These stairs reminded me of the poem, by Ligurian poet, Eugenio Montale. I love his poetry, like I love the work of Pablo Neruda, Hone Tuwhare, and Taha Muhammad Ali too.
I even hunted down a book of his poetry, with translations to English. I've been told it's almost impossible to experience the full depth of meaning in translation but I love what understand of him.
Here's the poem I thought of today, when I looked back up at the stairs I had come down ... Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio… in translation :-)
I descended, with you on my arm…
I descended, with you on my arm, at least a million stairs
and now that you are not here every step is emptiness.
In any case our long journey was too brief.
Mine continues even now, no longer in need
of coincidences, reservations,
ploys, and the scorn of those who believe
that reality is what we perceive.
I descended millions of stairs with you on my arm
not only because four eyes perhaps see more.
With you I descended those stairs because I knew
the only real pupils, although terribly dimmed,
belonged to you.
(from “Satura”, 1971)
Translation by ©Matilda Colarossi