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”
Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri
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”
Story for a Copper Haired Little Girl
Part I: In the middle of the ocean in the middle of the sea in the middle of the plain a great rock rises up. Cliffs, smooth walls, there’s only one way in. One road you have to find as you wend your way along amidst the boulders and the cracks. Up high there’s aContinue reading “Story for a Copper Haired Little Girl “
August’s Heat: Part II
Even though the weather report says otherwise, the heat doesn’t show signs of abating. An early morning walk is still quite tolerable, perhaps to pick up a few groceries, go to the pharmacy or the bank. Otherwise, I stay home, where I realize it is time to get my next post in. In a senseContinue reading “August’s Heat: Part II”
August’s Heat
Because it’s August and because it’s hot Inspiration doesn’t seem to like the heat. Or maybe that I’ve been writing my blog since 2019. And sometimes I feel I don’t have anything new to say. Yes, it’s hot. But it was also hot when I was a child. Probably not quite as hot but thenContinue reading “August’s Heat”
In The End We Are Alone
A few weeks ago, a friend and I were leisurely walking the cobblestoned streets of my town, talking of this and that. At a certain point, our discussion turned to love and loss. “After a loss,” I said, “one has to sort of reinvent oneself. Find out who one is.” You looked at me andContinue reading “In The End We Are Alone”
Oh, ma
Oh, ma! Your mom is always your mom. My son dropped by – he’s in his sixties – and handed me a shirt and — a button. I suppose he could have attached it himself, although my eyesight is a lot better than his despite my years. My younger son would certainly have pulled outContinue reading “Oh, ma”
Mental Wanderings
Pre-dawn mental wanderings, images of things seen, read and remembered It is still dark enough, early enough, for the street lights to be on. How luxurious to stay in bed, knowing the day’s tasks can wait, not yet urgent enough to force me to get up. I pull the covers up around my shoulders. MakesContinue reading “Mental Wanderings”
A Bouquet of Summer
Someone left a bouquet of field flowers by my door. Flowers picked along a country lane. Years ago, my granddaughter picked a fistful of English daisies that insisted on growing on the lawn. They were not weeds for me, and for a day they smiled at me from the glass where I had put them.Continue reading “A Bouquet of Summer”
The Town Walker
Visitors to Orvieto walk the streets and wonder why there are so many signs telling passersby to move from one to the other sidewalk (if there is one). Sudden indications of a one-way street, leave the visitors unsure in which direction to turn their car and whether they can get around the upcoming corner. Really,Continue reading “The Town Walker”
Bedtime Readings
The day is drawing to a close. It’s dark outside… Too early to call it a day as I reach out for a book from the rickety bookcase beneath the window. Three shelves with lots on Shakespeare, quite a bit of poetry, essays, a few novels, old favorites, some going back to over forty years.Continue reading “Bedtime Readings”
Minimalism
Seems the Japanese are particularly good at that, aside from Marie Kondo. Keep only what you really need, what is essential. Two pairs of jeans are quite sufficient – one to wear while the other one is being washed. Coffee cups? Generally, you and your partner need only two. If friends come they will haveContinue reading “Minimalism”
A Poet
One who seeks an answer to the eternal why of life. One who loves words and the sound of words, the meaning and the structure, the way in which they inter-relate, attempting with words to build something finite where nothing can be added and nothing can be subtracted. But what then are words? They areContinue reading “A Poet”
Final
A photo. One of many in my computer files. Past, present and future. Like all photos but some more than others. Two people, friends, in front of a house. The house is gone but while the friends have aged, they and their scarfs are still around. It’s Christmas. There’s a wreath on the door. TheContinue reading “Final”
Erika Bizzarri 