Sad Wine (I)

It’s a fine fact that whenever I sit in a tavern corner

sipping a grappa, the pederast’s there, or the kids

with their screaming, or the unemployed guy,

or some beautiful girl outside—all breaking

the thread of my smoke. That’s how it is, kid,

I’m telling it straight, I work at Lucento.

But that voice, that sorrowful voice of the old man

(forty-ish, maybe?) who shook my hand

one night in the cold and then walked with me back

to my house, that tone like an old cornet—

I’ll never forget it, not even in death.

He said nothing of wine, but spoke to me then

because I had suffered and was smoking a pipe.

“And pipe smokers,” he declared, shaking a little,

“can always be trusted!” I nodded my head.

I came back to find the girls friendlier, healthier,

their skirts cut higher—this after months of hunger—

and I went and got married because I was drunk

on all their freshness—a senile love.

I married the sassiest, most muscular girl

so I’d taste life again, so I wouldn’t die

behind a desk, in an office, surrounded by strangers.

But Nella too was a stranger to me, and a student pilot

saw her with me once, and later laid hands on her.

He’s dead now, that coward—that poor kid—

spun out of the sky—I guess I’m the coward.

Now she’s got her baby—who knows if he’s mine—

and she’s home all the time and I’m just a stranger

who can’t keep her happy. I don’t dare say a word

and neither does Nella, she just looks at me.

It was beautiful how he cried as he told it,

the way a drunk cries, his whole body to it,

and he hung on my shoulder saying, Between us,

always respect, and there I was, shaking with cold,

wanting to leave, and helping him walk.

Sipping grappa is nice, but there’s also a pleasure

in listening to the venting of an impotent old man

who’s back from the front and asks your forgiveness.

What satisfaction will I ever have in this life?

I’m telling it straight, I work at Lucento.

What satisfaction will I ever have in this life?

Copyright Credit: Cesare Pavese, "Sad Wine (I)" from Disaffections: Complete Poems 1930-1950. Copyright © 2002 by Cesare Pavese. Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press. www.coppercanyonpress.org

Source: Dissaffections: Complete Poems 1930-1950 (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)