| GIUSEPPE PARINI: An Italian Poet of the Eighteenth Century |
Giuseppe Parini was born in Bosisio (now Bosisio Parini, a small town between Como and Lecco, north of Milan, Italy), on May 23, 1729, and died in Milan on August 15, 1799. We are celebrating the bi-centennial of his death with a series of events that are planned in his home town as well as in Milan and other sites.
His fame is mainly due to a poem, Il Giorno (literally, The Day), made of four parts (Il Mattino, The Morning; Il Meriggio, The Noon; Il Vespro, The Evening; La Notte, The Night), sarcastically describing the emptiness of the life of a Giovin Signore (a young nobleman, master). Parini knew what he was writing about, as he had been tutor in the house of the dukes Serbelloni for eight years since he had attained priesthood in 1754. Let's not forget that that was the second half of the Eighteeenth Century, not the second half of the Twentieth, and that Giuseppe Parini was an abbot who kept good friends among the noble families of Milan and Venice. He was not a revolutionary--he rather was a man whose intelligence and wit could neither be refuted nor be ignored. If we bear that in mind, we can't help admiring his works and placing him among the greatest poets of the Eighteenth Century.
The other pages (all in Italian) on this site are:
If you are interested in the Giuseppe Parini bi-centennial events but have little command of the Italian language, you are welcome to ask for help on specific questions by sending a message by e-mail to the webmaster. You may also contact the Bosisio Parini township at the e-mail address [email protected]
This is the beginning of his most famous work, The Morning:
| Sorge il mattino in compagnia dell'alba Dinanzi al sol che di poi grande appare Su l'estremo orizzonte a render lieti Gli animali e le piante e i campi e l'onde. Allora il buon villan sorge dal caro Letto cui la fedel moglie e i minori Suoi figlioletti intiepidir la notte: Poi sul dorso portando i sacri arnesi Che prima ritrov� Cerere o Pale Move seguendo i lenti bovi, e scote Lungo il picciol sentier da i curvi rami Fresca rugiada che di gemme al paro La nascente del sol luce rifrange. Allora sorge il fabbro, e la sonante Officina riapre, e all'opre torna L'altro di non perfette; o se di chiave Ardua e ferrati ingegni all'inquieto Ricco l'arche assecura; o se d'argento E d'oro incider vuol gioielli e vasi Per ornamento a nova sposa o a mense. |
The new day arises escorted by dawn Before the sun that will shortly enlarge Above the far horizon to bless Animals and trees and fields and waters. The honest peasant rises then from his bed That had been warmed all the night along By his faithful wife and his youngest children: He then shoulders the sacred tools That men received from Ceres or Pales And sets forth behind the languid oxen On the narrow path, as drops of dew Fall from the twisted branches Sparkling like jewels in the rising sun. This is the time when the blacksmith rises And the resounding smithy opens again to take up What was unfinished the day before; may it be An elaborated lock and key the rich man's to secure; or may it be
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UNDER CONSTRUCTION
Last updated on 05/10/00.