just thought a much better ending:

        The gift to those who’ve buried their own pride —
        And reached great heights through penance, tears, and pain.

        And who knows, maybe a few more readers will read the poem and I might even get my first positive comment 😉 Not that it’s very important to me, but it does feel good. About 8 or so years ago Lasha even called me “an accomplished poet,” and I’ll tell you, that felt really good, although I didn’t feel worthy of such a description.

  4. I offer as a preface this account, in my own words, of interactions off-line with “Admin” and others over the past year or so. I was invited some time ago to post my “poetic prose” or, alternatively, my “prosaic poetry” (personal and, I think, humble descriptors) when a Darkmoon “poetry post” opened up an appropriate “space” for same. I have done so in the past. Here I take advantage of such a space, with no intent to offend anyone or to diminish the importance of (or distract from) both the beauty of these translations and, by extension, a meta-appreciation of the miraculous mirroring possible in different languages.

    For the following poem, stripped of its inspiring image here, please picture a country road, perhaps a broad public path through a national forest, one that would accommodate the SUVs of “rangers”. The Sun shines through the canopy of trees arching above an empty, though well maintained roadway. You gaze where you think to see a “vanishing point”.

    Dedicated to Sardonicus.

    A Poet’s Prosaic Pittance
    [for a picture that begged embellishment….]

    Your roadway appears straight,
    increasingly narrow,
    One side’s sidewalk ending
    as going gets harrow.
    Both left and right then
    threaten weary travelers,
    Some savvy dialectically,
    of mysteries unravelers.

    The Light!

    Reflected, refracted, sun-blocked,
    filtered, steered and directed,
    The Light illumines The Way
    past scenes self-projected
    Beyond milestones passed and
    nearly forgotten,
    All Creation left behind,
    righteous and misbegotten.

    Alan Charles Donelson, 21 August 2021

    1. @ Alan Donelson

      I need to aologize to you. I note in passing that Admin has deleted my two previous comments after letting them stand there for a couple of hours, perhaps unread, and I have no objections to the deletion of my comments if Admin thinks they are unacceptable. Which they often are. I can see that the poem you have written and quoted above is sincere and comes from the heart. It is certainly not “pretentious”. So my sincerest apologies for my bad judgement.

      1. If it’s any consolation to you, Alan, my own verse has received a similar panning from others who don’t like what I say or the way I say it.

        For example, I have been thoroughly abused on the Darkmoon site for writing a poem called “The Girl on the Train”. Comment No. 1 came from a “Poetry Editor” who called me an “obvious nutcase with psychopathic tendencies.” She starts by saying the poem was “really good” but ends up by saying, “I wouldn’t like to be a girl sitting opposite this creep on a train.”

        (Even Lasha calls me a “weirdo” in her introduction and makes a similar remark about not wanting to be a stranger sitting opposite me in a train).

        Whew! Give thanks, Alan, that no one has called you a “psychopath” on this site. Not so far, anyway. 🙂

        Moi, I gave up writing poetry after that cruel comment. Because I’m a sensitive guy who needs a kind word now and then. Who doesn’t?

        THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN, by Sardonicus

        1. Pat didn’t like my poem and called it a “wishful fantasy”. As for Madame Butterfly, her comment was so sickeningly cruel that I actually contemplated committing hara-kiri, but the Abbot of the Zen monastery I was staying at as a paying guest persuaded me not to do it. He refused to lend me a knife or clear up after me. The son-of-a-gun actually found my suicide bid amusing and burst out laughing. That put me off Zen Buddhism for several weeks and made me think I was better off sticking to Christianity.

          Anyway, this is what that Madame Butterfly said about my poem, and I can well understand now why this woman is feared and hated on this site:

          “The poem by Sardonicus is obviously the product of a sick mind. I don’t like it. It gives me bad vibes. Sardonicus obviously needs locking up in a secure institution. And the key needs throwing away.”

          Ouch, that hurt! 🙂

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