Sidùn
Fabrizio De AndréLa versione inglese di Dennis Criteser [2014] | |
SIDÒN yaldì shelì yaldì shelì sfatàyim shmenìm beshèmesh devàsh devàsh gidùl emekhà màtok shapìr sahùt behòm hakayìts hamakhanìk veakshàv kirìsh dam, oznàyim veshnèy khalàv ve’eynèi hekhayyalìm keklavìm nilhavìm 'im haketsèf bapè tsayadèi talìm sheràdfu et haanàshim kmo tsayìd ‘ad shehadàm haperài khibàh et tsimaònhem dam veakhar-kàkh habàrzel bagaròn, sharshèret hakelè ubapetsà’ot, hazerà hara’ìli shel hagarùsh madù’a lo yekholìm yotèr ligdòl mamìshur lamezàh ‘etsìm lo shibolèt lo ben shalòm yaldì, hayerushà mustàra ba’ìr bazò shebo’èr shebo’èr beèrev shenofèl uba’òr hagadòl haroshèf hazè lemavètkha katàn. | SIDON My little boy, mine oh mine, fat lips in the sun, of honey, of honey. Sweet benign tumor of your mother, squeezed from the damp mugginess of summer, of summer, and now blood clotted ears and milk white teeth. And the eyes of the soldiers, rabid dogs with foaming mouths, lamb hunters following people like game for as long as the wild blood has not spent its desire. And after the iron in the throat, the irons of the prison, and in the wounds the spiteful seed of deportation so that from our line, from the plain to the pier, no more can grow tree nor spike nor son. Goodbye my child, my heritage is lost in this city that burns, that burns in the evening that descends, and in this great light from the fire for your little death. |