MakingOne

Here is my translation of Francesco Guccini's <>. After the translation, you can find the original lyrics, a literal tranlation, and my poetic translation repeated. You can find the song and translations on lyricstranslate

Night Song #2

translated by Jonathan Gunnell Cannon

Once again it's night and I'm playing,
I'm not sure even I could tell you why, Could be 'cause I'm alive,
And this is how I say it to the world,
Or maybe it's a game inside my head To keep from going to bed,
Or maybe, look, the wine, there's still a drop,
So I fill up my cup...

Echoes of friendly laughter quickly fade,
Remains of childish boasts and inside jokes, and raucous, smiling toasts
In which each one of us covers our pain,
In which we're all together, not like now, alone with my guitar,
To wonder what I'm lacking, why I long?
To ask where I went wrong?

It's still a quiet pleasure of an evening
To walk along and stop in for a glass, A taste of wine and sadness,
A song or two that always leave you laughing
A thin veneer of humor on my word that's longing to be heard,
The truth of silent sadness, useless chores,
The doubts I can't ignore...

But moralists have made your county dry
And moralizing truths have dried your hearts, extinguishing your fire:
You're happy just to live a “normal” life,
It's always easiest to fall asleep with all the snow white sheep!
Excuse me if I fail to join the flock:
I'll die with wool that's black!

Of course I'm saying things you heard before,
And singing in a verse a little stale, It's how I tell my tale,
And none of you would ever be so blunt.
But if independent thought is not your habit, I wouldn't recommend it.
It's always good to be a bit reserved
When others judge your words...

But as I sing you have all the power,
You call upon your born supremacy, your rights, and your police,
Your God, your 10 commandments, and your duty.
I can't make sense of how you are so many, some here in front of me,
Ignoring that annoying little moth
That some might call a thought.

But never worry your pretty little heads,
My kind of people are well known to fail, in hospital or jail!
The anarchists should know they will be beaten,
Progressive dreams are taken by the collar by the church or by the dollar:
A laugh and smile won't help you quite evade
The uniformed parade...

Or maybe that's not really the problem
And each one lives inside his egoism Dressed up with words of wisdom
And each one just constructs his perfect system
Made up of soap box speeches and pet peeves, our lonely galaxies,
Forgetting that the end of all our births
Is two meters of earth...

Now one more time it's night and I'm playing,
I'm not sure even I could tell you why, could be 'cause I'm alive,
Or maybe so I feel less alone,
Or maybe 'cause the night is filled with ghosts
And useless dreaming hopes
That feed familiar sleeplessness this song,
And now the wine is gone...

Canzone de notte no. 2

E un'altra volta e' notte e suono
And another time it's night and I'm playing
Once again it's night and I'm playing,
Non so nemmeno io per che motivo, forse perche son vivo
Not even I know why, could be 'cause I'm alive
I'm not sure even I could tell you why, Could be 'cause I'm alive,
e voglio in questo modo dire sono
And I want in this way to say that I am
And this is how I say it to the world,
o forse perché è un modo pure questo per non andare a letto
Or maybe because even this is a way to avoid going to bed
Or maybe it's a game inside my head To keep from going to bed,
o forse perché ancora c’è da bere
Or maybe because there's still something to drink
Or maybe, look, the wine, there's still a drop,
e mi riempio il bichiere...
And I refill my cup...
So I fill up my cup...

E l’eco si è smorzato appena
And the echo is just muted
Echoes of friendly laughter gently fade,
delle risate fatte con gli amici, dei brindisi felici
Of the laughs made with friends, of happy toasts
Remains of childish boasts and inside jokes, and raucous, smiling toasts
in cui ciascuno chiude la sua pena,
In which each one closes his pain,
In which each one of us covers our pain,
in cui ciascuno non è come adesso da solo con sé stesso
In which each one is not like now, alone with themselves
In which we're all together, not like now, alone with my guitar,
a dir «Dove ho mancato, dov’è stato?»,
to say “Where did I miss, where was it?”
To wonder what I'm lacking, why I long?
a dir «Dove ho sbagliato?»
To say “Where did I go wrong?”
To ask where I went wrong?

Eppure fa piacere a sera
And still it's pleasing in the evening
It's still a quiet pleasure of an evening
andarsene per strade ed osterie, vino e malinconie,
to stoll the streets and pubs, wine and melancholy,
To walk along and stop in for a glass, A taste of wine and sadness,
e due canzoni fatte alla leggera
and two songs made casually
A song or two that always leave you laughing
in cui gridando celi il desiderio che sian presi sul serio
in which yelling hides the desire that they are taken seriously
A thin veneer of humor on my word that's longing to be heard,
il fatto che sei triste o che t’annoi
the fact that you are sad or you are bored
**The truth of silent sadness, useless chores, **
e tutti i dubbi tuoi…
and all of your doubts...
The doubts I can't ignore...

Ma i moralisti han chiuso i bar
But the moralists have closed the bars
But you moralists have made your county dry
e le morali han chiuso i vostri cuori e spento i vostri ardori:
and the morals have closed your hearts and extinguished your ardor:
And moralizing truths have dried your hearts, extinguishing your fire:
è bello ritornar «normalità»,
it's nice to go back to “normal”
You're happy just to live a “normal” life,
è facile tornare con le tante stanche pecore bianche!
it's easy going back with the many, tired white sheep!
It's always easiest to fall asleep with all the snow white sheep!
Scusate, non mi lego a questa schiera:
Excuse me if I don't tie myself to this flock:
Excuse me if I fail to join the flock:
morrò pecora nera!
I'll die a black sheep!
I'll die with wool that's black!

Saranno cose già sentite
These will be things already heard
Of course I'm saying things you heard before,
o scritte sopra un metro un po’ stantìo, ma intanto questo è mio
or written in a worn out meter, but in the end it's mine
And singing in a verse a little stale, It's how I tell my tale,
e poi, voi queste cose non le dite,
and then, you all never say these things,
And none of you would ever be so blunt,
poi certo per chi non è abituato pensare è sconsigliato,
then certainly for who is not habituated to thought it is discouraged
But if independent thought is not your habit, I wouldn't recommend it.
poi è bene essere un poco diffidente
then it is always good to be a bit diffident
It's always good to be a bit reserved
per chi è un po’ differente…
for one who is a bit different...
When others judge your words...

Ma adesso avete voi il potere,
But now you have the power,
Yet as I sing you have all the power,
adesso avete voi supremazia, diritto e Polizia,
now you have supremacy, rights, and Police,
You call upon your born supremacy, your rights, and your police,
gli dei, i comandamenti ed il dovere,
the Gods, the commandments, and duty,
Your God, your 10 commandments, and your duty.
purtroppo, non so come, siete in tanti e molti qui davanti
unfortunately, I don't know how, there are so many of you, and many right in front of me
I can't make sense of how you are so many, some here in front of me,
ignorano quel tarlo mai sincero
who ignore that never truthful worm
Ignoring that annoying little moth
che chiamano «Pensiero»…
that people call “Thought”...
That some might call a thought...

Però non siate preoccupati,
However don't you worry
But never worry your pretty little heads,
noi siamo gente che finisce male: galera od ospedale!
we are people that end badly: jail or hospital!
My kind of people are well known to fail, in hospital or jail!
Gli anarchici li han sempre bastonati
Anarchists are always beaten
The anarchists should know they will be beaten,
e il libertario è sempre controllato dal clero, dallo Stato:
and the freedom fighter is always controlled by the clergy or the State:
Progressive dreams are taken by the collar by the church or by the dollar:
non scampa, fra chi veste da parata,
there's no escape, among the people dressed for a parade
A laugh and smile won't help you quite evade
chi veste una risata…
for the person dressed with a laugh...
The uniformed parade...

O forse non è qui il problema
Or maybe this isn't the problem
Or maybe that's not really the problem
e ognuno vive dentro ai suoi egoismi vestiti di sofismi
and everyone lives inside his own selfish desires dressed up with sophistry
And each one lives inside his egoism Dressed up with words of wisdom
e ognuno costruisce il suo sistema
and each one constructs his own system
And each one just constructs his perfect system
di piccoli rancori irrazionali, di cosmi personali,
of little, irrational angers, of personal cosmoses
Made up of soap box speeches and pet peeves, our lonely galaxies,
scordando che poi infine tutti avremo
forgetting that in the end we all will have
Forgetting that the end of all our births
due metri di terreno…
two meters of earth...
Is two meters of earth...

E un’altra volta è notte e suono,
And one more time it's night and I'm playing
Now one more time it's night and I'm playing,
non so nemmeno io per che motivo, forse perché son vivo
Not even I know why, maybe because I'm alive
I'm not sure even I could tell you why, could be 'cause I'm alive,
o forse per sentirmi meno solo
or maybe to feel less alone
Or maybe so I feel less alone,
o forse perché a notte vivon strani fantasmi e sogni vani
or maybe because at night live strange ghosts and vain dreams
Or maybe 'cause the night is filled with ghosts And useless dreaming hopes
che danno quell’ipocondria ben nota,
that give that well know hypochondria
That feed familiar sleeplessness this song,
poi… la bottiglia è vuota…
then... the bottle is empty...
And now the wine is gone...