Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CALOGERO, by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CALOGERO, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Buon riposo, signorino
Last Line: Dolce, bel calogero.
Subject(s): Gifts & Giving; Italy; Strangers; Italians


"BUON riposo, signorino,"
Half he turned his face to go,
Half I held him lingeringly,
"Ma dove va Calogero?"
He looked at his feet, he looked at the moon,
And he answered gallantly,
"Nell' albergo della luna
There is always room for me.

"Ma non sgomentarvi, signor,"
Quickly he stroked my arm;
"All my life is da fuori, --
There was never any harm.
Il Domineddio, la,"
He nodded up to the deep,
"Since I was born has made my bed
Where all at last must sleep.

"Cosi va bene. All the dead
Lie out beneath the sky;
'Tis best to be acquainted, sure,
Where one so long must lie;
And when 'tis still, some nights it seems
That it all belongs to me
From the silver tips of the olive-tops
To the silver edge of the sea.

"Joking? oh, no, signore,
I was only thinking in fun,
Modo Siciliano, --
Always a little sun.
E molto curioso
How many thoughts there are, --
Sempre di lei, all the nights,
Lontano, like a star."

Siciliano vero, --
Sunshine, and night beneath!
Bravo ragazzo mio,
Who laughed with chattering teeth!
"Gia siamo insieme,"
And close within my coat,
As I drew its folds about him,
I felt his throbbing throat.

"Si, signor, I'm not happy
Unless about me be
Great spaces, large enough to hold
The mountains and the sea.
Nell' albergo della luna,
Signor, there is room for two;
Mio caro signorino,
There would be room for you.

"What is there in a grand hotel
With none to know or love you?
'Tis better to have friends, signor,
With only heaven above you.
Nell' albergo della luna
There'll be none to say you nay,
And all will there embrace you,
And make you holiday.

"I cannot go with you, signor,
In that great world to be
That man has made like a house of gold, --
It was not made for me.
Caro signore, be my guest,
For you with me can come,
And in the world that God has made
We both will be at home.

"'Tis great, signore mio,
When the summer nights begin,
To take the blanket of the stars
And feel Him wrap you in."
He deftly showed a gleam of steel
In the streaming street-lamp yellow;
"My heart is yours, my life," -- he bowed,
"Ed anche il coltello."

And I beneath whose feet the weight
Of all this world rang hollow,
Who felt his warm arms round me fold,
Was half disposed to follow.
Still on my shelf the fan is
That he gave me years ago.
Che addios! che fiori!
Dolce, bel Calogero.





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