Category Archives: Poems

FOR MARIO BIZZARRI, archeologist in love with his profession and with Perugia and Orvieto, where he grew up and then spent his life becoming acquainted with his Etruscan forebears. He was born on March 30, 1914, and died January 30, 1969, in Orvieto.   HYPOGEUM DEI VOLUMNI (PERUGIA) and ORVIETO (Excerpts from Magica Etruria, Orvieto and Perugia, NuovaContinue reading “Mario’s Essay on Perugia”

Oct. 19, 1944 The wind rattles at the window panes and the branches of the trees sway from side to side. The leaves are twirled in the wild merry-go-round of the wind until they sink to rest on the earth. A fresh gust brings more leaves and these mingle with the others in a whirlingContinue reading “Leaves”

Australia to Orvieto to Australia, via Libia and Sweden. There was once a ruin (once a farm house) on a hill overlooking the valley. The stones had long decided to go their own way and creatures of various kinds had taken up their abode in cracks and overhanging shelters. Neither four-footed animal nor Christian cameContinue reading “Come and Gone”

On the Advantages and Disadvantages of Having a Sister Sept. 19, 1944 I have a sister. She, in my opinion, is usually a spoiled brat. But that is only my opinion. Being the youngest of the family, she is naturally rather spoiled. How I wish that she were an angelic, helpful sister! But she isn’tContinue reading “Sisters”

So All Good Wishes For a Peaceful Christmas and Promises of a Better 2022, from all of us in Orvieto, whether just temporarily here for the Holidays or thinking of the future, from Costanza, Claudio and Lamberto and his five cats and, of course, from me and Teah, the dog. And so, with visions ofContinue reading “Christmas Greetings”

Now that I’m 92 and don’t have other responsibilities, I start wondering what Christmas meant to me when I was a child, what it meant to my children and to my grandchild. Questions arise as to what Christmas really was for my Jewish friends (it is only recently that I learned about Hanukkah), to othersContinue reading “Christmas”

I lie in bed. Night has settled in. Taken over. Darkness flows into all corners, laps all objects in its embrace. I lie there. A web of words, whispering, wailing,  insinuates itself into my conscious, my unconscious as I wait for sleep. I look at my clock. Luminescent numbers say it is two. I wait.Continue reading “Two O’Clock”

Four photos: Revelations 1. Hemlock grove. Sun filtering through the towering trees. Danae, child of the earth, stands there alone, arms raised in adoration, welcoming this unearthly shower of gold. 2. It is still dark as he makes his way to the top of a mountain, with the sea down below. The air is coldContinue reading “Revelations”

A chair is made to be sat in. A chair presupposes a sitter. Straight-backed, enveloping, soft or hard, a chair has a personality all its own. That may or may not be that of its sitter. Chairs also sit and wait lined up against the wall or grouped around a table, anticipating a sitter. ScatteredContinue reading “Chairs Poem”

Chairs. Can you imagine your house without chairs? A seat, with a back, generally meant for one person. A chair must have been one of the first things our Stone Age ancestors invented. Or let us say found useful. Perhaps just a boulder. Or a tree stump. Just something they could sit on. To beginContinue reading “Chairs”

A friend teaching retired professionals asked them to write their own versions of a well-known poem. I chose the poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay, a long-time favorite. Written over a hundred years ago, is it still valid? And mine, does it mirror what the world might be like  in another hundred years? Edna St.Continue reading “Edna St. Vincent Millay Poem”

Every room has a story to tell.  Four walls, a floor and a ceiling, delineate, define a cube of space, home to memories of lives lived and now forgotten. Forgotten you say? You overlook the fact that the walls, layer upon layer, retain what they have seen, what they have heard. Elusive ghostly shadows fleetinglyContinue reading “Every Room”

Teapots, like books, sit quietly on their shelves throughout the day. At least Nennella’s teapots do. Oh my, you remark when you enter the day room. There they are, next to the fireplace, next to the French window, next to the door that leads to the hall. Oh my. Porcelain, earthenware, brass, ceramic. An armyContinue reading “Nennella’s Teapots”

On finding a fragment of an “Etruscan” vase. In digging up my garden, I unearth a fragment of what was once a vessel of some sort. As I wipe away the earth, an enormous eye in black gloss paint stares up at me. Thin-walled, subtly curving, one edge softly rounded, this inch-long shard is allContinue reading “On Finding a Fragment”

My Vaphio cup and memories The Vaphio cup with its scene of the domestication of wild bulls. The one I have is of course a reproduction of the over 3000-year old original in the museum in Athens and is not gold and I doubt that any metal cleaner would make it look as if itContinue reading “Vaphio Cup”

A letter. Hand-written on a piece of paper, folded and put into an envelope, consigned to the posts where it will be put into a bin or a canvas bag with others, destination overseas. A hand-written letter. Surely not from yesterday. Too old-fashioned. Too time consuming. Taking too long to arrive. Too everything. Still, IContinue reading “A Letter”

Contacts with real people, October 16, 2021 This morning on our first walk. As we turn into the street that leads towards home, I see two people sitting on a bench. Laughing and talking with each other. LIVE! How lovely. Not an iPhone in sight. Time passes and it’s now eleven and I’m back home.Continue reading “Contacts”

 “Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small, That stood along the floor and by the wall; And some loquacious Vessels were; and some Listen’d perhaps, but never talk’d at all.” Rubaiyat A tattered faded fragment of brown suede with Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam impressed in letters of gold. The vestige barely clings to theContinue reading “Rubaiyat”

I’ve written on Canes and Clocks and Chairs. On porcelain teacups, on a wooden ale-bowl. On New Year’s Eve and a game we played. So now what can I write about? Something that is universal, something that includes yesterday, today and tomorrow. What better perhaps than pots and pans, humble yet irreplaceable. Faithful, but atContinue reading “Pots and Pans”

Shattered. Shards of glass  lie scattered underfoot. All I had meant to do was dust it. Finnish, it was, you said. A small crystal goblet gifted by a special friend. It slipped from my hand and is now in fragments. Meant to contain a cordial or a shot of whisky, it was as Heidegger saidContinue reading “Finnish Crystal Glass”