Poem
Franco Buffoni
Carmelite Sister
The convent in Via Marcantonio ColonnaDates from 1930. And my aunt
Who had worked in the family business
And who went inside after the war was over
Has been in since 1946.
Since then she’s been outside three times to vote
(Divorce, abortion and 1948)
And twice to go into the hospital.
To vote you need to get a dispensation.
And even for the hospital.
The rule requires a three-year novitiate,
Then with final vows the cloister.
They’re mostly college graduates
The new nuns who are going in these days.
There are maybe twenty sisters altogether,
To be precise there were twenty-four of them
Before the Order put up the new building.
A few have been transfered since then
And now there are seventeen left in Milan
The oldest ones.
I remember the convent from when I was a child.
My aunt would make her appearance in a veil
Behind the grille:
Two bars, as the rule prescribed,
With just a hand’s-breadth separating them.
But even so my arm would almost reach her,
Until I was eleven my little hand would fit through.
That hand in the grille came back to me the first time
I saw a photo of fist-fucking.
The wheel in the visitors’ room enchanted me
The way it tickles Stefano nowadays.
Out of its opening there might issue forth
My present
Or sometimes nothing.
But even then it was fun to make it spin,
For the smell from inside.
The convent in Via Marcantonio Colonna
Is a modern convent
Its walls are not too thick my aunt maintains
There’s no humidity.
It’s under sixty degrees in the wintertime
And nearly ninety almost the whole summer.
In my student days I asked her if she knew
Who Marcantonio Colonna was.
But she preferred to talk about other popes
And sometimes just the doctrines of the Church.
When I was doing my military service
She said she understood. The spelled-out schedules
And that sort of discipline.
The father provincial and the cardinal
Were her superiors to whom she owed
Unswerving obedience.
Now that her face is looking even older
Than Saint Teresa’s in the picture
That hangs in the visitors’ room
I don’t lie now about myself, I sit and listen.
In front of the big crucifix
And his aunt who had explained to him
The Passion and the nails the Romans drove,
Stefano stared for a long time at those limbs
And touched the hands:
“That’s how he stays up.”
When he talks about our aunt he says he’s been
To see a candlelight sister.
© Translation: 2002, Franco Buffoni
From: The Shadow of Mount Rosa
Publisher: Gradiva Publications, New York, 2002
From: The Shadow of Mount Rosa
Publisher: Gradiva Publications, New York, 2002
Suora carmelitana
Suora carmelitana
Il convento di Via Marcantonio ColonnaÈ del trenta. E mia zia
Che aveva lavorato nella ditta
E quando è entrata la guerra era finita
È lì dal quarantasei.
Da allora è uscita tre volte per votare
(Divorzio, aborto e quarantotto)
E due per andare in ospedale.
Per votare ci vuole la dispensa
E anche per l’ospedale.
La regola prevede per tre anni il noviziato,
Poi con i voti la clausura.
Sono quasi tutte laureate
Le nuove suore entrate in questi anni.
Le suore sono in tutto una ventina,
Ventiquattro per la precisione erano prima
Della fondazione di un Carmelo nuovo.
Alcune sono state trasferite
E a Milano ora sono in diciassette
Le più vecchie.
Mi ricordo il convento da bambino
La zia si presentava con il velo
Dietro le grate:
Due, come la regola prescrive,
A un palmo di distanza tra di loro.
Ma il mio braccio ugualmente le giungeva
Vicino, fino a undici anni è passata la manina.
Ho pensato poi alla mano nella grata
Alla prima foto di fist-fucking.
Del parlatorio la ruota mi piaceva da morire
E oggi attira Stefano ugualmente.
Dall’apertura poteva fuoruscire
Il mio regalo
O anche niente.
Ma era bello così farla girare,
Per l’odore dentro.
Il Convento di via Marcantonio Colonna
È un convento moderno
Non ha i muri spessi sostiene mia zia
Non c’è umidità.
Hanno al massimo quattordici gradi d’inverno
E più di trenta quasi tutta estate.
Da studente le chiedevo se sapeva
Chi era Marcantonio Colonna.
Lei preferiva parlare d’altri papi
E qualche volta solo di dottrina.
Quando ero militare mi diceva che capiva.
Gli orari ben scanditi e quella forma
Di disciplina.
Il padre provinciale e il cardinale
Ai superiori si doveva dare
Obbedienza continua.
Ormai che la sua faccia è più vecchia
Di santa Teresa nel quadro
Appeso in parlatorio
Più di me non le mento, sto a sentire.
Di fronte al grande crocifisso
E alla zia che spiegava la passione
I chiodi degli uomini romani,
Stefano ha fissato a lungo quelle forme
Toccandogli gli mani:
“Così sta su”.
Parlando della zia dice che è stato
Da una suora americana.
© 1997, Franco Buffoni
From: Suora carmelitana e altri racconti in versi
Publisher: Guanda,
From: Suora carmelitana e altri racconti in versi
Publisher: Guanda,
Poems
Poems of Franco Buffoni
Close
Carmelite Sister
The convent in Via Marcantonio ColonnaDates from 1930. And my aunt
Who had worked in the family business
And who went inside after the war was over
Has been in since 1946.
Since then she’s been outside three times to vote
(Divorce, abortion and 1948)
And twice to go into the hospital.
To vote you need to get a dispensation.
And even for the hospital.
The rule requires a three-year novitiate,
Then with final vows the cloister.
They’re mostly college graduates
The new nuns who are going in these days.
There are maybe twenty sisters altogether,
To be precise there were twenty-four of them
Before the Order put up the new building.
A few have been transfered since then
And now there are seventeen left in Milan
The oldest ones.
I remember the convent from when I was a child.
My aunt would make her appearance in a veil
Behind the grille:
Two bars, as the rule prescribed,
With just a hand’s-breadth separating them.
But even so my arm would almost reach her,
Until I was eleven my little hand would fit through.
That hand in the grille came back to me the first time
I saw a photo of fist-fucking.
The wheel in the visitors’ room enchanted me
The way it tickles Stefano nowadays.
Out of its opening there might issue forth
My present
Or sometimes nothing.
But even then it was fun to make it spin,
For the smell from inside.
The convent in Via Marcantonio Colonna
Is a modern convent
Its walls are not too thick my aunt maintains
There’s no humidity.
It’s under sixty degrees in the wintertime
And nearly ninety almost the whole summer.
In my student days I asked her if she knew
Who Marcantonio Colonna was.
But she preferred to talk about other popes
And sometimes just the doctrines of the Church.
When I was doing my military service
She said she understood. The spelled-out schedules
And that sort of discipline.
The father provincial and the cardinal
Were her superiors to whom she owed
Unswerving obedience.
Now that her face is looking even older
Than Saint Teresa’s in the picture
That hangs in the visitors’ room
I don’t lie now about myself, I sit and listen.
In front of the big crucifix
And his aunt who had explained to him
The Passion and the nails the Romans drove,
Stefano stared for a long time at those limbs
And touched the hands:
“That’s how he stays up.”
When he talks about our aunt he says he’s been
To see a candlelight sister.
© 2002, Franco Buffoni
From: The Shadow of Mount Rosa
Publisher: 2002, Gradiva Publications, New York
From: The Shadow of Mount Rosa
Publisher: 2002, Gradiva Publications, New York
Carmelite Sister
The convent in Via Marcantonio ColonnaDates from 1930. And my aunt
Who had worked in the family business
And who went inside after the war was over
Has been in since 1946.
Since then she’s been outside three times to vote
(Divorce, abortion and 1948)
And twice to go into the hospital.
To vote you need to get a dispensation.
And even for the hospital.
The rule requires a three-year novitiate,
Then with final vows the cloister.
They’re mostly college graduates
The new nuns who are going in these days.
There are maybe twenty sisters altogether,
To be precise there were twenty-four of them
Before the Order put up the new building.
A few have been transfered since then
And now there are seventeen left in Milan
The oldest ones.
I remember the convent from when I was a child.
My aunt would make her appearance in a veil
Behind the grille:
Two bars, as the rule prescribed,
With just a hand’s-breadth separating them.
But even so my arm would almost reach her,
Until I was eleven my little hand would fit through.
That hand in the grille came back to me the first time
I saw a photo of fist-fucking.
The wheel in the visitors’ room enchanted me
The way it tickles Stefano nowadays.
Out of its opening there might issue forth
My present
Or sometimes nothing.
But even then it was fun to make it spin,
For the smell from inside.
The convent in Via Marcantonio Colonna
Is a modern convent
Its walls are not too thick my aunt maintains
There’s no humidity.
It’s under sixty degrees in the wintertime
And nearly ninety almost the whole summer.
In my student days I asked her if she knew
Who Marcantonio Colonna was.
But she preferred to talk about other popes
And sometimes just the doctrines of the Church.
When I was doing my military service
She said she understood. The spelled-out schedules
And that sort of discipline.
The father provincial and the cardinal
Were her superiors to whom she owed
Unswerving obedience.
Now that her face is looking even older
Than Saint Teresa’s in the picture
That hangs in the visitors’ room
I don’t lie now about myself, I sit and listen.
In front of the big crucifix
And his aunt who had explained to him
The Passion and the nails the Romans drove,
Stefano stared for a long time at those limbs
And touched the hands:
“That’s how he stays up.”
When he talks about our aunt he says he’s been
To see a candlelight sister.
© 2002, Franco Buffoni
From: The Shadow of Mount Rosa
Publisher: 2002, Gradiva Publications, New York
From: The Shadow of Mount Rosa
Publisher: 2002, Gradiva Publications, New York
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