A Translation from Sandro Penna

They'd left me alone

in the countryside under

fine rain alone.

Bare poplars

watched me

silent

and amazed: my own trouble

they bore, the pain

of not knowing clearly...

And the wet ground

and the black mountains so high

kept silent, vanquished.  It was

as though some wicked god

had with just a nod

made all stone.

And the rain was washing those stones.

            Translated by P. Spillenger, Rome, October 1980