November 2014
I am a student at the Vermont College of Fine Arts MFA Program, where I study poetry and translation. My work was selected in a contest hosted by Missouri State University Press to be included in the anthology Proud to Be: Writing by American Warriors, (volume 3). My poetry and translations have appeared in Cardinal Sins, Boston Thought, Malpais Review and many other journals, both online and print.
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Words from Blood
excerpt from Canto XIII of Inferno (c. 1308 - 1321)
by Dante Alighieri
translated by Domenic J. Scopa
Words from Blood
excerpt from Canto XIII of Inferno (c. 1308 - 1321)
by Dante Alighieri
translated by Domenic J. Scopa
Gustave Doré - illustration from The Inferno -1861
Translator's Note: The Inferno is the first part of the 14th century epic poem, Divine Comedy, written by Dante Alighieri. It is an allegory depicting the journey of Dante through Hell, which is comprised of nine circles of suffering located within the Earth. Dante is guided by the Roman poet Virgil. I wanted to maintain the original iambic pentameter, but instead of the traditional terza rima construction, I sought to weave the stanzas together with internal music. This internal music is manifested by the usage of alliteration and assonance.
Not yet had Nessus reached the other side,
We found ourselves within a somber wood
That was not marked by any path at all.
Not verdant foliage, but dusky leaves;
Not smooth branches—knotted and tangled;
No trees were there, but toxic, thorny shrubs.
No rougher, thicker thickets make a shelter
For those savage, feral beasts that tilled the land
Between the towns Cecila and Corneto.
The filthy Harpies build their nests there--
Who drove the Trojans from the Strophades
With sad pronouncements of impending doom.
They bear enormous wings, their necks and faces
Human, taloned feet, their feathered bellies bulging.
Their hopeless mourning fills the eerie trees.
My studied master spoke: “before you pass
You are, and will be, in the second ring,”
He started saying, “until
You come to wicked, scorching sands. Look well--
And you will see the things that, in my speech,
Would seem to strip my words of honesty.”
I heard lamentations shrieking from all sides,
But saw no one who had been crying out;
So, totally bewildered, I stood still.
I think he thought that I believed that all
These voices sounding from the trees were coming
From some people hidden there,
And so my master said: “if you break off
A twig among these unassuming leaves
Your present thoughts will be cut short.”
And then I stretched my hand a little out,
And plucked a twig from a colossal bush--
Its trunk cried: “why do you disfigure me?”
And after the deploring bush ran red
With blood it sobbed again: “why do you tear
At me? Have you no sense of mercy here?
We once were men that now are changed to trees.
Your hand might well have been more sparing if
We were the souls of coiled serpents.”
As from a green log burning at one end,
That swells and whistles at the other with
The rush of sap and air,
So from that broken splinter slowly oozed
Both blood and words together and I dropped
The twig and stood like one who is afraid.
©2014 Domenic J. Scopa