Category Archives: Poems

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”

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”