ConseggioLigure/zenamt huggingface dataset:
Ligurian:
A neuva pestegadda – 2

No l’é servio à ninte e grende manifestaçioin de ciassa e e occupaçioin de Universcitæ de miggiæa de zoeni contra a moutia, contra a vegiaia e a mòrte, contra l’infeliçitæ e l’abbandon; o dô o l’existe e o l’existià pe delongo. A nòstra pscicanalista a l’indaga in scê raxoin do patimento e de l’erlia e a sa ch’a l’é tutta corpa da pestegadda, ch’a l’à fiña corpa de no avei de corpe, perché gh’é chi gh’à di scintomi sensa che nisciun no ghe l’agge affærâ; ma d’atra parte chi peu dî quæ seggian davei i scintomi? Un o s’addescia a-a mattin e o dixe: gh’ò i scintomi; ma s’a foïse unna suggestion? Chi î conosce i scintomi? Peuan cangiâ da unna persoña à l’atra, ësighe e no ësighe. Quarchedun peu dî che o fæto mæximo d’ëse a-o mondo o l’é un greive indiçio de moutia. Mrs. Dailydead a pensa che a caxon de tutto a segge inta testa di maròtti, che se creddan d’ëse sen e di sen che se creddan d’ëse maròtti.

English translation:
The new pestilence – 2

The great street demonstrations and the occupations of universities by thousands of young people against illness, against old age and death, against unhappiness and abandonment have served no purpose; pain exists and will exist forever. Our psychoanalyst investigates the reasons for suffering and anguish and knows that it is all the fault of the pestilence, which is even guilty of having no guilt, because there are some who have symptoms though no one has infected them; but then again, who can say what the symptoms really are? One wakes up in the morning and says: I have the symptoms; but what if it were merely suggestion? Who knows the symptoms? They can change from one person to another, be present or absent. Someone might say that the very fact of being in the world is a grave indication of illness. Mrs. Dailydead holds that the cause of it all lies in the heads of the sick, who believe themselves healthy, and of the healthy, who believe themselves sick.
Ligurian:
A neuva pestegadda – 3

Vantëi Mrs. Dailydead a l’ea à çeña con seu galante e, tutt’assemme, a l’à avuo a vixon di cavelli do zoeno comme feugge de un erbo, e unna cheita d’ægua ch’a ne vegniva zu da-e stelle. Dapeu, de ficco, a mascella de l’òmmo a l’é cheita in sciô tondo, con un ciòcco secco, ch’a no l’ea ciù attaccâ à ninte. Fòscia o l’ea un scintomo che lê o l’ea maròtto, ò donca a l’ea maròtta a dònna, che co-a seu imaginaçion a l’à creou sto ravaxo. Comme da tutte e bande s’é spantegou a poia da neuva pestegadda, tutti an comensou à temme che arrive à commandâ torna Quelli-de-Primma; oua, chi son quelli de primma, che nisciun no s’incalla manco à mensunâli? Se fa fito à dîlo; ean quelli che commandava avanti che vegnisse Quelli-de-Dòppo; ean i pezo de tutti, feua che de quelli che son vegnui dòppo, ch’en pezo de tutti, feua che de quelli de primma. Vegnivan avanti in sciô tardi, inte seie de primmaveia, in sce unna tæra desandiâ, dòsso bordòsso, co-e seu machine fornie de grende scorriatte che taggiavan l’äia; ombre de òmmi vegnivan avanti de lô, inte unna battua de caccia, pe tutta unna neutte de lampi.

English translation:
The new pestilence – 3

The day before yesterday Mrs. Dailydead was at dinner with her fiancé and, all of a sudden, she had a vision of the young man’s hair as the leaves of a tree, and a cascade of water came pouring down from the stars. Then, abruptly, the man’s jaw dropped onto his plate, with a dry snap, because it was no longer attached to anything. Perhaps it was a symptom of the disease, or else the woman herself was ill, and with her imagination she created this problem. As soon as fear of the new pestilence spread on every side, everyone began to dread that the Ones-from-Before would come back to rule; now, who are these ones from before, whom no one even dares to name? It’s easy to say; they were the ones who ruled before the Ones-from-After came; they were the worst of all, except for those who came afterwards, who were the worst of all, except for those from before. They would come forward late in the day, on spring evenings, across a desolate, disordered land, with their machines fitted out with great scythes that sliced the air; shadows of men advanced ahead of them, in a hunting party, throughout a night of lightning.
Ligurian:
A neuva pestegadda – 4

Ma oua son tutti che se domandan se son Quelli-de-primma che son vegnui inderê e an piggiou o pòsto de Quelli-de-dòppo, sensa che nisciun no s’addesse, ò se son Quelli-de-dòppo che, dapeu che s’an cangiou de pòsto za unna vòtta con Quelli-de-primma, da maniman se son torna missi a-o seu pòsto, quande tutti dormivan, ma an dæto à divedde d’ëse sempre i mæximi. Comme pe-i scintomi da pestegadda, no gh’é mainea d’ascciæîlo, feua che pe di segni tòsto invixibili, che d’atra parte ciaschidun peu lezili comm’o veu. L’é ciæo però, che a diffuxon da pedemia a l’é corpa seu, fin da-o prinçipio do tempo, quande tutti i mòrti an commisso a greive corpa de no ëse vivi, e tutti i vivi an commisso a greive corpa de no ëse mòrti. Oua e stradde vëgnan ciù larghe inta neutte di larghi laghi ciæi, i sarpaggi ciæi di zaganti a-i canti de stradde.

English translation:
The new pestilence – 4

But now everyone is asking themselves whether it’s Those-from-before who have come back and taken the place of Those-from-after, without anyone noticing, or whether it’s Those-from-after who, having already once swapped places with Those-from-before, have little by little put themselves back in their place, while everyone slept, but have made it seem they were always the same. As with the symptoms of the pestilence, there is no way to ascertain it, except by traces that are almost invisible, which moreover each person can interpret as they wish. It is clear, however, that the spread of the epidemic is their fault, from the very beginning of time, when all the dead committed the grave fault of not being alive, and all the living committed the grave fault of not being dead. Now the streets grow wider in the night of the wide bright lakes, the bright footprints of giants at the corners of the streets.
Ligurian:
A neuva pestegadda – 5

I seunni en strassetti de neive che fan remoin d’in gio a-a pòrta de còrno e Mrs. Dailydead a ghe va apreuvo co-o seu taccuin, in çercâ à segnâseli tutti, perché lì gh’é fòscia o mistëio da pestegadda, chi ne compagna pe tutta a vitta. A î score pe-i strazzetti, tra i çipresci e i busci donde a neive a vortezza; tutti i nòstri seunni se pösan e derê a-o çê de bambaxo grixo gh’é o segretto da neuva pestegadda. Niatri no existemmo pe ninte, ma semmo figgi do nòstro tempo, ch’o ne condiçioña areo, e ciappi e pestummi e stracoi de idee e de çivilitæ a-o bando in sce l’amâ do tempo ne se incrostan adòsso comme in desdaxo. E nòstre idee, a nòstra mainea d’ëse e pensâ no son de nisciun ma de tutti e no ne poemmo scappâ. Da-o seunno de un Dê a vitta a ne vëgne, into seunno de un Dê a se ne va, comme strassetti de neive.

English translation:
The new pestilence – 5

Dreams are little flakes of snow that whirl around the horn gate, and Mrs. Dailydead follows them with her notebook, trying to jot them all down, because perhaps therein lies the mystery of the pestilence that accompanies us throughout our lives. She chases them along the little paths, among the cypresses and box hedges where the snow swirls; all our dreams come to rest there, and behind the sky of grey cotton wool lies the secret of the new pestilence. We do not exist at all, but are children of our time, which conditions us entirely, and fragments, shards and flotsam of ideas and civilisations cast adrift upon the ocean of time encrust themselves upon us unawares. Our ideas, our way of being belong to no one, but to everyone, and we cannot escape them. From the dream of a God life comes to us, in the dream of a God it departs, like little flakes of snow.
Ligurian:
A riva do sciumme

A gente a s’ammuggia in sciâ riva do sciumme pe partî co-a barca e arrivâ da l’atra parte, ch’a sfumma inta negia; dònne, òmmi e figgeu che aspetan, de vòtte di anni; çerti an misso sciù de attivitæ commersale, çerti atri an attrovou do travaggio inti paixi vexin, fan o lattonê, o luxan, o camê, o commisso de negòçio, ma stæto finio o seu oräio de travaggio, vëgnan torna in sciâ riva do sciumme, à vedde se mai peuan partî. Lô son i figgi e i nevi de quelli che se ghe son fermæ che l’é za tanti anni. Se stravedde comme de ombre grixe in scê onde do sciumme, che van avanti e inderê. Regòrdi de zoventù? Tròppo façile; remòrsci, vege speranse, o ben ch’emmo fæto, i euggi de poæ e moæ, e cae triste di vegi meistri de scheua a-e seie d’ötunno? Tutto tròppo façile; avanti e inderê in sce l’ægua do sciumme. Erte montagne lasciù, de d’ato à tutto, co-i paixi ascoxi inta negia.

English translation:
The riverbank

People crowd onto the riverbank to set off in the boat and reach the other side, which fades into the mist; women, men, and children waiting, sometimes for years; some have taken up trades, others have found work in the nearby villages, working as plumbers, electricians, waiters, shop assistants, but once their working hours are over, they return to the riverbank, to see whether they might ever depart. They are the children and grandchildren of those who stopped here many years ago. They can be glimpsed like grey shadows on the river’s waves, going back and forth. Memories of youth? Too easy; regrets, old hopes, the good we have done, the eyes of father and mother, the sad faces of old schoolmasters on autumn evenings? All too easy; back and forth on the river’s water. High mountains up there, above everything, with the villages hidden in the mist.
Ligurian:
In sciâ soffita

O sciortiva a-a neutte da un portello in sciâ soffita, e o camminava à testa in zu, perché a meitæ chi ghe pertoccava a l’ea quella da-a soffita fin à meza stançia, a seu parte de l’universo, tanto che a nòstra a l’é quell’atra, da l’astrego in sciù, fin à mez’äia e ciù in là no poemmo anâ; o nòstro mondo o l’é delongo chinze çentimetri ciù in basso do sò. Ma quella a l’é a nòstra natua; semmo delongo à meitæ da stradda e no poemmo mai arrivâ à destin. No impòrta da donde ti parti: ti saiæ sempre lì, tròppo vexin pe anâ inderê, tròppo lontan pe arrivâ. Unna leze no scrita a ne proibisce d’anâ ciù in sciù; aviemo delongo da sospiâ mezo çentimetro in ciù: in sciâ soffita a va avanti unna vitta giâ a-a reversa, che niatri no gh’emmo ninte da vedde. E cae, a mæ e da mæ famiggia, vëgnan passe da maniman de ciù, da quande î veddemmo arrecampâse in scî canti de stançie; de vòtte pregan: ma cöse pregan, chi pregan?

English translation:
On the Ceiling

He came out at night through a hatch in the ceiling, and walked upside down, because the half that belonged to him was the one from the ceiling down to the middle of the room, his part of the universe, while ours is the other, from the floor up, to mid-air, and beyond that we cannot go; our world is always fifteen centimetres lower than his. But that is our nature; we are always halfway along the road and can never reach our destination. It doesn’t matter where you start from: you will always be there, too close to turn back, too far to arrive. An unwritten law forbids us to go any higher; we shall always have to sigh for that extra half centimetre: on the ceiling there unfolds a life turned upside down, with which we have nothing in common. The faces, my own and my family’s, wither more and more, ever since we have seen them gathering in the corners of the rooms; sometimes they pray; but what do they pray for, whom do they pray to?
Ligurian:
L’òmmo à töa

Oua sto lemo chì, assettou a-a mæ töa, ch’o m’ammia e o no dixe ninte; chi gh’à cheu de dîghe ch’o se ne vagghe? No sò manco ciù chi o l’é, ni quand’o l’é introu chì coscì. O l’ea vegio, o l’ea zoeno? À unna çert’oa bisà dâghe da çeña, donca pâ che segge sensa cheu. O l’é un ch’o mangia delongo, abbrascou à ciù no dî, o còlla zu de tutto che pan zuamenti fäsci; dapeu o se fumma ascì unna çigaretta. No se peu anâ avanti de sta mainea; e de fæto vantëi, tanto ch’o mangiava, a costiggeua a-i færi a gh’à comensou rosiggiandoghe meza bocca, dapeu a masca. Lê o no s’è sciätou, o s’é lasciou mangiâ bello queto; quande o s’é misso à fummâ, a çigaretta a gh’à mangiou l’atra meitæ da caa. Ancheu a töa de coxiña a l’à serrou inte un abbrasso mortâ, co-e òsse che scrosciva tra e sampe d’äsâ da töa; dapeu tutto o l’é vegnuo torna comme avanti che lê o l’arrivesse inte sta cà.

English translation:
The Man at the Table

Now this fellow, sitting at my table, looking at me and saying nothing; who has the heart to tell him to leave? I don’t even know anymore who he is, or when he came in here. Was he old, was he young? At a certain hour I have to give him his supper, otherwise it would seem I had no heart. He’s one who eats constantly, ravenous, swallowing everything down like false oaths; then he smokes a cigarette too. Things can’t go on this way; and in fact, the day before yesterday, while he was eating, the grilled steak began to gnaw away half his mouth, then his cheek. He wasn’t frightened, he let himself be eaten quite calmly; when he started to smoke, the cigarette ate the other half of his face. Today the kitchen table clutched him in a deadly embrace, with his bones cracking between the steel legs of the table; then everything went back to the way it was before he arrived in this house.
Ligurian:
I moneghi incappussæ

Chi contra o lumme da luña o l’à visto o passaggio di moneghi incappussæ? En solo che ombre che fiezzan in sce l’ægua brunia, ch’a raxoña co-i atri elementi da creaçion: da-i fondi lichidi sensa termi se spantegan ciù in là do mondo, scuggian à fâ gazibbe co-a tæra, co-o vento, co-i foei açeixi inte giæe; e ombre mormoggian à chi ê peu sentî. Schillan comme monæe e anime di figgeu d’argento che bottezza inti fondæ verdi, che a luña a reciamma. Pe-o streito passaliçio da luña e ombre di moneghi van pe-i sentê sensa mòrte e i seu pasci ciòccan comme monæe asgreiæ in lontanansa, co-a voxe d’argento, e a pòrta de bronzo a se særa con fô de campaña pesoña in sce l’urtimo resciöo de luxe.

English translation:
The hooded monks

Who, against the moonlight, saw the passing of the hooded monks? They are only shadows that brush the burnished water, which speaks with the elements of creation; from boundless liquid depths they spread beyond the world, they slip away to conspire with the earth, with the wind, with the bonfires lit on the riverbeds; the shadows murmur to those who can hear them. Like coins the souls of silver children ring out as they leap in the green depths, which the moon summons forth. Through the narrow passage of the moon the shadows of the monks travel along paths without death and their steps resound like coins squandered in the distance, with a silver voice, and the bronze door closes with the sound of a heavy bell upon the last sliver of light.
Ligurian:
E cae de pria – 1

O spægâ de l’arba o rescciæa e ligge e o l’addescia i mori appissui de ròcche, che peuan raxonâ tra de lô solo che inte quello momento, perché solo che aloa existan, in caxon de l’inclinaçion do sô, chi ghe dà a tornua de unna caa umaña. E lô parlan, da-o scilençio di secoli, ma no se stan manco à sentî, ciaschiduña de lô a se credde d’ëse a sola e l’unica à avei quarcösa da dî. Ti gh’arrivi promê, à quell’oa, dòppo tanto cammin, e ti ghe vorriësci domandâ tante cöse, ma cöse pe-a primma? Lô dixan da-o fondo di secoli che o levou da vitta o l’é o dô, ch’o passa de poæ in figgio pròpio comme o crescente do pan o passa da un pan à l’atro, da un secolo à l’atro. A vitta, ch’a l’é fæta à çerci un drento l’atro, a l’appartëgne à tutti, ma a no l’é de nisciun, e tutto o ne vëgne e o va torna inderê à quello çentro, ch’o l’é da sempre e o no l’é mai stæto.

English translation:
The faces of stone – 1

The breaking of dawn lights up the crevasses and rouses the pointed muzzles of the rocks, which can speak among themselves only in that moment, because only then do they exist, owing to the slant of the sun, which gives them the look of a human face. And they speak, out of the silence of the centuries, but they do not listen to one another; each of them believes itself to be the sole and only one with something to say. You come upon them at that hour, after so long a road, and you would like to ask them so many things, but which first? They say, from the depths of the centuries, that the leaven of life is sorrow, which passes from father to son just as the starter of bread passes from one loaf to another, from one century to the next. Life, which is made of concentric circles, belongs to all and to no one, and everything comes to us and returns to that center, which has always been and has never been.
Ligurian:
E cae de pria - 2

A caa de pria a te responde e, tanto ch’a sciòrte da l’abimmo da neutte, annecoia da-i secoli, frusta da l’ægua de saxoin passæ, a fa vedde e seu òsse; o dô e o patimento son quelli che consentan de vive; se no foïse pe lô no aviëscimo ni speransa ni inzëgno e a nòstra vitta a saiæ comme quella de bestie, che no san d’avei da moî, ma van pe-o sò cammin comme s’aësan da scampâ pe delongo; ricella meuia di sensci appagæ comme a fruta a-o finî da stæ, o nòstro sen cammin o l’arriva torna a-o ponto de partensa, da donde o no s’é mai mesciou. O fruto meuio o coa a pinessa di sughi e o no l’é mai cresciuo e o no ven mai passo e a nascion e a mòrte en de inluxoin, che no ammerman a pinessa de l’ëse.

English translation:
The faces of stone – 2

The face of stone answers you and, as it emerges from the abyss of night, annihilated by the centuries, worn away by the rain of seasons past, it bares its bones; pain and suffering are what make living possible; were it not for them we would have neither hope nor intelligence, our life would be like that of animals, who do not know they must die, but go on their way as though they were to live forever; ripe excellence of senses fulfilled like fruit at summer’s end, our serene journey returns to its point of departure, from which it has never stirred. The ripened fruit oozes the fullness of its juices and has never grown and never withers, and birth and death are illusions which do not diminish the fullness of being.
Ligurian:
Astrego de cô reusa

O vascello da luña, ampolla de vento, o se ïsa à pego in scê ligge che reseunna de ciæi  rosci da aluxi e o fa luxe a-i strazzetti do bòsco; tutt’assemme o sentê o sobrilla sotta i nòstri pê, l’erba umea a ne fa scuggiâ, a stradda a se solleva, a çerca à acciappâne: o strazzetto o no l’é un cammin mòrto, ma o l’é a lengua de unna bestia stramesuâ, ch’emmo addesciou de camminâghe in çimma e bisà che s’asprescemmo, avanti ch’a ne spasse via, ò ch’a ne ingoe. Picchemmo da-a pòrta de un tanabeuso into bòsco, vegio comme tutto; ne vëgne à arvî unna vegia con a caa futa, sensa movemento, e ghe domandemmo de intrâ, unica mainea de mettise a-o redòsso e schivâ de finî inta pansa do mostro. No semmo manco s’a ne capisce; ma a l’arve a pòrta e a ne lascia intrâ. Con unna voxe monòtona a ne dixe de accommodâse. Inta stançia donde gh’é a stiva açeisa s’accorzemmo che l’astrego o l’é sciòcco, de cô reusa, con di pontin rosci, propio comme a lengua de un stramesuou ëse ch’o vive.

English translation:
Pink floor

The vessel of the moon, a bubble of wind, surfaces above the chasms that echo with red glimmerings from afar and lights up the little paths of the wood; suddenly the trail quivers beneath our feet, the damp grass makes us slip, the road heaves up, tries to capture us: the little path is not a dead road, but is the tongue of an immense animal, which we have awakened by walking upon it, and we must hurry, before it sweeps us away, or swallows us. We knock at the door of a hovel in the wood, very old; an old woman comes to open the door, pale in her motionless face, and we ask her to let us in, the only way to take shelter and avoid ending up in the belly of the monster. We don’t even know if she understands us; but she opens the door and lets us in. In a monotone voice she tells us to make ourselves comfortable. In the room where the stove is lit we notice that the floor is soft, pink in colour, with red papillae, just like the tongue of an immense living being.
Ligurian:
A scheuggioa

A scheuggioa che se ghe sente o mâ drento, se ti gh’arrembi l’oegia; sentiemo ancon arrigoâse l’ænin de ciazze a-o de là de l’oexin do mondo? Arriviemo mai a-i salloin d’öo, donde o sô o no tramonta? I seu astreghi schillenti donde a luxe a no meue son seppellii inte ceighe da memöia, ma mæ poæ unna vòtta o me ô contava, con raxonâ de comm’o l’é curto o nòstro cammin in sce sta tæra e o no saiva ch’o l’ea za de drento a-o grande palaçio. Manco mi no son mai ciù sciortio de de là, e mai ciù no ne sciortiò. Mæ poæ o me ô contava inte l’ombra da seia, quande i grendi çipresci de cheulloe tëgnan conseggio e e çigae s’attaxentan pe lasciâli parlâ. I cen ciù erti do mondo se rescioan inte unna luxe d’öo. Mæ poæ, stæto inciöou a-a machina da scrive da miggiæa de anni, o transcriveiva inti seu feuggi e veitæ supremme, che manco lê o ê saiva; dapeu, a-a fin da giornâ, o ê bruxava. Ma de vòtte, se no piggiavan feugo, o ne fava tanti mallocchetti e o î collava. Tante lenguette aloa sciortivan d’in gio a-a scrivania e in scê l’astrego e se mesciavan leste, comme pe dî: semmo chì, semmo chì.

English translation:
The Seashell

The seashell in which one hears the sea, when you bring it close to your ear; shall we still hear the sand of the beaches rolling beyond the rim of the world? Shall we ever reach the gilded halls, where the sun never sets? Their gleaming floors where the light never dies are buried in the folds of memory, but my father once told me about it, speaking of how brief our journey is upon this earth, and he did not know that he was already inside the great palace. Nor have I ever left it again, and never shall I leave it. My father told me about it in the evening shadow, when the great cypresses of the hills hold council and the cicadas fall silent to let them speak. The highest floors of the world are restored in a golden light. My father, nailed to his typewriter for thousands of years, transcribed onto his pages the supreme truths, which not even he knew; then, at the end of the day, he burned them. But sometimes, if they would not catch fire, he would roll them into many little pellets and swallow them. Then many little tongues would come out around the desk and across the floor and move swiftly, as if to say: we are here, we are here.
Ligurian:
I personaggi da föa

E i personaggi da föa de staseia, appösæ inta quete da neutte, i erboi, i malòcchi de bambaxo de nuvie, e miage de case, a luña, e lampe sciòppoe derê i barcoin, e pòrte delongo serræ; e ombre, sorvetutto e ombre che se mescian e se mesccian, no son cöse sens’anima, ma tutte quante se parlan tra de lô, raxoñan de no se sa cöse, se contan segretti che no conosce nisciun. E ti ti ô sæ, che stradde e sentê gh’an unn’anima, ma no gh’an ninte de stranio e tremendo, ch’o pòsse mette temmansa in davei. I anni, fiña quelli ciù lonten, no son mai passæ, quelli da vegnî son za arrivæ; son lì derê a-o canto do palaçio, donde ti senti a voxe do vexin de cà, ch’o l’é mòrto da dex’anni; o saià in sciô poggiölo à piggiâ o cafè, ma poia no ti n’æ.

English translation:
The Characters of the Fairy Tale

And the characters of tonight’s fairy tale, set down in the quiet of the night, the trees, the cotton-wool tufts of the clouds, the walls of the houses, the moon, the dim lamps behind the windows, the ever-closed doors; the shadows, above all the shadows that move and mingle, are not soulless things, but all of them speak among themselves, discuss who knows what, tell one another secrets no one knows. And you know it, that roads and paths have a soul, but there is nothing strange or terrible about them, nothing that could truly stir fear. The years, even the most distant ones, have never passed, those to come have already arrived; they are there, around the corner of the building, where you hear the voice of the neighbour, dead for ten years; he must be out on the little terrace having his coffee, but you are not afraid.
Ligurian:
O façionê

Da quande ven seia scin a-o primmo spægâ do sô, in sce l’urtimo canto a-a drita do nòstro casamento, un façionê o monta de guardia. Ô se vedde solo che de sbiascio, da sta distansa, ma o gh’é. Chi o segge, no ô sa nisciun; quarchidun se credde ch’a segge unn’inluxon òttica, l’ombra do spigo de unna grondaña contra un poggiölo, fòscia. Ma de vòtte, d’ammiâ ben, se vedde che o façionê o se mescia, mæximo se à ïsa à ïsa. Un vexin ch’o no riësce à dormî? Unn’anima de l’atro mondo, ch’a ne veu proteze co-a seu presensa? Ò se donca unn’oscua menassa? Un arregòrdo pe chi testarda à vive inte sto mondo de parpaggeue? Unna ghia verso e stelle, ò verso a perdiçion? Tanti an çercou à arrivâ à quello scito, à parlâ à chi ghe stà de cà, ma nisciun no gh’é mai arriescio. Inte quello recanto, quande ti gh’arrivi, de pe-e scæ grixe e piñe de pua, no gh’é nisciuña pòrta, ma solo che unna miagia liscia. Ma tutte e seie o façionê o l’é in sciô poggiölo e a-o primmo ciæo da mattin o s’arretia: inluxon òttica, delegou de çelesti abimmi, messaggê de ligge affogæ.

English translation:
The Sentinel

From the time evening falls until the first rising of the sun, on the last corner to the right of our apartment building, a sentinel stands guard. You can see it only obliquely, from this distance, but it is there. Who it is, no one knows; some believe it’s an optical illusion, the shadow of a gutter’s edge against a small terrace, perhaps. But sometimes, looking closely, you can see the sentinel move, even if only barely. A neighbour who cannot sleep? A soul from the other world, wishing to protect us with its presence? Or an obscure menace? A warning to those who insist on living in this world of little butterflies? A guide toward the stars, or toward perdition? Many have tried to reach that apartment, to speak with whoever lives there, but no one has ever managed. In that corner, when you reach it, by the grey and dust-laden stairs, there is no door at all, only a smooth wall. But every evening the sentinel is on the small terrace, and at the first glimmer of dawn it withdraws; optical illusion, envoy of celestial abysses, messenger of fiery precipices.
Ligurian:
Angei e diäi

No ô sei che i diäi verso a meza abbæran co-e ciöte i battaggi de campañe e lì ghe dan à sunnâ à desteisa? Mi î ò visti, che se scoran in çê e s’arrampiñan a-e giornæ de çenie strassæ da-i scenti; agguantan de pe-e fädette çinsose i angei e i santi e montan da maniman ciù in erto tramezo a-a gragneua, à lenti gii in forma de cheuggioa. Oua che i angei en scappæ verso i regni do tramonto, i diäi se pösan battui ma no rescignæ in scî teiti de case, in scê baleuistræ de gexe; e de de lì assettæ ammian fisso o spegio do mâ, ch’o ghe parla de cöse son stæti a-i tempi de unna vòtta, e là donde luxe un sguaro verso e stelle, sentan che o mondo o chiña co-e grende ae averte verso o grande mistëio.

English translation:
Angels and devils

Don’t you know that round about noon the devils seize the bell-clappers in their claws and lay into them, pealing away? I have seen them, when they chase one another across the sky and clamber over the ashen days rent by lightning; they grab angels and saints by their tattered undergarments and rise ever higher amid the hail, in slow spiraling coils. Now that the angels have fled toward the realms of sunset, the devils alight, defeated but unresigned, upon the roofs of houses, upon the balustrades of churches; and from there, seated, they stare into the mirror of the sea, which speaks to them of what they once were in other times, and there where a rift glimmers toward the stars, they sense that the world is descending with great wings outspread toward the great mystery.
Ligurian:
Dio, Patria, Famiggia

Comme pediñe di scacchi passemmo da-o quaddretto gianco a-o quaddretto neigro, ma gia che te regia no anemmo mai da nisciuña parte; i pòpoli e i re se incannellan e s’asprescian pe stradde e carroggi d’uverno, tutti insemme a-o gämisto, e i nòstri raxonamenti se intortignan d’in gio a-e cöse, comme de cheuggioe de negia, pe intaffoâ a veitæ: che no gh’an nisciun senso, che Dê, Patria, Famiggia son de ipostatizzaçioin de niatri mæximi, quande o cheu o no ne basta à ëse quell’òmmo in marcia verso ciù erte çimme, che o Nietzsche o voeiva; son de imagine nasciue da niatri pe tutti quelli che – e semmo i ciù tanti – no peuan accapî che niatri mæximi l’emmo appartoie, e no son boin d’ammiâ tanto in erto da vedde o Segnô, perché no serve che se mettan in ponta de pê.

English translation:
God, Country, Family

Like pawns on a chessboard we move from the little white square to the black one, but in the end we never go anywhere; peoples and kings funnel and crowd through winter streets and alleys, all together in the sleet, and our reasonings coil around things, like spirals of mist, to hide the truth; that they have no meaning whatsoever, that God, Country, Family are hypostatizations of ourselves, when the heart is not enough for us to be that man marching towards higher peaks, the one Nietzsche wanted, they are images born from us for all those who – and we are the majority – cannot understand that we ourselves have given birth to them, and are not able to look high enough to see God, because there is no use in standing on tiptoe.
Ligurian:
Semmo spiæ

I mallòcchi accanaggiæ de nuvie intressan raxoæle luveghe, desgheuggian ciæti e parli de un remescello sensa commandeuia; semmo spiæ da di mostri stramesuæ, che son da tutte e bande, che son sensa unna forma e gh’an tutte e forme, che ne porrieivan sciaccâ quande veuan. Ste neutte de stæ, che gh’emmo tutti i barcoin averti, lô peuan ammiâne ciù ben drento cà e de fæto staneutte me son addesciou a-a cheita e ò visto un euggio gròsso comme un fanâ, ch’o m’ammiava da-o barcon. Son camminou à vedde, ma no gh’ea nisciun. «Mà! Mà!» - ò braggiou - «N’ammian, ne tëgnan sotta contròllo!». Ma tutt’assemme m’ò sovvegnuo che lê a no gh’ea, a no gh’é ciù da un muggio de anni. Ma quande semmo inte quarche peigo o tempo ch’o l’é passou o no conta ninte, e tutto comensa da-o prinçipio comme se no foïse mai intravegnuo ninte, inta nòstra vitta. E i rebighi do ninte se incroxan co-o ninte, e tutto l’ëse o l’é inscio de ninte. «Ne tëgnan tra e seu sampe, – ò dito – mi e ti e tutto o casamento».

English translation:
We are being spied on

The mongrel clumps of clouds weave specious, gloomy conversations, reel off gossip and chatter from a skein with no ends; we are being spied on by boundless monsters, who are everywhere, who have no shape and have every shape, who could crush us whenever they please. These summer nights, when we have all the windows open, they can look better inside the house and indeed tonight I woke up suddenly and saw an eye as big as a headlight, watching me from the window. I ran to look, but there was no one there. “Mamma, mamma!” – I shouted – “They’re watching us, they’re keeping us under surveillance!”. But suddenly I remembered that she wasn’t there, she hasn’t been here for very many years. But when we are in some danger the time that has passed counts for nothing, and everything starts over from the beginning as if nothing had ever happened, in our life. And the flourishes of nothingness intersect with nothingness, and all of being is swollen with nothingness. “They’re holding us in their claws,” I said, “you and me and the whole apartment block.”
Ligurian:
A-i pê de unna miagia

A-i pê de unna miagia deroccâ, donde canta o grillo, un scrivan grixo e arrensenio o piggiava nòtta di sasci che cazzeiva un apreuvo à l’atro into lago da neutte. Stæte serræ e pòrte à veddri do tramonto, quelli che se son incallæ à ammiâ da l’atra parte no an visto ninte de ninte; sotta un ciæo sensa mòrte, solo che unn’ægua de çê a stissava cian cianin inte un bollacco turchin e a l’impiva fin a-a ziña. E da-o lago nasce paxe unna sciô d’oscuritæ, chi caccia e seu reixe de pe-o vòrto mortuäio di çê, unna man da-e longhe die ch’arrivan a-i segretti da tæra mai diti, e parpelle di nòstri predeçessoî n’ammian de d’ato a-o scciarô scernio de nuvie che navega into pensceo. De cöse ti me parli, moro de antighe agrime? Quæ veitæ ti conosci, de de là da miagia di anni? Ne còlla a goa do prefondo, ch’o l’à a coa de sagueggia.

English translation:
At the foot of a wall

At the foot of a crumbling wall, where the cricket sings, a grey and shrivelled notary was taking note of the stones falling one after another into the lake of night. With the glass doors of sunset closed, those who dared to look on the other side saw nothing at all; beneath a deathless glimmer, only a water of sky dripped little by little into a blue bucket and filled it to the brim. And from the lake there quietly rises a flower of darkness, which casts its roots through the mortuary vault of the heavens, a hand with long fingers that reach into the unspoken secrets of the earth, the eyelids of our forebears watch us from above the faint glimmer of the clouds that sail through thought. Of what do you speak to me, muzzle of ancient tears? What truth do you know, beyond the wall of the years? The throat of the abyss swallows us, with its serpent’s tail.
Ligurian:
O scroscî de ombre secche

O scroscî de ombre secche inta neutte o l’avveña o spegio pacciamocòvio da stæ; stæti ciammæ da-i seu sentê de roe, e ombre cheuggian e fasciñe che ghe servià pe-i meixi à vegnî e s’arrentiscian a-e cæ di òmmi. Da l’æn di bòschi vëgnan à ciammâne conto da nòstra derotta, do tempo asgreiou. Se sentan de za che ne piccan da-a pòrta e mæ poæ o stà sciù pe anâ à arvî. «No stâ à arvî – gh’ò criou – no stâ à arvî, pe amô do Segnô; a luxe bleu do mâ a l’é tròppo greive e säia, perché a pòsse ëse piosa ascì». De za a cà a locciava, a bruzziva sotta o peiso di anni. Ma o poæ o l’à averto: solo che o fô de feugge aggreppie, che fan moinello da-o passetto da pòrta. Dapeu scilençio.

English translation:
The Creaking of Dry Shadows

The creaking of dry shadows in the night cracks the impassive mirror of summer; summoned by their oaken paths, the shadows gather the bundles of kindling they will need in the months to come and draw near to the houses of men. From high in the woods they come to call us to account for our defeat, for the time we have wasted. Already they can be heard knocking at our door, and my father rises to go and open it. “Don’t open it,” I cried to him, “don’t open it, for the love of God, the blue light of the sea is too grave and wise to be merciful as well.” Already the house was shuddering, bellowing under the weight of the years. But papa opened: only the rustle of withered leaves, swirling about the threshold. Then silence.
Ligurian:
A giòstra

De belle vòtte, in sce ste stradde piñe de pua e de rumenta, a giòstra a l’arriva a-a cheita, sensa che nisciun no ne sacce ninte; ma i figgeu, che son quelli che ciù de tutti dovieivan aspëtâla, co-a coæ de treppâ e de zugâ, n’an tòsto poia. I poæ e e moæ ghe pâ imposcibile che i figgeu no veuggian montâghe in çimma à demoâse. Magara sta giòstra a stà di meixi ch’a no se fa vedde e dapeu, tutt’assemme, a s’arrigoela astrassonâ pròpio chì, pægio de unna ziardoa, ch’a gia e a lòccia sensa fermâse, con tutte e seu çinse grixe che fan remoin in sciâ ciassa. À sponciâla con unna man sola gh’é unna vegia picciña e aggreppia, ch’a dà i biggetti, a l’arronsa a giòstra pe dâghe veloxitæ e a pâ fæta de strasse lê ascì, con doî euggi menui, che voî diësci che no veddan ninte e in cangio veddan tutto. Çertidun conta che di viægi a giòstra a l’é partia sensa fâ chinâ nisciun; lesta comm’a l’é vegnua, a s’é incartinâ e impiccinia fin à vegnî unna balletta de strasse e, avanti che nisciun no poëse fâ ninte, a s’é intaffoâ derê a-a coa de paggia do nòstro euggio drito, donde se va à asconde tutte e cöse e e persoñe, che gh’an a coa de paggia e no veuan ciù fâse vedde.

English translation:
The Carousel

Many times, on these streets full of dust and rubbish, the carousel arrives all of a sudden, with no one knowing a thing about it, but the children, who more than anyone should be waiting for it, eager to fool around and play, are almost afraid of it. To their parents it seems impossible that the children wouldn’t want to climb aboard and have some fun. Maybe this carousel goes months without showing itself and then, all at once, comes rolling in tattered right here, like a spinning top, whirling and shaking without stopping, with all its grey rags swirling about the square. Pushing it along with one hand alone is a little shrivelled old woman, who hands out the tickets, shoves the carousel to give it speed, and seems to be made of rags herself, with two small eyes that you’d say see nothing and yet see everything. Some tell that the carousel has at times taken off without letting anyone get down, swift as it had come, has crumpled up and shrunk until it became a little ball of rags and, before anyone could do anything, has hidden behind the straw tail of our right eye, where all the things and people who have a guilty conscience and no longer want to be seen go to hide.
Ligurian:
I dinæ

No ti ô senti, che tutti sti dinæ inte stacche te rendan ciù peson? E sti raxonamenti ascì, te peisan adòsso, ma ti te î devi lasciâ scuggiâ de d’ato, comme unn’ægua ciæa in scî risseu da  giæa, donde ti veddi cös’o l’é stæto e cös’o saiâ o mondo. Bisà desgheugge sto remescello de idee che te fan imbrumme inte çervelle. Un figgeu in brasso a-o papà o rangogna inta seu lengua de cöse che nisciun no conosce e a canson de çigae a s’asconde derê e miage do çemetëio, tra e cöse che no son ciù, ma che n’aggueitan de derê à l’ombra grande da consciensa; de lì score o sciumme de stelle e o se veua inti gorfi de l’uga à settembre. De pe-i proei umei da neutte mi vorrieiva navegâ e vegnî in derê solo che à quell’oa da mattin, quande a campanetta a seunna in sce l’oexin de l’öroa.

English translation:
Money

Don’t you feel how all this money in your pockets makes you heavier? And these words weigh on you too, but you have to let them slip over you, like clear water over the pebbles of a riverbed, where you see what the world has been and what it will be. You have to unwind this tangle of thoughts that clutter your brain. A child in his father’s arms whimpers in his own tongue things no one understands, and the song of the cicadas hides behind the cemetery walls, among the things that are no more, but that spy on us from behind the great shadow of consciousness; from there flows the river of stars and spills into the gulfs of September’s grapes. Through the damp meadows of the night I would like to sail, and return only at that hour of the morning when the little bell rings on the brink of dawn.
Ligurian:
E armæ angeliche

A-i capitanni de armæ angeliche, che son chinæ co-i seu barchi into rianetto do carroggio, donde se spegia l’urtima luxe da neutte, i cantonê an contestou o divieto de sòsta. O no passa mai ciù st’ötunno do mondo, ma e feugge creuvan secche inti giardin solitäi, donde i figgeu no van ciù à demoâse, donde se allonghisce e ombre de roe inte allee, co-i monumenti de marmao che ghe fan spallea. Coscì i angei se n’en anæti e mai ciù vegnian, manco into giorno do giudiçio; ne lascian chì à moî da-o seunno e da l’erlia, inte l’inmobilitæ do tempo, ch’o no veu passâ. Comme da unna marea ch’a monta, se femmo portâ verso mæñe teie, che no sa nisciun; verso l’oa do tramonto, l’imbatto da gran luxe o l’aspeta o miacoo in scê nuvie e in sciô mâ, tanto che i professoî de filosofia ghe dan e ghe dan à remesciâ l’ægua into bollacco.

English translation:
The angelic armies

To the captains of the angelic armies, who descended with their ships into the brook of the alley, where the last light of night is mirrored, the wardens issued a citation for unlawful parking. This autumn of the world never seems to end, yet the leaves fall dry in the solitary gardens, where the children no longer come to play, where the shadows of the oaks lengthen along the avenues, flanked by marble monuments standing guard. And so the angels have gone away and will never return, not even on judgment day; they will leave us here to die of sleep and boredom, in the stillness of time, which refuses to pass. As if borne by a rising tide, we let ourselves be carried toward warm shores that no one knows; toward the hour of sunset, the reflection of the great light awaits the miracle upon the clouds and upon the sea, while the professors of philosophy are busy stirring water in a bucket.
Ligurian:
O spegio fondo

O fondo spegio a-o fondo da mæ stançia quande l’é neutte o no spegia ninte; ma à dî a veitæ mi no me incallo à anâghe à vedde, perché no so chi l’é che porriæ vegnîme incontra da-e lontananse di anni, inte quelle neutte che no arriëscio à dormî. Unna vòtta ò provou à lasciâ o barcon averto, de mainea che a luxe de feua a l’intresse inta stançia, tanto che un resciöo de ciæo o consentisse d’ammiâ drento o spegio, ma tutte e figue do passou vëgnan à impî o spegio e tutte scentan into mæximo scuo de donde ne son vegnue; a seu testa de sangueggia a tocca a coa e se ne van. E poule ghian e rezan sto zeugo, che de derê no gh’é ninte, ne van e ne vëgnan comme de avie che borboña d’in gio a-o boggio, ma no tian sciù ninte ch’o l’indue, solo che fô e ombre, che in sciô momento pan de grandiose architettue e de drito deruan into scuo de un pö avanti.

English translation:
The Deep Mirror

The deep mirror at the far end of my room at night reflects nothing; but to tell the truth I dare not go and see, for I do not know who might come toward me from the distances of the years, on those nights when I cannot sleep. Once I tried leaving the window open, so that the light from outside would enter the room, while a sliver of light made it possible to look into the mirror, but all the figures of the past come to fill the mirror and all vanish into the same darkness from which they came; their serpent heads touch their tails and away they go. Words guide and govern this game, which has nothing behind it, they come and go like bees buzzing around the hive, but they build nothing lasting, only rustling and shadows, which for a moment seem grand architectures and at once collapse into the darkness of a moment before.
Ligurian:
O sotterraneo

No sò da quante tempo staggo serrou inte sto sotterraneo con ste luxe giane e meze asmòrte; no sò manco ciù dî da quante l’é che ghe son introu, e donde stava quand’ea zoeno, gh’ò solo che di regòrdi spersci da mæ vitta de feua. Vaggo avanti e in derê inte de stançie misse in sce tanti cen, che chiñan verso un fondo che no se sa donde se va, treuvo o mangiâ conservou inte di armäi, che chisà chi me l’à lasciou. E chisà chi o veu piggiâ in gio sto babaccetto, che treuvo d’ògni un pittin pösou in sce quarche mòbile ò donca appiccou à un fî ch’o pende da-o soffito? O te gh’à un morin peio che no ve sò dî e in sciô steumago unna scrita, ch’a pâ unna marca de cafè. Magara o me veu dî ch’o l’é comme mi, che taxo perché ò za dito tutto, ò che taxo perché ò ancon da dî tutto.

English translation:
The Underground Room

I don’t know how long I’ve been shut up in this underground room with these dim yellow lights; I can’t even say how long ago I came in here or where I was when I was young, I have only faded memories of my life outside. I go back and forth through some rooms set on many floors, which descend toward a bottom that no one knows where it leads, I find food kept in certain cupboards, and who knows who left it for me. And who knows who is trying to mock this little puppet, which I find every now and then propped on some piece of furniture, or hanged from a string dangling from the ceiling? It has a pinched little face I can’t describe and on its chest a writing, that looks like the advertisement for a brand of coffee. Perhaps it means to tell me that it is like me, that I am silent because I have already said everything, or that I am silent because I still have everything to say.
Ligurian:
# Scituaçion e evoluçion

O campo d'erta prescion o va inderê sotta a fòrsa de corrente fresche atlantiche con determinâ unna primma fase perturbâ à Levante tra sabbo a-a seia e domenega a-a neutte, dapeu larghe avertue, sorviatutto in sciô Çentro-Ponente; apreuvo vegnià un neuvo pezoamento con temperatue in cheita da lunesdì

# Stato do çê

Tra Savoneise e Zeneise assæ nuvio con pöca ægua in correspondensa di addensamenti ciù spessi. Nuvie desperse ò nuvio da-e atre parte

# Temperatue

staçionäie ò in cheita legia

# Umiditæ

In sce l'erto

# Venti

tra mòlli e moderæ da-o meridion

# Mâ

pöco remesciou

# Segnalaçioin da Proteçion Çivile

nisciuña

English translation:
# Situation and evolution

The high-pressure field is retreating under the impulse of cool Atlantic currents, bringing about an initial unsettled phase in the eastern sector between Saturday evening and Sunday night, followed by broad clearings, especially over the central-western areas; a fresh worsening with a drop in temperature will follow from Monday

# State of the sky

Between the Savona and Genoa areas very cloudy with light rainfall in correspondence with the more substantial cloud build-ups. Irregularly cloudy or cloudy elsewhere

# Temperatures

steady or slightly decreasing

# Humidity

At high values

# Winds

light to moderate southerly

# Sea

slightly choppy

# Civil Protection alerts

none
Ligurian:
# Scituaçion e evoluçion

L'arrivo de unna fòrte perturbaçion da-a Fransa o pòrta de condiçioin de tempo grammo in davei con nuvie, ægua e borrasche fòrte. Megioamento in parte a-a fin da settemaña

# Stato do çê

Giornâ perturbâ con çê accabannou e preçipitaçioin generalizzæ anche con derui ò borrasca à momenti fòrte. Intenscificaçion di fenòmeni da-a seia

# Temperatue

Staçionäie

# Umiditæ

In sce l'erto

# Venti

Moderæ ò fòrti da-o meridion à Levante, da-i quaddranti do settentrion à Ponente

# Mâ

Assæ remesciou ò remesciou

# Segnalaçioin da Proteçion Çivile

Ægua, borrasche, vento

English translation:
# Situation and evolution

The arrival of a powerful disturbance from France brings markedly bad weather conditions with clouds, rain and severe thunderstorms. Partial improvement over the weekend

# Sky conditions

A disturbed day with overcast skies and widespread precipitation, also in the form of showers or at times heavy thunderstorms. Intensification of phenomena from evening onwards

# Temperatures

Steady

# Humidity

At high values

# Winds

Moderate or strong southerlies in the East, from the northern quadrants in the West

# Sea

Very rough or rough

# Civil Protection warnings

Rain, thunderstorms, wind