Vittoria Colonna: Selections from the Rime Spirituali, trans. Jan Zwicky

Reviewed by Sally Ito

Vittoria Colonna was a fifteenth-century Italian poet who lived in Rome. Betrothed at an early age to a fellow noble, Francesco Ferrante D’Avalos, the marriage lasted fifteen years. D’Avalos died of injuries sustained during battle in 1525, and Colonna was alone. She retreated to a convent in Rome with an intent to take orders, but because her powerful, politically active family did not think this was in its interests (they saw her as possible marriageable property) she was prevented from doing so. But Colonna refused to remarry and became what was know as a univira – a once married woman who remains loyal to her dead husband. Her position as such allowed her to cultivate a public voice in verse that received approval from the male establishment of the day. Her earlier poetry about married love, known as rime amorose, was well-regarded even though it was secular, and opened the door for other women poets to get their work into print.

The translated sections presented in this book of Colonna’s poetry – the rime spirituali – arose out of a time in Colonna’s life when she had formed an intense friendship with Michelangelo. She compiled a gift manuscript of 103 poems to the famed painter, ten of which have been selected here for translation. The poems are untitled devotional sonnets, marked only by a number, and are presented in their original Italian and in Zwicky’s translated English. In Italian, one can appreciate the tight sonnet form by observing the rhyme and meter of her verse, but in English, Zwicky’s intent was not to emulate the stylized Renaissance poetic form but rather, to convey Colonna’s character through her words. In fact, Zwicky calls her translations ‘versions’ and this seems apt. Colonna’s ardent and devout character comes through in Zwicky’s translation; here, the reader sees the poet, as Zwicky says, “in a passionate endeavour to come to grips with spiritual truth.”

It is this ‘passionate endeavour’ that I, as a reader and poet, was engaged by and in particular, what I found inspiring were the poems of discernment of one’s poetic vocation. A religious life demands of one submission and humility, as well as an awareness of one’s vanity. As Colonna points out in this sonnet (number 79), zeal and ardent desire, are not the true founts of inspiration, but rather, grace:

I would be lying, o sweet comfort, if I said
it’s not the time or place to act upon this fervour,
the desire I bear within me, brightly lit.
But if I seem distracted, if I fail
in the attention I would always give, know this:
my heart is firm; your grace inspires it;
I will not set my sail to any other port.
You’ve helped me understand that pain and disappointment
cannot turn the wise man from his path.
The only thing that really slows our progress
is self-love, a weakened faith
in what is high, holy, invisible.

Here, Colonna pulls the poet out of the terrain of emotion, and into one of conviction – ‘know this; my heart is firm’ – and awareness – ‘the only thing that really slows our progress is self-love.’ Zwicky’s prosaic rendering of Colonna’s wisdom here might disappoint some readers who are interested in the poetic particulars of how Colonna expressed this in the Italian, but I respect Zwicky’s artistic choice here. The fact that such spiritual discernment was imparted through poetry of very strict form and meter represents that unique artistic challenge of submission to form in the exercise of self-expression.

The sonnets in this book appear alongside photos of Josep Maria Subirachs’ Passion Facade taken by Robert Moody. These sculptures are twentieth century works carved into Gaudi’s famous Sagrada Familia basilica in Barcelona. As a passion facade, the sculptures depict the life of Christ at his crucifixion but the images don’t necessarily always intersect with the sonnets as one might expect. They seem to be at cross-purposes. Generally, my approach to images in books is to read the text, and then read the text into the image. Unfortunately, it’s not possible to do this with the images in this book since there are only ten sonnets, and they are not contextually related to the Passion story. For example, sonnet 45 on pp. 30-31 begins with “You’ve seen Luke’s portrait of the virgin,” and the following photograph is not of the Virgin as you might expect, but Jesus, crowned with thorns, hands bound, carrying what appears to be a truncated beam (perhaps representing the cross), followed by two soldiers. Sonnet 45, in some part, is about the Virgin’s humility, so perhaps one can extrapolate ‘humility’ from looking at this image, but my expectation as a reader was to have seen an image of Mary.

Other than the incongruity of the text with the photographs in this book, I was fully engaged in the poetry of Colonna through Zwicky’s translations. Zwicky’s motives in pursuing this fifteenth century poet’s work were, as she says, out of “purely intellectual and artistic curiosity.” I for one, am glad she followed her nose on this one. Colonna’s sonnets are a devotional treasure worth unearthing in this poker-faced, indifferent secular age.

Porcupine’s Quill | 64 pages | $16.95 | paper | ISBN# 978-0889843707