Category Archives: Poems

All depends on chance – or does it. We talk. We read. We are constantly playing with words. Sometimes our introduction to an author,  to a character, to a book, depends on chance. Although perhaps that is generally the case in most encounters, real-life or on the printed page. Sometimes though, what sparked my interestContinue reading “Words and Wheels Part I”

It certainly is rare that one reads a book from cover to cover in one sitting. That’s where bookmarks come in. Perhaps only in the form of folding the corner of a page, dog-eared as they say, or by using a slender bookmark with reference to another book by the same author, or perhaps byContinue reading “Postscript”

A friend lent me a book. Not in itself unusual. The book, an English translation of Pirandello, Il fu Mattia Pascal. The late Mattia Pascal, came from a used bookstore, so my friend was not the first to read it, although it is in pristine condition. I do have Pirandello in Italian and I hadContinue reading “Who Wrote These Notes?”

There’s a shelf in the corridor leading to my bedchamber  with small figures vying with each other to be heard. They are indeed vying to be heard, for they are whistles. Most of them in simple terractta, some painted in bright colors, childish in their delight.  Several have written underneath Caltagirone and the date, oneContinue reading “Whistles”

Names again, given or inherited. Although I’ve written about names before, it somehow seems a universal, non-stop, subject. What’s in a name. It’s curious how we relate to people with a specific name. Let’s see. I have quite a few Davids on my list. Three I’m actually on speaking terms with and several others areContinue reading “Names Again”

In Italy there is of course a plethora of saints. Some one never heard of, some invented like Santa Perduta (Lost Saint), celebrated in Orvieto with music by local groups and picnics of roast pig and wine. One might even think of it as a pagan festival. Throughout the centuries the pagan gods were graduallyContinue reading “Saints For All Things”

February 1929 Newark, New Jersey, USA. A car, could be a Ford, goes speeding through the empty streets at midnight. I think I ran over a cat, says the red-haired driver as the silence is broken by a wail … Except it wasn’t a cat, it was a girl-child complaining as she was thrust intoContinue reading “February 14/15”

Thoughts on a cold snowy day Winter sets in and nature and, perhaps,  my senses also go into hibernation. It is the moment of “once upon a time,” hoping that that time will soon return when the first crocuses brave the cold and the hazel bushes are draped in their catskins. Once upon a time,Continue reading “Once Upon a Time”

There are other futures involved in my Christmas presents. A pair of sheepskin boots that I cannot yet pull on by myself. There is a very warm vest with, thank heaven, capacious pockets for my phone, house keys, doggie bag, hankies, eye glasses, bus tickets. The backpack makes it possible for me to do myContinue reading “Aftermath of the Holidays Part II”

Dear David Here we go again with books, that seemingly endless subject we always turn to in our afternoon tête-à-tête. As we were saying, David, now that you have had to give up your collections of books, parts of you are in the libraries of people you never met, in places you have never been.Continue reading “Who Owns Whom Part I”

MYSTERY The great pop-up card caper There were two blue envelopes in my mailbox. Yes, I still have a mailbox. And yes, I still occasionally get letters, although most often it is the printout of a bill the bank has already paid for me. To get back to the blue envelopes. I knew without lookingContinue reading “Pop-up Card Caper”

And then there is the word. Again the photo gives us what we can consider reality. It can be impersonal, in the sense that anyone could have taken that picture. Yet like a drawing, it is the result of a choice. The framing, the time of day. What strikes the observer. A description in wordsContinue reading “Bagnara Calabra”

BUT BEFORE THAT MECHANICAL APPROACH, IT WAS ALL MANUAL SO how about a drawing or a sketch? Once upon a time that was how the  present was recorded, so as not to forget. There’s an advantage here for you can  choose, illuminate, accent this or that. You decide what is most important. You can focusContinue reading “Manual Approach”

Europe. 1955. A  world that to me was new. It assailed my senses. I responded. In sketches, in photographs, in words. Now, in 2022, they are all still there immortalized on my computer. 1949 was a box camera. Amazing what it could do! 1956 was a 35 mm. Leica. With a light meter and rangefinder.Continue reading “The Camera”

(Thanks to James Lalonde) Whirlwinds of memory. A box of photographs. I thumb through them, paralyzed by the present, haunted by the past, fearful of the future. The world around me gyrates, Spins out of control. Wars. Wild fires. Winds of winter. Heading into chaos. But here, in this box, there is a past noContinue reading “Little Time Machines”

Returning from the little park next to the former hospital with its view of the valley and the abbey, I often stop and sit on the bench that runs along the palazzo across from the cathedral. It’s not a simple bench, but seems to serve as base for the building, interrupted by a few doorways,Continue reading “Black and White #2”

Blocks of stone. Paltry remnants left behind when our brothers had been chosen and become part of a greater whole. We are only what remains, quietly waiting for the flood of tourists   to ebb and wane. Cresting at eleven, by five withdrawing, the people gradually trickle  into the quiet square, mill around, spill over intoContinue reading “Black and White”