I. The proud attacks of cruel luck
The fierce assaults of cruel Fortuna (the attacks of cruel fate)
I write crying, it's in my green age;
me who are so vile and horrid contrate (I, I in such abominable discord)
I spend my time without any praise. (without praise)
Worthy of the sepulcher, the cradle was gone vile, (Worthy of the grave)
I go procuring with the beloved Muses; (?seek lovers with the muses)
and I hope to find some pity
in spite of the blind, rough, importunate, (despite the sour importunity)
it is with the favor of the sacred Divas, (with the favor of the holy divas)
if not with the body, at least with the soul dissolved (if not with the body, then at least with the liberated soul)
to be in honor of happier shores. (be on happy shores)
This bare, where I am now enveloped, (This barrenness, that surrounds me)
perhaps such a high King in the world lives (perhaps such a great king lives in the world)
which will keep it buried in solid marble. (who in solid marbles buries it)?
Isabella of Morra, lived 1520 at a castle in Favale, Gulf of Naples, where she was kept in total isolation by her brothers. A possible pen pal with a noble neighbor, with the Isabella ev. exchanged poems, led to it, that her brothers murdered her five years later (honour killing, 16th-century code of honor advocated this). From Isabella the Morra are only 13 receive poems. The “personified destiny”, Fortuna, is the main antagonist in their lyrics. Isabella die Morra describes her style as amaro, astro and sore, rivido and frale (bitter, harsh, painful, smelly and fragile)
Deepl doesn't do the prettiest translations, my knowledge of Italian has silted up.
(from Alchetron)