Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri

A poem noted in my journal for 2013. I think it’s mine, particularly since there’s a reference to “Twas the night before Christmas”, but it if isn’t I thank whoever wrote it. (From 2013) One two three Trinity. God Christ the Holy Spirit Spirits Gin and vodka Grappa Grapes hanging on the vine. Five sixContinue reading “Digits”

Snippet I A day in NYC, when I was young, perhaps 1950 The day was bright and sunny. At least I think it was. It certainly wasn’t raining. Briskly I set off across town with a little trepidation at my boldness doing its best to keep up with me. My destination was somewhere around 28thContinue reading “New York Days — Snippets”

Once upon a time we traveled by train. In compartments seating maybe eight people, four facing another four. Sometimes there would be conversation, even intimate confessions, as if the speaker were talking to her therapist, convinced none of the other would ever see each other again. It was persons interacting with persons. Going even furtherContinue reading “Reflections on a Train”

Sometimes a photograph, a chance remark, will spark a post for my weekly blog. Particularly when I think I am running out of subjects to write about. I can also draw from a store of things written over the years, but that may not be fair. Sometimes it may be a chance remark, or somethingContinue reading “Portraits”

Nov. 26, 1993 They telephoned to say he was no more. The laughter at the supper table died – no one said a word and then the sounds came haltingly. Last night – Gandalf was his name. The Grey Eminence. Gandalf the Grey Wizard (thanks to Tolkien). Each of us had different thoughts. Yours, myContinue reading “Requiem for Gandalf”

The year 2022.  A young woman writes to her great grand aunt that she is opening a book she has been wanting to read for a while. “One, No One, and a Hundred-thousand” by Luigi Pirandello. Unexpected memories of almost 70 years earlier rose to the surface of when, as a graduate of Columbia University, theContinue reading “Pirandello”

Reflections can be dangerous whether in the mind, a shiny surface, a pool of water, or on a pane of glass. Take the cardinal or the swallow deceived into thinking the reflection in a window was a rival leading to an untimely death. A reflection on a shiny surface can blind us to tangible reality.Continue reading “Reflections on Water or a Window”

Reflections in a pool of water bring heaven down to earth, Fragments of blue sky hover over cobblestones. Dark walls of a building sink down upside down, annihilating tangible reality. A patchwork quilt of paving stones reflects the luminescent light of day, frames that topsy turvy world  where what is real merges with illusion.

I’m sure that some of you are acquainted with the following quote from Oliver Sacks, neurologist and man of science, best known perhaps for his book The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat but also for Awakenings, which became a film starring Robert DeNiro and Robin Williams. His words are in a sense a farewell, encouraging usContinue reading “Oliver Sacks and My Mother”

A curving staircase banister sweeps down a silhouette against a daylit window. Curves, straight lines, two dimensions as in a drawing. On either side a reflection moving back into space adds a third dimension. But also moving back in time it adds a fourth dimension. Yesterday, today. A reflection that reveals small shelves with bottlesContinue reading “Reflections and Reality”

May 7, 2022  Years ago, I translated poems and aphorisms to accompany the woodcuts of Mariaelisa Leboroni. Now, hunting for a gift for a friend, I come across one with what I can only call a poem by Marc Chagall and am struck by how relevant it is to what is happening today in the UkraineContinue reading “Chagall”

When you had a run in your nylon stockings and you took them to a lady who repaired them by picking up the thread and reweaving it. When you had your threadbare winter coat taken apart, turned inside out, buttonholes closed up, and voilà you had a new coat. When mornings the milkman came byContinue reading “I Remember When”

In praise of artichokes Not everyone has seen a real live artichoke. More likely you’ve seen the “bud”, because that’s what you’re eating when artichokes are served to you in one way or another.  A real live artichoke looks as if it were wearing armor to keep invaders away. Well, isn’t that just what itContinue reading “Artichokes”

Why are we here? What are we here for? This was the question asked by his grandson of a grandfather who had recently lost his wife of 60 years.  How can one answer a question like that? All he could say was that we are here to help one another. Which, on further thought, led himContinue reading “Why Are We Here?”

To begin with let’s take Umberto Eco’s definition of translation as negotiation. “Negotiation is a process by virtue of which, in order to get something, each party renounces something else, and at the end everybody feels satisfied since one cannot have everything.” Much translation is just a job. In which case, the translator will beContinue reading “Thoughts on Translation”

An internationally recognized potter, a ceramic artist, whose background is Orvieto and its tradition of medieval pottery and whose family roots are in this town, where he has a workshop in a castle outside the city, lovingly restored by his father and by himself. A family friend, for me and for my sons. He has workedContinue reading “Marino Moretti”

Shoes. Of all the things we wear, we need, one of the most difficult to come to terms with are shoes. When we’re young most types seem to fit. Sandals, high heels, walking shoes. On the whole they are necessary, practical, additions to our wardrobe. It is only when our feet get blisters or sprainsContinue reading “The Shoes in My Life”