After my operation, for a few weeks I am in a clinic or struttura as they call it, named after a saint. The nuns who manage it recite their morning prayers before helping the inmates (I suppose that is what one can call them) begin their daily activities of coloring a line drawing of aContinue reading “The Clinic”
Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri
Accident
It was two,o’clock in the morning. I was asleep and Teah my dog barked. just once. She needed, or wanted, to go out to the patio, a few steps up. I let her out and on returning, the light goes out and I forget that there is a step. Suddenly I am on the floorContinue reading “Accident”
Ninety Six
February 15, ninety six years ago just after midnight I was washed and dressed in what might be called swaddling clothes. Now almost a century later I am still being washed and clothed.but it is no longer the same for the roles, have been reversed and it is not easy to accept that it isContinue reading “Ninety Six”
Christmas 2024
It’s Christmas! or Hanukkah, of whatever you like. It’s a time to celebrate family and love. I can’t say peace and prosperity since that seems rather far away in the world at this moment. So our best greetings from the Orvieto gang in the person of Costanza. Let’s hope for the future, which is aboutContinue reading “Christmas 2024”
Encounters
Fleeting encounters I remember, but do they? One never knows what life will hold in store. Throughout the years we cross paths with people of all kinds, for all kinds of reasons. Perhaps I was more likely to have a variety of encounters since I had a shop on the cathedral square, since the localContinue reading “Encounters”
Romanesque Memories
It must have been in the seventies. A friend of ours, one of several Marios around, was teaching a course on Romanesque art in Florence, for which a tour of France, Sardinia and Tuscany had been organized. First a word about Mario Bucci, a professor we all loved, perhaps because of, or in spite of, hisContinue reading “Romanesque Memories”
Roads not Taken, Lives not Lived
One wonders sometimes what life would have been like had we taken a different road. One can’t help but thinking of Robert Frost and the road not taken. If only … I could have … Why didn’t I? Everyone has a story to tell. Everyone is what one is because of a life that perhapsContinue reading “Roads not Taken, Lives not Lived”
Books once more
By its very nature, the printed word is an incommensurable subject. Books are a never-ending delight. Well, maybe not all of them. There are certainly some you may wish you’d never encountered, books that haunt you when you would rather sleep. Yet sometimes it is the other way around. Those nagging thoughts of what you didContinue reading “Books once more”
Shopping with Ma
Time has come to figure out what to write for next week’s post. Once I get one done and sent to my editor, it’s time for the next, which will probably mean I’ll stay awake half the night “thinking”. This time I have been rescued by my son, God bless him. Undoubtedly, it’s thanks toContinue reading “Shopping with Ma”
Books I’ll Read Again.
As a new friend, met as usual at Blue Bar, which is becoming a sort of expat Casablanca, you’ve asked me for suggestions as to what to read. I don’t really know where to start as I now sit here at my computer, having finished lunch and waiting for my “dogwalker” (I can still readContinue reading “Books I’ll Read Again. “
Last Rose Musings
On January 30th of this year, I wrote a poem about a rose. I called it the last rose and, in the end, said I would throw it out. “… an everlasting rose so beautiful in its essentiality that I hesitate to throw it out, despite the fact that it is no longer in its prime.Continue reading “Last Rose Musings”
Orvieto Open City
It was the morning of June 14th, 1944. While a peace treaty with the Allies had been signed, the Germans were still hanging on and Orvieto was one of their strongholds. The not too distant Viterbo had been devastated and Major Heseltine, leading his squadron of British tanks, was approaching the city of Orvieto. HisContinue reading “Orvieto Open City”
Jazz
A life not lived. New York City. 1950 more or less. I was in my early twenties. In my family, one listened to classical music, Mozart, Bach, Debussy. My father frowned on so-called popular music and, well, I don’t remember what he said about Frank Sinatra and, I imagine, jazz. Time had passed and atContinue reading “Jazz”
Windows
It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. The sun streams in through a window in the wall that overlooks the square. Plants on the windowsill cast shadows on the floor, shifting shadows that change shape as two becomes four. White curtains hang quietly on either side without a breeze to stir them, kept at bay byContinue reading “Windows”
Looking
Who is looking at whom I suppose that’s a good question. John Berger writes about seeing, and touch as one of our initial contacts with the world around us. We touch, we see, and eventually we will use words in out attempts at communication. We see, we look at something, historically for various reasons. But we areContinue reading “Looking”
Friends
Our loving faithful unquestioning friends. You’ve had a dog. You’ve had a cat. Or maybe several. You’ve loved them all and they’ve loved you, each according to his nature. Dogs will welcome you upon your return from town, probably wondering why you hadn’t taken them along. Jumping up and down and wagging their tails, theyContinue reading “Friends”
Montale
Until you try it yourself, you have no idea what’s involved in translating – perhaps the most challenging is poetry. Of course, you have to know both languages but then you realize what’s involved. Meter, rhyme, and all those other things such as enjambment, whether you’re writing a poem from scratch or translating someone else’s.Continue reading “Montale”
A New Poem 2024, An Old Poem 2004
Once the dark of night was dark, a black sky with stars and perhaps a moon. Now, what nature had intended as a time of rest, has been usurped by man-made lights. Those outside my window betray the never-ceasing activity of man. As I lie there on my bed, attempting to shut out the light,Continue reading “A New Poem 2024, An Old Poem 2004”
Story For a Girl with Copper-Colored Hair
Alternative version thinking of Luca Signorelli’s frescoes in the Cathedral. The breeze came down from the topmost spire and wrapped its arms around her, sweeping her along and up the stairs. There on the topmost step, with the great bronze angel looming up on high, she stood and looked at the figures carved in whiteContinue reading “Story For a Girl with Copper-Colored Hair”
Story of the Copper Haired Girl Part II
The breeze came down from the topmost spire and wrapped its arms around her, sweeping her along and up the stairs. There on the topmost step, with the great bronze angel looming up on high, she stood and looked at the figures carved in white marble. And then she wasn’t sure whether they came downContinue reading “Story of the Copper Haired Girl Part II”
Erika Bizzarri 