Source text in English — View comments about this source text » | Translation by Claudia Cherici (#14359) — Winner |
Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down Well, I woke up Sunday morning With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt. And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, So I had one more for dessert. Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes And found my cleanest dirty shirt. Then I washed my face and combed my hair And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day. I'd smoked my mind the night before With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking. But I lit my first and watched a small kid Playing with a can that he was kicking. Then I walked across the street And caught the Sunday smell of someone's frying chicken. And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost Somewhere, somehow along the way. On a Sunday morning sidewalk, I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. 'Cause there's something in a Sunday That makes a body feel alone. And there's nothing short a' dying That's half as lonesome as the sound Of the sleeping city sidewalk And Sunday morning coming down. In the park I saw a daddy With a laughing little girl that he was swinging. And I stopped beside a Sunday school And listened to the songs they were singing. Then I headed down the street, And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing, And it echoed through the canyon Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday. On a Sunday morning sidewalk, I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned. 'Cause there's something in a Sunday That makes a body feel alone. And there's nothing short a' dying That's half as lonesome as the sound Of the sleeping city sidewalk And Sunday morning coming down. | Scende la domenica mattina Mi sono svegliato, era domenica mattina, e per quante posizioni provassi, la testa mi faceva male comunque. A colazione ho bevuto una birra, non era male, e così mi sono concesso anche il dessert: un'altra birra. Ho frugato nell'armadio per cercare qualcosa da mettermi e ho scovato la più pulita tra le mie camicie sporche. Una lavata, una pettinata, e inciampando per le scale sono sceso a incontrare il nuovo giorno. Avevo ancora la mente annebbiata dalle sigarette e dalle canzoni della notte. Ma mi sono lo stesso fumato la prima della giornata guardando un bambino che si divertiva a calciare una lattina. Ho attraversato la strada e mi ha investito il profumo di pollo fritto, l'odore della domenica. Gesù, quanto mi ha ricordato quel che ho perso da qualche parte, lungo la strada. Fermo sul marciapiede, di domenica mattina, quanto vorrei, Gesù, essere strafatto. Almeno non sentirei tutta la solitudine della domenica. E nulla, a parte la morte, ti fa sentire solo come i rumori dei marciapiedi della città ancora addormentata mentre scende la domenica mattina. Al parco ho visto un papà con una bambina, lui la spingeva sull'altalena e lei rideva. Mi sono fermato ad ascoltare i salmi cantati di una lezione di catechismo. Poi mi sono incamminato lungo la strada, una campana solitaria suonava in lontananza, e l'eco si dissolveva nel canyon proprio come i sogni di ieri. |
Discussion about Poetry with a tune: "Translation of Lyrics" in English to Italian - Entry #14359 | |||||||||
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Claudia Cherici Italy Local time: 11:18 Member (2010) English to Italian + ...
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Luca Cremonini Local time: 11:18 Member (2010) English to Italian + ...
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Claudia Cherici Italy Local time: 11:18 Member (2010) English to Italian + ...
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monica.m Italy Local time: 11:18 Member (2011) German to Italian + ...
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