The importance of memory. I’m not sure where I read this piece by Borges. Knowing that the author was blind, made it particularly poignant. While it didn’t apply directly to me, I now realize how, as we age, memory will be our life. Borges – L’Artefice “He (Hector) had never lingered over the pleasures ofContinue reading “More Thoughts: Six”
Category Archives: Poems
More Thoughts: Five
Then there was the guard at MOMA where I worked as a student when I was attending NYU. Before becoming secretary to Monroe Wheeler, my job was basically simple – working in the ticket booth or selling books. That didn’t stop me from looking at the paintings whenever I could, or looking down from the rooftopContinue reading “More Thoughts: Five”
More Thoughts: Four
Since Augustine did not become a saint till later in life, this may very well be by him. Dancing with your whole body and mind is after all surrendering yourself to life. I’m not sure, though, whether his mother, Monica, would have approved. I would have left the angels nonplussed, for I never really learnedContinue reading “More Thoughts: Four”
Second Thoughts on Starting Anew
Once upon a time, say 20 years ago. When did it all begin? –and I don’t mean the eclipse. I mean when your life turns from being only what you plan and starts to include a dependence on what others think you should or shouldn’t do. Yesterday it was you who was boss, now graduallyContinue reading “Second Thoughts on Starting Anew”
Arches
Once upon a time there were small towns where the buildings, the people, communicated with each other. But this is after all Italy where even now one lives surrounded by the past. Stairs used to be outside – now they are almost all inside. Houses still touch each other as they march along the street,Continue reading “Arches”
Doors — Who Knows
You never know what lies behind a door. That’s the point. A door may conceal what was never meant to be seen. The odds and ends, the remnants, of some magnum opus. The mundane residue of what once was grand. An open door may suddenly reveal three levels of brick arches, piggyback one on theContinue reading “Doors — Who Knows”
There Are Doors and There Are Gates
A door is just a door. A gate is something more. Concealing. Revealing. Separating in from out. A door might be humble or it might be ostentatious, A gate may be one or occasionally the other. Doors are shut, enigmatic, attempts to keep us out. Gates welcome February snows or burning summer sun. When facedContinue reading “There Are Doors and There Are Gates”
Fire and Trees
Overnight it had gotten cold. No, it hadn’t snowed although some years it had. It was time to get up – one couldn’t stay in bed all day. She pulled out the first sweat suit she could lay her hands on. Not that she used it for jogging but just to keep warm while theContinue reading “Fire and Trees”
The Last Rose
It was the last rose. The deep red blossom had not opened all the way or perhaps had no intention of opening. Still I found it beautiful. That was weeks ago. Even now the rose sits there in its vase. The petals brown and withered. Yet even so I find it beautiful. Not simply theContinue reading “The Last Rose”
Walk Down Tamburino
While from my house, I could once walk on my own two legs down that cobblestone road called Tamburino, immortalized in Brockedon’s early 19th-century guide, with a view of the town in the distance, these days I need three, as in the sphinx’s riddle. But since even that, as things go now, has become tooContinue reading “Walk Down Tamburino”
Journey Through Memory
She sat alone in the front seat of the car as it moved swiftly through the hills, oblivious to the chatter around her which she could barely hear. It was night. The moon was playing hide and seek with the clouds. Turner and his moonscapes came to mind. Tall ghostly grasses heavy with seed pods,Continue reading “Journey Through Memory”
Memory Two
1980s We all have memories. Our lives are basically memories of what we did yesterday, creating new memories for tomorrow. How little we know, of others, or ourselves. We may think we know, but do we? The world we have lived in. The people we have known. How we interacted. We can look back atContinue reading “Memory Two”
Memory One
One of the most moving accounts of the past and memories is Tony Judt’s Memory Chalet. Succumbing to Lou Gherig’s disease, he gradually could live only within himself, within his memory. There he could relive the story of his life, a life that had moved through space and time, now captured in those countless roomsContinue reading “Memory One”
The Voice of the Violin
Camilleri. Thanks to Camilleri, his police inspector Montalbano and the small Sicilian town of Vigàta have become what might be called household words. Albeit the town so familiar to the devotees of the mystery series shown on television is a collage of various Sicilian towns, there is no real town by that name. Although CamilleriContinue reading “The Voice of the Violin”
Antonny and the Blue Bar
I know I’ve written about the Blue Bar and its owner before, but this is a bit different. Besides which I have also discovered that he spells his name Antonny. For someone who has never frequented coffee bars (or any other type of bar), just to hang out and wile away the time, my relationshipContinue reading “Antonny and the Blue Bar”
Thelma
A memorable cat. Her name was Thelma although I never did find out why my granddaughter chose that name, presumably thinking of Thelma and Louise. Over the years there was no dearth of cats in the family. Cats of all colors, from black to white to grey tigers. They had a variety of names: RadicchioContinue reading “Thelma”
My Three James
It can get complicated when you have more than one friend with the same name. I’ve solved the problem by calling them James 1, James 2, and James 3. James 1. The meeting with my first James goes back to the 1970s in Florence when he was a student in my art history class. MostContinue reading “My Three James”
Further Thoughts II
Further thoughts on the book Pages flutter through the years. Their time-worn state betrays the fact that they were loved, meant something. Woe to a book, to a life untouched by time. The written word. Once impressed in clay, meant to be permanent. On papyrus, on parchment, paper, too easily devoured by fire. Now onContinue reading “Further Thoughts II”
Before it is too Late
The book. A repository of words, reflections, reduced with time to torn and mangled dog-eared pages. Ideas, words, thoughts on the verge of disintegrating. Set in print Before it is too late. What we had once thought ineffaceable gives way to that fugacious vocal surrogate, no sooner said than gone. Before it is too late.Continue reading “Before it is too Late”
Loneliness
Sometimes one must be alone. Which however is not the same as being lonely. Loneliness is commonly defined as “A state of solitude or being alone” or the “perception of being alone and isolated”. Basically, it is “a state of mind” when one no longer finds meaning in one’s life. Loneliness seems to be aContinue reading “Loneliness”
Erika Bizzarri 