4/3/1943

Dice che era un bell’uomo
e veniva, veniva dal mare,
parlava un’altra lingua
però sapeva amare

E quel giorno lui prese a mia madre
sopra un bel prato,
l’ora più dolce
prima di essere ammazzato.

Così lei restò sola nella stanza,
la stanza sul porto,
con l’unico vestito
ogni giorno più corto,

E benché non sapesse il nome
e neppure il paese
m’aspettò come un dono d’amore
fino all’ultimo mese.

Compiva sedici anni quel giorno
la mia mamma,
le strofe di taverna
le cantò a ninna nanna.

E stringendomi al petto che sapeva
sapeva di mare
giocava a far la donna
con il bimbo da fasciare.

E forse fu per gioco,
o forse per amore
che mi volle chiamare
come nostro signore.

Della sua breve vita, il ricordo,
il ricordo più grosso
è tutto in questo nome
che io mi porto addosso.

E ancora adesso che gioco a carte
e bevo vino
per la gente del porto
mi chiamo Gesù bambino.

They say he was a handsome man
and he came, he came from the sea;
he spoke another language
but he knew how to love.

And that day he took my mother
in a lovely meadow—
the sweetest hour
before he was killed.

So she was left alone in the room,
the room by the harbor,
with the only dress she owned,
growing shorter by the day.

And though she knew neither his name
nor his homeland,
she awaited me like a gift of love
until the very last month.

My mother was turning sixteen
that day;
she sang tavern songs
as if they were lullabies.

And holding me to her breast that smelled—
smelled of the sea—
she played at being a woman
with a baby to swaddle.

And perhaps it was in play,
or perhaps for love,
that she chose to name me
after Our Lord.

Of her brief life, the memory—
the greatest memory—
is all held in this name
that I carry with me.

And even now, as I play cards
and drink wine,
to the people of the harbor
I am known as the Baby Jesus.

the italian song