Dorothy Doesn’t Aim to Get All Swann’s Way This Time by Laurence Foshee

(After Petrarch’s Sonnet 351)

Schmaltzy stressors and plain

aversion fill in for sexless fidelity,

incense what I now know as

cooling urges—their insipid,

pat words refracting a sum

in rays of bemused candor—

a rose-quartz and breathless rivulet

of each upturned ardor’s gutter-talk,

or godly glance to a gal now glad

in blazes, affronting her keen mind,

rightly fooling itself of a sudden

to comfort living’s stunned,

frail varieties taking hold

in a heart otherwise spent.

—

Original Text:

Dolci durezze, et placide repulse,
piene di casto amore et di pietate;
leggiadri sdegni, che le mie infiammate
voglie tempraro ( or me n’accorgo), e ‘nsulse;

gentil parlar, in cui chiaro refulse
con somma cortesia somma honestate;
fior di vertú, fontana di beltate,
ch’ogni basso penser del cor m’avulse;

divino sguardo da far l’uom felice,
or fiero in affrenar la mente ardita
a quel che giustamente si disdice,

or presto a confortar mia frale vita:
questo bel varïar fu la radice
di mia salute, ch’altramente era ita.

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