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LU TIRRIMOTU DI LU BELICE
Chianciti, Siciliani, a vuci forti
E li robbi vistitili alluttati,
Lu tirrimotu siminau la morti,
Di lu Belici in tutti li cuntrati.
Funna la notti ed era senza luna,
Tirribili ‘nfuriava la turmenta,
Lu roggiu ‘ntra d’istanti battia l’una,
La luci d’ogni casa era gia’ spenta.
Lu mari era ‘ntimpesta e lu maistrali,
Tagghenti comu lama di cuteddu,
Mitia pirsuni voscura ed armali.
Li trona fabbricati a Muncibeddu
Scutianu l’ariu cu fraguri orrennu,
Li lampi, li surruschi e li saitti
Parevanu tizzuna di lu ‘nfemu;
Ristau ‘mpitratu d’ omu ca li vitti.
Quannu l’apucalitticu scussuni
‘Mmistiu ruggennu li centri abitati,
Durmevanu mischini li pirsuni,
E ntra lu sonnu foru massacrati.
Cupria la notti ddu flagellu immani
Cu lu mantellu so` ch’era alluttatu,
Ma l’alba l’appuneva a lu nnumani
All’occhiu di la genti stralunatu.
Gintuzzi boni, chi pietà sintiti
Curriti tutti cu picuna e pali
Ad esumari li morti e li firiti,
Già vurvicati sutta li puntali.
Curriti tutti monaci e parrini,
Binidiciti a st’animi affannati.
Ancili di lu celu e cherubini
A cuspettu di Diu l’apprisintati.
Peppino Collurafici
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THE BELICE EATHQUAKE
Cry o Sicilians with loud voice,
And mourning clothes now wear,
The earthquake death around spread
Of Belice around all the country side.
Deep was the night and without moon,
Dreadfully was raging the tempest,
The clock momentarily struck one,
Down were the lights in every home.
Stormy was the sea and the west wind
Sharp, as a sharpened knife blade,
Downing was animals and woods alike.
The thunder in Mongibello made,
Shaking were the air with horrific clamor,
The lightning, the flashes, the bolts…
Seemed flames from hell,
Those who saw them petrified were.
When the apocalyptic quake,
Roaring hit the inhabited towns,
Tired, were sleeping the people,
And in the sleep most killed were.
Hushing was the night the cosmic ruin,
With its cloak as she was in mourning,
But dawn was showing in the morrow,
To the living people staring eyes.
Oh good people who pity feel,
All go there with picks and shovels,
To exhume the wounded and the dead,
Under the big rocks already buried.
All you go too, monks and priests,
With love bless these afflicted souls.
Angels of Heaven and cherubim,
Take them to the presence of the Lord.
Translation by Nino Russo
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