After a brief summary of the main issues in the theory of the translation of poetry, this paper takes a critical look at the Italian translations of some of Joyce's lyrics in order to explore the techniques used and the results achieved.  While Joyce's lyrics are a minor part of his total output, they do shed light on his overall artistic concerns, and deserve critical attention in their own right.  Here an attempt is made to see how Italian translators have approached these texts.

1. Introduction

Although James Joyce's lyrics form only a minor part of his total oeuvre, they have constantly been republished and retranslated ever since their appearance.  This may be largely due to Joyce's overwhelming reputation as a writer of fiction, but the sheer number of musical settings of his poems would suggest another reason for their continued popularity.  Joyce's lyrics are perhaps more songs than poems, and derive more from his interest in music than from any serious attempt to write poetry.  In fact, if we compare his lyrics of those of his great contemporaries--Pound, Eliot, Yeats, Valery, Ungaretti, Rilke--his work in this field seems insignificant.  Yet his early poetry has much in common with other poetry that was being written in the 1890s in Ireland and elsewhere, and shows a level of technical competence that in itself is no small achievement.
1 Though Joyce's really innovative work was done in prose, and he always remained quite conventional in his lyrics, it would be wrong to ignore the lyrics altogether.  If Eugenio Montale chose to translate two of Joyce's poems into Italian, he must have found something intrinsically interesting about them.

The musical aspect of Joyce's lyrics is underlined by the very title of his first collection, Chamber Music.  It is also well known that Joyce's models for these poems were the Elizabethan lyrics, all of which were intended to be sung, and most of which dealt (like Joyce's lyrics) with the subject of love.

The traditional view of these poems is nicely stated on the front inside flap of the Jonathan Cape edition of
Chamber Music.  It goes: "Elusive and formal, these poems are, above all, musical.  Joyce, who trained as a singer in Paris, set out to write lyrics that could be sung, and their imagery--characteristically--appeals chiefly to the ear.  Echoes from books, together with images from musical instruments, contribute to Joyce's 'elegant and antique phrase.' His models are the Elizabethan lyricists, the airs of Dowland and the words of Shakespeare."

The Irish poet Padraic Colum is reported to have remarked that the poems "seem to come out of a young musician's rather than a young poet's world."
3 It is also reported that "Joyce emphasized the musical nature of Chamber Music not only through the title but also by setting one of the poems to music himself (XI), and by encouraging Geoffrey Molyneux Palmer4 to set others: 'I hope you may set all of Chamber Music in time.  This was indeed partly my idea in writing it.  The book is in fact a suite of songs and if I were a musician I suppose I should have set them to music myself' (Letters I 67)."5

If we start from the assumption that in Joyce's lyrics the music is more important than the "meaning" (in the usual sense), this has certain implications for the translator of such texts.  At the very least, it must be admitted that the music is part of the meaning, and hence must be taken into consideration in the creation of a new text in the target language.  Merely to translate the surface or literal sense of the words and phrases, without paying any attention to such factors as rhythm, rhyme, alliteration, assonance, etc.--in general, all that goes into the making of a poem or song text as a form that communicates more than its prose paraphrase--would seem to give, by definition, an inadequate idea of the nature of the texts.  If the texts are meant to be sung, or at least singable, then an adequate translation should also be a text that can be sung, or in any case singable.

Joyce himself seems to have worked in some such way, in translating a German poem (song) into English.
6 He adapted the text to produce a result that would reproduce the general tone, rhythm, rhyme and effect of the original.  It is interesting to observe that he chose to work on a text that had been set to music, and affected him mainly in the form it had been given as a song, and not in its original form as a published poem.  This reinforces the impression one receives that his interest in lyrics derived more from an interest in music than from any literary interest as such. (His translation was later set to music by Samuel Barber.)

An examination of Joyce's other translations of poetry--in particular, of his early translation of a poem by Verlaine, as well as his multiple translations of verses by James Stephens, made much later
7--provides confirmation of the idea that, for Joyce, the translation of poetry meant the recreation of the text in another language.  He seems to have adopted the same technique also when translating his own "Anna Livia Plurabelle" into Italian.8

The whole question of communication in poetry and song texts is extremely complex.  Elsewhere I have discussed the issue of communication in dramatic texts.  Poetic texts are hardly less problematical.  What, indeed, is a poem saying or doing?  If an essential part of the poem's total communicative effect is the emotional impact it makes on the reader (listener), then the particular form of the text--its musical aspect--must be an essential element in the communication process.  To communicate a feeling, a poem or song uses words in a special way, which is not the way of prose.  The music of a poem is part or its overall meaning structure.  To ignore this aspect is to betray the essential nature of the poem.

On one level, it might be maintained that every love poem from Sappho on down merely communicates the idea expressed in the words "I love you".  But of course, if this were all there was to it, no one would ever bother to write a poem to express such a banal and common concept.  It is the particular features of the poem--its imagery, its structure, its logic and certainly also its music--that make it communicate an emotion that goes beyond the mere declaration of love.  And the emotion it expresses is aesthetic in nature, for a poem is by definition an aesthetic artifact.

A poem, then, may be defined as a text that conveys an aesthetic experience through words, making use of all the expressive potential of the words (their various meanings, the sound of them, their arrangement).  The primary aim of a poem is to convey an experience.  If this is the case, then the only possible translation of a poem is another text in another language that tries to convey the same, or a very similar, type of aesthetic experience.  But this definition, though true, is so vague that it might almost be argued that any poem could thus serve as the translation of any other poem.  This is, of course, not true.  Any specific poem conveys a specific experience by means of a specific content that establishes a well-defined relation with a specific reality for a specific purpose.  In other words, the semantic content (in the usual sense) of a poem is important, and must be rendered as closely as possible in any translation that aims to recreate the specific world of experience of the original poem.  Yet a mere rendering of such semantic content, however scrupulous, is not enough to convey the experience of reading the original poem.   At its worst it can help us to read and understand the original text, while at its best it can reflect the original's relation to reality.  But it can hardly move us in the way the original moves us.  For this, more is needed.

This general discussion of the translation of poetry, and Joyce's poetry in particular, leads us to the conclusion that the only real translation of his lyrics would be a recreation of the texts in another language--in this case, Italian--in order to convey the largely musical experience of reading the original.  It is now time to take a look at the actual published Italian translations to see if they have been made according to this or some other criterion.  The fact that in almost all cases the original English text is printed on the facing page might, however, argue in favor of the idea that these translations were made as guides for the understanding of the original text, which the Italian reader is thought capable of experiencing fully only with the aid of a "pony."

2. The published translations

Apparently, the first Italian translation of Joyce's
Chamber Music dates from 1943; it was ascribed to a certain Marco Lombardi, but was actually the work of Aldo Camerino.  These translations were republished in 1961, under the translator's real name.  Neither edition contains an introduction or notes, but the 1943 publication contains seven portraits of Joyce in the end and the 1961 book has a short bibliography of works by and about Joyce, including the Italian translations up to that date. The bibliography clearly identifies the translator of the 1943 volume as being in reality Aldo Camerino.

Mention should also be made of the posthumous publication (in 1988) of Aldo Camerino's translations of
Poems Penyeach, Po(e)mi un soldo l'uno, edited and with an introduction by Rosella Mamoli Zorzi.
In 1949 Alberto Rossi published a translation of
Pomes Penyeach, together with the third episode of Ulysses.  These translations were accompanied by his essay "James Joyce e la poesia."  The translations of the poems and the introduction were later reprinted in the 1961 Mondadori volume.
Indeed, in 1961 Mondadori published Joyce's
Poesie in its prestigious "Specchio" series.  This volume collected (more or less) all of Joyce's poems, including unpublished work.  The translations were made by Alfredo Giuliani (Chamber Music-Musica da camera), Alberto Rossi (Pomes Penyeach-Poesie da un soldo), Edoardo Sanguineti ("Il Santo Uffizio," "Becco a gas" e "Ecce puer") and J. Rodolfo Wilcock ("Poesie della prima giovinezza" and most of the "Poesie d'occasione").  The books contains a preface by Alberto Rossi, as well as notes by J. Rodolfo Wilcock and Giorgio Melchiori..  This volume was later republished (the third edition dates from 1976). The same translations, as well as the essay by Alberto Rossi, are reprinted in the volume Poesie e prose (1992); the only new material is the addition of another general introduction by Franca Ruggieri and Joyce's translations of verses by James Stephens.
In 1975 Eugenio Montale published translations of two poems from
Pomes Penyeach in his Quaderno di traduzioni.
A more recent edition is that published by Newton Compton in 1991.  It contains translations of
Chamber Music, 'The Holy Office' and 'Gas from a Burner.'  The translations, introduction, bibliography and notes are by Marina Emo Capodilista.
All the books so far mentioned present the original text on the facing page, with the exception of the edition of 1943.  None of the above editions discusses the translations to specify the translation procedures used or the aims of the translation.

3. Analysis of selected texts

Since a detailed analysis of all the translations is impossible, I have chosen to look at the translations of some sample poems, in order to compare the different techniques used and the different results achieved.  I have therefore chosen to analyze one poem from
Chamber Music in the translations of Aldo Camerino, Alfredo Giuliani and Marina Emo Capodilista, one poem from Pomes Penyeach in the translations of Alberto Rossi, Alberto Camerino and Eugenio Montale, and 'The Holy Office' in the translations of Edoardo Sanguineti and Marina Emo Capodiolista. This analysis excludes the early poems, occasional poems, and poems found in Joyce's fiction.


My dove, my beautiful one,
   Arise, arise!
   The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.

The odorous winds are weaving
   A music of sighs:
   Arise, arise,
My dove, my beautiful one!

I wait by the cedar tree,
   My sister, my love.
   White breast of the dove,
My breast shall be your bed.

The pale dew lies
    Like a veil on my head.
   My fair one, my fair dove,
Arise, arise!

MIA colomba, mia bella
levati, levati!
La brina mi sta
sulle labbra e sugli occhi.

I venti profumati tessono
una musica di sospiri:
levati, levati 
mia colomba, mia bella!

Aspetto presso il cedro,
sorella, amor mio.
Bianco seno di colomba,
il mio petto sara il tuo guanciale.

La pallida rugiada sta
come un velo sul mio capo.
Mia bella, mia bella colomba,
levati, levati!

     (traduzione di Aldo Camerino)

Mia bella, mia colombella,
   Levati, a volo!
   La notturna rugiada e un velo
Sul mio sguardo e sulle labbra.

Tessono i venti odorosi
   Musica di sospiri:
   Levati, levati a volo! 
Mia bella, mia colombella!

Io aspetto vicino ai cedro,
   Mio amore, mia sorella.
   Bianco petto ha la colomba,
Il mio sara tuo letto.

E' su di me come un velo
   La rugiada col suo pallore.
   Mia bella, mia colombella,
Levati, levati a volo!

           (traduzione di Alfredo Giuliani)

Colomba, splendore mio,
  alzati, alzati!
  Rugiada notturna
Ho sulle labbra e gli occhi.

I venti odorosi tessono
  musica di sospiri:
  alzati, alzati,
colomba, splendore mio!

Aspetto vicino al cedro,
  sorella, amore.
  Petto bianco di colomba,
sul mio petto dormirai.

Rugiada pallida
  h come un velo sul capo.
  Mia bella, bella colomba,
alzati, alzati!

     (traduzione di Marina Emo Capodilista)

Poem XIV of
Chamber Music was indicated by Joyce as being the centrepiece of the collection.  It has, uncharacteristically, an irregular rhyme scheme (abbb cbba deef bfeb), and makes much use of repetition.  It also has vaguely biblical overtones.11
All three of the Italian translations are quite similar in their approach to this lyric.  The first one to appear, by Aldo Camerino, is also the most literal.  His is a straightforward line-by-line rendering of the content of the poem.  His only departures from Joyce's text are the suppression of the possessive adjective 'my' before 'lips' ('labbra') and 'sister ('sorella'), and the translation of 'bed' as 'guanciale' ('pillow').  No attempt is made to achieve any particular musical effects (rhyme, rhythm, etc.).
Giuliani takes a few more liberties with the text.  First, he inverts the order of Joyce's vocatives in lines 1, 8 and 10, for reasons best known to himself, and uses the diminutive 'colombella', which incorporates in its structure the word 'bella', thus seeming to reinforce the idea of beauty with a sort of rhyme.  Then, Joyce's line "Arise, arise", which occurs three times in the text, is translated once as "Levati, a volo!" (line 2) and twice as "Levati, levati a volo!" (lines 7 and 16).  The addition of 'a volo' is Giuliani's invention; it literally means 'in flight' and reinforces the image of the dove.  He also adds the image of the veil ('velo') to line 3, presumably taking it from Joyce's line 14 (probably in order to have a sort of false rhyme with 'volo' in line 2).  In line 4 he inverts the order of 'lips and eyes' and uses 'sguardo' ('look') instead of 'occhi' ('eyes').
In line 5 Giuliani inverts the order of subject and verb, chooses to translate 'odorous' by 'odorosi' rather than Camerino's 'profumati', and then suppresses the indefinite article in line 6.  In lines 11-12 he adds the verb 'ha' (the line means, literally, 'White breast has the dove') and then suppresses the word for 'breast' in line 12.  (It should be noted that Camerino uses two different words for 'breast' in these lines, 'seno' for the dove and 'petto' for the lover.)  Giuliani, however, preserves the literal translation of bed ('letto').
Lines 13-14 are a free adaptation of Joyce's text, in which--suddenly--the unit of translation becomes the couplet and not the line. The word 'head' is omitted ('on my head' becomes 'on me', 'su di me').  Literally, the lines read, "Lies on me like a veil/The dew with its pallor."  Perhaps this change was made in order to achieve a sort of assonance between 'pallore' and 'volo.'  However, the change is rather arbitrary.
The third translation, by Marina Emo Capodilista, presents further changes.  The possessive adjective 'my', so obsessively repeated in Joyce's text (it occurs 11 times in 16 lines, whereas 'your' occurs once - I am sure this pounding repetition would not escape the notice of a feminist critic!) is almost completely omitted (it occurs only four times).  The implications of this in terms of sexual politics are not indifferent.  The omission of the possessive adjective is made possible in two cases because the translator introduces the verb 'ho' ('I have') (lines 4 and 14).  Other notable changes are the use of the expression 'splendore mio' for 'my beautiful one' in lines 1 and 8 (translated by Camerino and Giuliana as 'mia bella'); however, she switches to 'mia bella' in line 15 (where Joyce switches to 'my fair, fair dove' -- this switch is not reflected in the other two translations).  Lines 5-6 echo Giuliani's version, but place the verb at the end of line 5, rather than at the beginning.  The translation in general tends to omit articles (before 'rugiada', 'musica' and 'petto') and uses the verb 'alzati' instead of 'levati'.  The only other change worthy of note is the translation of line 12 ('sul mio petto dormirai', 'on my breast you shall sleep'), which effectively eliminates Joyce's 'bed.'
In all these versions there is an important shift in rhythm in the crucial line 'Arise, arise.'  In the original it consists of two iambs, whereas in the Italian versions there are either two dactyls 'Levati, levati' or 'Alzati, alzati' or a dactyl plus an amphibrach ('Levati, a volo'), or even two dactyls plus an amphibrach ('Levati, levati al volo!').
Since none of these versions attempts a musical re-creation of the original text (though perhaps Giuliani moves in this direction), there seems to be little to recommend one over another.  Camerino can be, at times, both prosaic and inaccurate ('La brina mi sta/sulle labbra e sugli occhi - lines 3-4, where 'brina' ['mist'] is an odd choice to render 'night-dew'), but Giuliani's changes seem rather arbitrary and Capodilista's concision somewhat changes the nature of the text.  In short, none of these versions is completely convincing.


Frail the white rose and frail are
Her hands that gave
Whose soul is sere and paler
Than time's wan wave.

Rosefrail and fair - yet frailest
A wonder wild
In gentle eyes thou veilest,
My blueveined child.


Fragile la bianca rosa e fragili sono
Le mani di quella che la diede
La cui anima e appassita e piu pallida
Della scialba onda del tempo.

Fragile rosa e bella - eppur piu fragile
Una fantastica meraviglia
Nei dolci occhi tu veli
Figlia dalle azzurre vene.

     (traduzione di Aldo Camerino)


Diafana la bianca rosa e diafane
mani di lei che diedero,
anima vizza e pallida piu
che la smunta onda dei tempo.

Rosadiafane e belle - ma piu diafana
selvaggia meraviglia
nei miti occhi tu veli,
mia bambina azzurrovenata.

     (traduzione di Alberto Rossi)


Gracile rosa bianca e frali dita
di chi l'offerse, di lei
che ha l'anima piu pallida e appassita
dell'onda scialba del tempo.

Fragile e bella come rosa, e ancora
piu fragile la strana meraviglia
che veli ne' tuoi occhi, o mia azzurro-
venata figlia.

     (traduzione di Eugenio Montale)

If we compare the three translations of Joyce's short lyric "A Flower Given to My Daughter,"
12 we can immediately see that the most "literal" one, in the usual sense, is that by Aldo Camerino.  His translation is a simple and straightforward rendering of the most obvious surface meaning of the poem, in which the unit of translation is the individual line (that is to say, the content of each line in the translation corresponds to the content of each line in the original).  No attempt is made to invent any sort of rhyme scheme  or any kind of regular rhythm.  Moreover, Camerino chooses the most obvious equivalents for individual words, and makes no attempt to imitate Joyce's compounds ('Rosefrail' and 'blueveined').13
Also in the version by Alberto Rossi the translation unit is the individual line, and here too there is no attempt to achieve any sort of rhyme or regular rhythm.  However, the choice of words is more "poetic" ('diafana' instead of 'fragile', 'vizza' instead of 'appassita', 'smunta' instead of 'scialba', 'selvaggia' instead of the banal 'fantastica'), and Joyce's compounds are mirrored by invented Italian compounds ('Rosadiafane' and 'azzurrovenata'), which are, to tell the truth, stranger in Italian than the English inventions are. Rossi's stylistic choices (including his unusual placing of the adverb 'piu' at the end of the line) give the poem a more romantic, less prosaic air. It should also be noted that both Camerino and Rossi, once they have chosen an equivalent term for 'frail' ('fragile' and 'diafana', respectively), use the same term throughout the poem (it occurs four times in eight lines).
The version by Montale differs from both of these in a number of respects.  First, only Montale uses rhymes ('dita' and 'appassita' in lines 1 and 3, 'meraviglia' and 'figlia' in lines 6 and 8).  In order to achieve this, he changes 'hand' to 'dita' ('fingers') and inverts the order of the adjectives in line 3; and then he breaks the invented compound 'azzurro-venata' between lines 7 and 8, using a type of enjambment utterly foreign to Joyce's verse, and placing the adjective in what is, for Italian syntax, a very unnatural position.  Also unlike Camerino and Rossi, Montale uses three different words to translate 'frail' ('Gracile', 'frali' and 'fragile', this last used twice).  Other changes include the addition of 'di lei' in line 2, and 'ancora' in line 5 (neither addition is, strictly speaking, necessary), and the rendering of 'wild' as 'strana'.  Three of Montale's lexical choices are identical with those of Camerino ('pallida', 'appassita' and 'scialba'), while his compound 'azzurrovenata' is identical to that of Rossi.  Unlike Rossi, he ignores Joyce's other compound ('Rosefrail').  He is also the only translator to use the term 'Bambina' in the title (though Rossi uses it in line 8 of the poem).  He further inexplicably adds the preposition 'Per' to the title.
Though all three translations are printed with the original text on the facing page, Montale's version is the one that makes the greatest effort to be "autonomous" as a text.  However, Montale's departures from the original are largely arbitrary and not wholly convincing, and one can feel the strain he puts the text under in an effort to come up with his two modest rhymes.  His version certainly does not have the natural flow and music of Joyce's original, and does not even respect Joyce's poetics (as in abandoning the quite deliberate repetition of the word 'frail', and introducing a violent enjambment). 


Myself unto myself will give
This name Katharsis-Purgative.
I, who dishevelled ways forsook
To hold the poets' grammar-book,
Bringing to tavern and to brothel
The mind of witty Aristotle,
Lest bards in the attempt should err
Must here be my interpreter:
Wherefore receive now from my lip
Peripatetic scholarship.
To enter heaven, travel hell,
Be piteous or terrible
One positively needs the ease,
Of plenary indulgences.
For every true-born mysticist
A Dante is, unprejudiced,
Who safe at ingle-nook, by proxy,
Hazards extremes of heterodoxy
Like him who finds a joy at table,
Pondering the uncomfortable.                
Ruling one's life by common sense
How can one fail to be intense?
But I must not accounted be
One of that mumming company--
With him who hies him to appease
His giddy dames' frivolities
While they console him when be whinges
With gold-embroidered Celtic fringes--
Or him who sober all the day
Mixes a naggin in his play -
Or him whose conduct 'seems to own',
His preference for a man of  'tone'--
Or him who plays the rugged patch
To millionaires in Hazelhatch
But weeping after holy fast
Confesses all his pagan past--
Or him who will his hat unfix
Neither to malt nor crucifix
But show to all that poor-dressed be             
His high Castilian courtesy--
Or him who loves his Master dear--
Or him who drinks his pint in fear--
Or him who once when snug abed
Saw Jesus Christ without his head
And tried so hard to win for us
The long-lost works of Eschylus.
But all these men of whom I speak
Make me the sewer of their clique.
That they may dream their dreamy dreams
I carry off their filthy streams
For I can do those things for them
Through which I lost my diadem,
Those things for which Grandmother Church
Left me severely in the lurch.
Thus I relieve their timid arses,
Perform my office of  Katharsis.
My scarlet leaves them white as wool
Through me they purge a bellyful.
To sister mummers one and all
I act as vicar-general
And for each maiden, shy and nervous,
I do a similar kind service.
For I detect without surprise
That shadowy beauty in her eyes,
The 'dare not' of sweet maidenhood
That answers my corruptive 'would'.
Whenever publicly we meet
She never seems to think of it;
At night when close in bed she lies
And feels my hand between her thighs                    
My little love in light attire
Knows the soft flame that is desire.
But Mammon places under ban
The uses of Leviathan
And that high spirit ever wars
On Mammon's countless servitors
Nor can they ever be exempt
From his taxation of contempt.
So distantly I turn to view
The shamblings of that motley crew,                      
Those souls that hate the strength that mine has
Steeled in the school of old Aquinas.
Where they have crouched and crawled and prayed
I stand the self-doomed, unafraid,
Unfellowed, friendless and alone,
Indifferent as the herring-bone,
Firm as the mountain-ridges where
I flash my antlers on the air.
Let them continue as is meet
To adequate the balance-sheet.                            
Though they may labour to the grave
My spirit shall they never have
Nor make my soul with theirs at one
Till the Mahamanvantara be done:
And though they spurn me from their door
My soul shall spurn them evermore.

There is no space here for a detailed analysis of the two Italian translations of "The Holy Office."
14 What should be noted, however, is that both of them rather successfully re-invent the form of the original, and manage to maintain the rhyme scheme from beginning to end, while at the same time keeping the meaning intact.  It is rather surprising to find such lavish attention being paid to the formal aspects of what is, after all, an "occasional" poem, when the translations of Joyce's more lyrical poems were treated with formal nonchalance.  The same attention to form is also found, oddly enough, in the translations of Joyce's limericks by J. Rodolfo Wilcock, which successfully reproduce the original rhyme schemes and light tone.  (And yet, the limerick is not a  verse form native to the Italian tradition.)15
There is a certain irony in all this.  Whatever the reason may be, the most successful Italian translations of Joyce's verse are those of his comic and satirical poems, while his more romantic effusions have to make do, in Italian, with versions that read more like 'glosses' or explanations, rather than serious attempts at a recreation of the poetic impulse and experience that lie behind the original text.  If Joyce's texts are songs, the Italian versions definitely are not.  It is doubtful that anyone would even try to set them to music.  So, in this contest between music and meaning, meaning has in the end won out, and music retreats from the field in disarray, trampled into the dust by the Exigencies of Semantics.


Editions of Joyce's poems consulted:
James Joyce,
Chamber Music (London, Jonathan Cape, 1927, 1971)
James Joyce,
Poems and Shorter Writings (edited by Richard Ellmann, A. Walton Litz and John Whittier-Ferguson) (London, Faber and Faber, 1991)
James Joyce,
Poems and Exiles (edited with an introduction and notes by J.C.C. Mays) (Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1992)

Italian translations of Joyce's poems:
James Joyce,
Musica da camera (Venezia, Edizioni del Cavallino, 1943)
James Joyce,
Poesie da un soldo, Dall'Ulisse (Milano, Enrico Cederna, 1949)
James Joyce,
Musica da camera (Milano, All'insegna del pesce d'oro, 1961)
James Joyce,
Poesie (Milano, Mondadori, 1961; 3rd ed., 1976)
James Joyce,
Po(e)mi un soldo l'uno (Venezia, Fondazione Scientifica Querini Stampalia, 1988)
James Joyce,
Poesie (Roma, Newton Compton, 1991)
James Joyce,
Poesie e prose (Milano, Mondatori, 1992)
Eugenio Montale,
Quaderno di traduzioni (Milano, Mondadori, 1975), pp. 72-75.

General background material:
Derek Attridge (ed.),
The Cambridge Companion to James Joyce (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1990), particularly pp. 193-197
Morris Beja,
James Joyce, A Literary Life (London, Macmillan, 1992)
John McCourt,
The Years of Bloom, James Joyce in Trieste 1904-1920 (Dublin, Lilliput Press, 2000)
David Pierce,
James Joyce's Ireland (New Haven and London, Yale University Press, 1992)

© Gerald Parks
volume 3, issue 2, 2003