RISCRITTURE LUCA 2
PRESENTAZIONE AL TEMPIO
LUCA cap. 2
trad. CEI 2008
|
JOSIF
BRODSKIJ – Nunc dimittis |
JOSIF
BRODSKIJ – Nunc dimittis- trad. inglese |
T.S.ELIOT - A Song for Simeon |
E. MONTALE CANTO DI SIMEONE da T. S.
Eliot |
22Quando furono compiuti i giorni della loro purificazione rituale,
secondo la legge di Mosè, portarono il bambino a Gerusalemme per presentarlo
al Signore – 23come è scritto nella legge del Signore: Ogni
maschio primogenito sarà sacro al Signore – 24e per offrire in
sacrificio una coppia di tortore o due giovani colombi, come prescrive la
legge del Signore. |
Quando
la prima volta portò il Bambino al tempio |
When Mary first came to present
the Christ Child to God in His temple, she
found—of those few who fasted and prayed there,
departing not from it— devout Simeon and the
prophetess Anna. The holy man took the Babe up
in his arms. The three of them, lost in the
grayness of dawn, now stood like a small shifting
frame that surrounded the Child in the palpable dark
of the temple. The temple enclosed them in
forests of stone. Its lofty vaults stooped as
though trying to cloak the prophetess Anna, and
Simeon, and Mary— to hide them from men and to
hide them from Heaven. And only a chance ray of light
struck the hair of that sleeping Infant, who
stirred but as yet was conscious of nothing and
blew drowsy bubbles; old Simeon's arms held him like
a stout cradle. It had been revealed to this
upright old man that he would not die until his
eyes had seen the Son of the Lord. And it thus
came to pass. And he said: ‘Now, O Lord, lettest
thou thy poor servant, according to thy holy word,
leave in peace, for mine eyes have witnessed
thine offspring: he is thy continuation and also the
source of thy Light for idolatrous
tribes, and the glory of Israel as well.' The old
Simeon paused. The silence, regaining the
temple's clear space oozed from all its corners and
almost engulfed them, and only his echoing words
grazed the rafters, to spin for a moment, with
faint rustling sounds, high over their heads in the
tall temple's vaults, akin to a bird that can soar,
yet that cannot return to the earth, even if it
should want to. A strangeness engulfed them.
The silence now seemed as strange as the words of old
Simeon's speech. And Mary, confused and
bewildered, said nothing— so strange had his words been.
He added, while turning directly to Mary: ‘Behold, in
this Child, now close to thy breast, is
concealed the great fall of many, the great elevation of
others, a subject of strife and a source
of dissension, and that very steel which will
torture his flesh shall pierce through thine own
soul as well. And that wound will show to thee, Mary, as in
a new vision what lies hidden, deep in the
hearts of all people.’ He ended and moved toward the temple's
great door. Old Anna, bent down with the
weight of her years, and Mary, now stooping gazed
after him, silent. He moved and grew smaller, in
size and in meaning, to these two frail women who
stood in the gloom. As though driven on by the
force of their looks, he strode through the cold
empty space of the temple and moved toward the whitening
blur of the doorway. The stride of his old legs was
steady and firm. When Anna's voice sounded
behind him, he slowed his step for a moment. But she
was not calling to him; she had started to
bless God and praise Him. The door came still closer. The
wind stirred his robe and fanned at his forehead; the
roar of the street, exploding in life by the door
of the temple, beat stubbornly into old
Simeon's hearing. He went forth to die. It was
not the loud din of streets that he faced when
he flung the door wide, but rather the deaf-and-dumb
fields of death's kingdom. He strode through a space that
was no longer solid. The rustle of time ebbed away
in his ears. And Simeon's soul held the form
of the Child— its feathery crown now
enveloped in glory— aloft, like a torch, pressing
back the black shadows, to
light up the path that leads into death's realm, where never before until this
present hour had any man managed to lighten
his pathway. The old man's torch glowed and
the pathway grew wider. |
Lord,
the Roman hyacinths are blooming in bowls and The winter sun creeps by the snow hills; The stubborn season has made stand. My life is light, waiting for the death wind, Like a feather on the back of my hand. Dust in sunlight and memory in corners Wait for the wind that chills towards the
dead land. Grant us thy peace. I have walked many years in this city, Kept faith and fast, provided for the poor, Have taken and given honour and ease. There went never any rejected from my door. Who shall remember my house, where shall live
my children’s children When the time of sorrow is come ? They will take to the goat’s path, and the
fox’s home, Fleeing from the foreign faces and the foreign
swords. Before the time of cords and scourges and
lamentation Grant us thy peace. Before the stations of the mountain of
desolation, Before the certain hour of maternal sorrow, Now at this birth season of decease, Let the Infant, the still unspeaking and
unspoken Word, Grant Israel’s consolation To one who has eighty years and no to-morrow. According to thy word, They shall praise Thee and suffer in every
generation With glory and derision, Light upon light, mounting the saints’ stair. Not for me the martyrdom, the ecstasy of
thought and prayer, Not for me the ultimate vision. Grant me thy peace. (And a sword shall pierce thy heart, Thine also). I am tired with my own life and the lives of
those after me, I am dying in my own death and the deaths of those
after me. Let thy servant depart, Having seen thy salvation. |
Signore,
i giacinti romani fioriscono nei vasi |