MILAN – The Christmas holidays are an opportunity to get together and spend time with loved ones, but for some authors who have written the history of Italian poetry, Christmas has been a reason for deeper reflections. In this selection of Christmas poems we propose the most important authors and their feelings: from the sadness of Ungaretti to the restlessness of Quasimodo, from the spirituality of Saba and Gozzano to the poetry of Manzoni, here are the 5 most significant Christmas poems.
. Umberto Saba, To the Child Jesus
The night has fallen
and the comet
that marked the way shines.
I am in front of You, Holy Child!
You, King of the universe,
have taught us
that all creatures are equal,
which distinguishes them only by goodness, an
immense treasure
given to the poor and the rich.
Jesus, make me good,
that I have nothing but sweetness in my heart.
Let your gift
grow in me every day
and spread it around,
in your name.
. Giuseppe Ungaretti, Christmas
I do not want
to dive
into a ball
of streets
I have so much
on my shoulders
Leave me
like a
in a
and forgotten
you can feel
but the good heat
I am
with the four
of smoke
from the hearth
. Salvatore Quasimodo, Christmas
Christmas. I look at the carved nativity scene,
where the shepherds who have just arrived
at the poor stable in Bethlehem are.
Even the Magi in long robes
greet the mighty King of the world.
Peace in the fiction and in the silence
of the wooden figures: here are the old men
of the village and the shining star,
and the blue donkey.
Peace in the heart of Christ forever;
but there is no peace in the heart of man.
Even with Christ and for twenty centuries
, the brother lashes out on his brother.
But there are those who listen to the baby’s cry
who will then die on the cross between two thieves
. Alessandro Manzoni, Il Natale
What boulder that from the summit
of a long mountain steep,
abandoned to the impetus
of a noisy landslide,
through the chipped calle
plunging downstream,
bars on the bottom and stands;
where it fell, it
lies motionless in its slow mass;
Neither, for centuries to change,
may it see the sun
of its ancient peak again,
if a friendly virtue
draws it above:
such lay the miserable
son of the first phallus,
from which an ineffable
anger promised to the soul
of every malor gravollo,
whence the superb neck
he could no longer rise.
Who ever among those born to hatred,
ever a person
who could say to the inaccessible Saint
: forgive,
make a new eternal pact
to the
victor ,
, tear his prey . mover of his eyelash:
to man he extends his hand,
which revives, and rises
beyond the ancient honor.
From the ethereal mansions
a spring gushes out, and descends,
and in the borron de ‘triboli
vividly spreads out:
apples drip from the trunks
where they cover the bronchi,
there the flower sprouts.
O Son, O You to whom it generates
the Eternal, eternal with him;
what can he tell you of the centuries:
You began with me
You are: the vast empire
does not understand you:
your word makes you.
And You deigned to assume
this created clay
as a merit of him, as a grace
to so much honor sorcerer
if in his hidden advice forgiveness
immensely compassionate He and.
Today He was born: in Efrata,
a prophesied hostel,
an alma Virgin ascended,
the glory of Israel,
grave of such a weight
from which he promised and was born,
whence he was expected to go out.
The aim Mother in poor
clothes the Son composed,
and in the humble crib
gently posed;
and I love it: blessed!
innazi the prostrate God,
that the pure sen opens them.
The Angel of Heaven, to the men
nuncio of such fate,
not of the powerful Volgesi
at the watched gates;
but among the devoted shepherds,
unknown to the harsh world,
immediately appeared in light.
And around him for the wide
night descended in flocks,
a thousand celestials embraced
the flaming flight;
and kindled in sweet zeal,
as they sing in heaven
To God glory sing.
The merry hymn followed,
returning to the firmament:
among the passing clouds
moved away, and slowly
the sacred sound ascended,
until nothing more understood
the faithful company.
Without delay, they looked
for the poor poor hotel
, those lucky ones, and saw,
as they were told, they saw
the King of Heaven wailing
in clothes wrapped
in a welcomed nativity scene.
Sleep, O Maiden; do not Cry;
sleep, O celestial Maiden:
above your head screeching
not in storms,
use on the impious earth,
like horses in war,
I will run before You.
Sleep, O Celestial: the peoples
who was born do not know;
but what a noble
inheritance they will be;
who in that humble rest,
which in the hidden dust,
will know the King.
. Guido Gozzano, He was born! Alleluia!
The sovereign child is born, he is
born! Hallelujah, hallelujah!
The night that was already dark
shines with a divine star.
Come on, bagpipes,
play happier! Ring, bells!
Come, shepherds and housewives,
or people near and far!
Not thirsty, not soft carpets, but as
the prophets
have said in books for four thousand years,
a little straw has for bed.
For four thousand years
this hour had been expected at all hours.
The Lord is born, the Lord is born!
He was born in our country.
The night that was already darkened
shines with a divine star .
The Sovereign Child is born,
is born! Hallelujah, hallelujah!

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