Stasera scrivendo altrove mi è improvvisamente apparsa in sovraimpressione (anche a voi i pensieri si palesano così, come codici per votare i concorrenti a XFactor? Oppure è solo un problema mio?) l’espressione (quanto sono astuta a piazzare una parentesi tra queste due parole, “sovraimpressione” ed “espressione”, così non c’è l’effetto cacofonico della rima e di troppe sibilanti? E quanto poco lo sono ad accostare subito dopo per farvi notare che non l’ho fatto prima?), santociélo, dicevo, l’espressione vento di ponente.
Giuro, non guardo sceneggiati Rai da prima di prendere la patente, quindi non è quello. Mi è proprio venuta, così. Vento di ponente, fa il pescator contente, dice il proverbio. Wikipedia invece dice che il vento di ponente soffia in Toscana e annuncia il bel tempo, e si chiama anche Zefiro. Come lo zucchero. Insomma, un vento dolce, il vento di ponente. Un vento che allittera. Un vento di speranza.
Vento di ponente mi piace molto. Non è come il maestrale, ché urla e biancheggia il mare, o il libeccio che strapazza il mare sopra, e sotto lo rimescola, no, Zefiro torna, e ‘l bel tempo rimena.
Soffia, vento.
- [I] O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
- thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
- are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
- yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
- pestilence-stricken multitudes: O, thou,
- who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
- the winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
- each like a corpse within its grave, until
- thine azure sister of the spring shall blow
- her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill
- (driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
- with living hues and odours plain and hill:
- wild Spirit, which art moving every where;
- destroyer and preserver; hear, O, hear!
- [II] Thou on whose stream, ‘mid the steep sky’s commotion,
- loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed,
- shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
- angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
- on the blue surface of thine airy surge,
- like the bright hair uplifted from the head
- of some fierce Mænad, even from the dim verge
- of the horizon to the zenith’s height
- the locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
- of the dying year, to which this closing night
- will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
- vaulted with all thy congregated might
- of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
- black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O, hear!
- [III] Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
- the blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
- lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,
- beside a pumice isle in Baiæ’s bay,
- and saw in sleep old palaces and towers
- quivering within the wave’s intenser day,
- all overgrown with azure moss and flowers
- so sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
- for whose path the Atlantic’s level powers
- cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
- the sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
- the sapless foliage of the ocean, know
- thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
- and tremble and despoil themselves: O, hear!
- [IV] If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
- if I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
- a wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
- the impulse of thy strength, only less free
- than thou, O, uncontroulable! If even
- I were as in my boyhood, and could be
- the comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,
- as then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
- scarce seemed a vision; I would ne’er have striven
- as thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
- Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
- I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
- A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
- one too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
- [V] Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
- what if my leaves are falling like its own!
- The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
- will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
- sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce,
- my spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
- Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
- like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
- And, by the incantation of this verse,
- scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
- ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
- Be through my lips to unawakened earth
- the trumpet of a prophecy! O, wind,
- if Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?