Death will come with your eyes—
this death that accompanies us
from morning till night, sleepless,
deaf, like an old regret
or a stupid vice. Your eyes
will be a useless word,
a muted cry, a silence.
As you see them each morning
when alone you lean over
the mirror. O cherished hope,
that day we too shall know
that you are life and nothing.
For everyone death has a look.
Death will come with your eyes.
It will be like terminating a vice,
as seen in the mirror
a dead face re-emerging,
like listening to closed lips.
We'll go down the abyss in silence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem has been translated into Spanish and into Isthmus Zapotec, an indigenous language of southern Mexico. I have both these and can give you the author and the anthology in which they appear. My e-mail is royce@indiana.edu. Do you have the Pavese in the original Italian?