Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri

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”

The Sunflower: a symbol of survival and hope for peace Survivor 1992 Witness to the holocaust a lone survivor rises up above a burnt-out field of stubble where yesteryear a host of suns worshipped their life-giving source. Last seed of a generation cut down in its prime. A timid witness to the glory that aspired toContinue reading “Sunflower”

March 21, 2022   I walk the streets at night. The dog pulls me along. Up Via del Duomo with empty tables being taken in, one or two guests still sitting inside with their glass of wine. Otherwise alone.  But then I think I hear steps, someone arriving from behind me. A shadow overtakes me, continuesContinue reading “Glimpses”

CONVERSATION OF POEMS John Looker Herald of Spring  No, not the cuckoo although, yes, we fancied we heard one just now, over the field. Snowdrops maybe? Plucky little plants, they unfold their immaculate gowns with a “hey look at us!” Everywhere we see the colours of winter: flint church, moss on the gravestones, the yews,Continue reading “Spring”

Gualverio Michelangeli lives on. Charlotte, now in her thirties, has a child of her own. And her mother has updated me on the story of the frogs. After so many Orvieto frogs came to live in Baltimore (with 2 very wise owls watching over them), Charlotte, still a child, made up many stories about theirContinue reading “Michelangeli Part II”

Home. How many words are there for home? It’s the concept that counts, not the actual physical structure. Home – one can’t help but think of home now that so many are having to leave their homes, their houses, their villages, the places where many “souls” are gathered in the Old English definition. One’s heartContinue reading “House and Home”

Carnival was long since past July 2004 and March 2022 Carnival was over. Spring – and Easter – were not yet here. You were too young to wander the streets by yourself, showering paper confetti on passersby. So two bags had come to rest here in the country, in the basket by the door. LetContinue reading “Carnival”

There was once a man and there was once a shop and a street that bore his name. When you talked about Michelangeli, you were talking about Orvieto. And when you mentioned Orvieto, many thought of Michelangeli, generally Gualverio, perhaps the last in a family of artisans. Centuries ago, the emperor Diocletian had decreed thatContinue reading “Michelangeli Closing”

FEB 27TH A vision of a moment in time. Of what might have been. John Looker’s poems capture a moment of the past, give us a glimpse, a vision. Enchanted by this approach, I thought I would translate one of his poems into Italian. I didn’t get very far though because it set me wonderingContinue reading “Helen of Troy”

Must have been 1956 or 1957. I was working at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and since I had spent a year in Italy it was somehow taken for granted that I was proficient in Italian. When a request came for someone to translate the Italian entries for the International Literary BrailleContinue reading “First Translation”

Well maybe Use with joy. A brightly colored sticker on, of all things, a waste paper or trash container. In today’s world of too much of everything, we have containers for plastic, for glass, for organic, for paper, for just plain trash. It’s one way of trying to save the environment and is amazing howContinue reading “Use with Joy”

Bare branches. Bare barren branches one would think. Winter clouds hang low build up release their burdens unwanted on the earth. Gray dropsical clouds. Bare winter branches. No hint of spring. Then, suddenly, near the garden gate a cloud of fragrance Looking up, the branches are no longer bare. Calycanthos. Winter flowering. Sweeter than theContinue reading “Calycanthus”

When one is what a friend of mine calls a wordsmith, one begins to question interpretations of a word, whether one’s own or that of others. I don’t consider myself an author, and have never written a novel, but having grown up in one, or even two, languages, and having lived most of my adultContinue reading “Montale, and unexpectedly James Joyce”

ORVIETO (excerpt from Magica Etruria, Orvieto and Perugia, Nuova Immagine Editrice, Siena, 2014, reprint of Magica Etruria, Bizzarri and Curri, 1968)  (After visiting the necropolis of Crocifisso del Tufo, Mario Bizzarri approaches the question of what the Etruscans of Orvieto were physically like. But first, he says, pay a visit to the museums in theContinue reading ““Orvieto” from “Magica Etruria””

Late night walk with Teah It’s quiet out. The ticking of my shoes.                                                                                                           The soft tapping of my cane. Certainly not Long John Silver’s cane, or was it his wooden leg? Occasional voices, but always around the corner, no one in sight. It may be someone talking to themselves – or more likely on theirContinue reading “Observing Teah”

By Erika’s granddaughter Costanza, age 10, 2008 She sits in the sun and licks one paw, stopping only to listen to the birds and the squeak of the pencil.  She looks at Panza, the other cat, incredulous and sort of like a “boss”, who makes believe he is sure of himself and fierce. Now sheContinue reading “Observing Brutus”