First Reading. To Vittoria Colonna. The Model And The Statue.

Da che concetto.


When divine Art conceives a form and face,
        She bids the craftsman for his first essay
        To shape a simple model in mere clay:
        This is the earliest birth of Art's embrace.
From the live marble in the second place
        His mallet brings into the light of day
        A thing so beautiful that who can say
        When time shall conquer that immortal grace?
Thus my own model I was born to be--
        The model of that nobler self, whereto
        Schooled by your pity, lady, I shall grow.
Each overplus and each deficiency
        You will make good. What penance then is due
        For my fierce heat, chastened and taught by you?

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni was an Italian sculptor, painter, architect, and poet of the High Renaissance. Born on March 6, 1475, he is widely considered one of the greatest artists of all time. His poetry, although lesser-known compared to his other artistic achievements, displays his deep contemplation of art, love, and spirituality. Michelangelo passed away on February 18, 1564.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

To Pope Julius II.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - The Resurrection.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

Love's Argument With Reason.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

After The Death Of Vittoria Colonna. A Wasted Brand.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, Simple Poetry

English

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Second Reading. To Vittoria Colonna. The Model And The Statue.

Se ben concetto.


When that which is divine in us doth try
        To shape a face, both brain and hand unite
        To give, from a mere model frail and slight,
        Life to the stone by Art's free energy.
Thus too before the painter dares to ply
        Paint-brush or canvas, he is wont to write
        Sketches on scraps of paper, and invite
        Wise minds to judge his figured history.
So, born a model rude and mean to be
        Of my poor self, I gain a nobler birth,
        Lady, from you, you fountain of all worth!
Each overplus and each deficiency
        You will make good. What penance then is due
        For my fierce heat, chastened and taught by you?

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Heaven-Born Beauty. First Reading.

Per ritornar là.


As one who will reseek her home of light,
        Thy form immortal to this prison-house
        Descended, like an angel piteous,
        To heal all hearts and make the whole world bright.
'Tis this that thralls my soul in love's delight,
        Not thy clear face of beauty glorious;
        For he who harbours virtue, still will choose
        To love what neither years nor death can blight.
So fares it ever with things high and rare
        Wrought in the sweat of nature; heaven above
        Showers on their birth the blessings of her prime:
Nor hath God deigned to show Himself elsewhere
        More clearly than in human forms sublime;
        Which, since they image Him, alone I love.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

To Vittoria Colonna. Brazen Gifts For Golden.

Per esser manco almen.


Seeking at least to be not all unfit
        For thy sublime and boundless courtesy,
        My lowly thoughts at first were fain to try
        What they could yield for grace so infinite.
But now I know my unassisted wit
        Is all too weak to make me soar so high;
        For pardon, lady, for this fault I cry,
        And wiser still I grow remembering it.
Yea, well I see what folly 'twere to think
        That largess dropped from thee like dews from heaven
        Could e'er be paid by work so frail as mine!
To nothingness my art and talent sink;
        He fails who from his mortal stores hath given
        A thousandfold to match one gift divine.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Heaven-Born Beauty. Second Reading.

Venne, non so ben donde.


It came, I know not whence, from far above,
        That clear immortal flame that still doth rise
        Within thy sacred breast, and fills the skies,
        And heals all hearts, and adds to heaven new love.
This burns me, this, and the pure light thereof;
        Not thy fair face, thy sweet untroubled eyes:
        For love that is not love for aught that dies,
        Dwells in the soul where no base passions move.
If then such loveliness upon its own
        Should graft new beauties in a mortal birth,
        The sheath bespeaks the shining blade within.
To gain our love God hath not clearer shown
        Himself elsewhere: thus heaven doth vie with earth
        To make thee worthy worship without sin.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Love's Loadstone. First Reading.

No so s' è la desiata luce.


I know not if it be the longed-for light
        Of her first Maker which the spirit feels;
        Or if a time-old memory reveals
        Some other beauty for the heart's delight;
Or fame or dreams beget that vision bright,
        Sweet to the eyes, which through the bosom steals,
        Leaving I know not what that wounds and heals,
        And now perchance hath made me weep outright.
Be this what this may be, 'tis this I seek:
        Nor guide have I; nor know I where to find
        That burning fire; yet some one seems to lead.
This, since I saw thee, lady, makes me weak;
        A bitter-sweet sways here and there my mind,
        And sure I am thine eyes this mischief breed.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The Artist And His Work.

Com' esser, donna, può.


How can that be, lady, which all men learn
        By long experience? Shapes that seem alive,
        Wrought in hard mountain marble, will survive
        Their maker, whom the years to dust return!
Thus to effect cause yields. Art hath her turn,
        And triumphs over Nature. I, who strive
        With Sculpture, know this well; her wonders live
        In spite of time and death, those tyrants stern.
So I can give long life to both of us
        In either way, by colour or by stone,
        Making the semblance of thy face and mine.
Centuries hence when both are buried, thus
        Thy beauty and my sadness shall be shown,
        And men shall say, 'For her 'twas wise to pine.'

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni