There they are, a gaggle of ladies sitting ìn a row on the long metal bench under the portico of San Andrea. There’s an odd male between one contingent and the other. There used to be a florist here, with her offerings of calla lilies, fuchsia cyclamens, carnations, and roses from Israel or Holland. ItContinue reading “People and Pigeons”
Tag Archives: poem
Sunday
For this week, just a thought. Not only are books friends, but they are also what helps make new friends and what connects friends. A way of keeping conversations going when you don’t see each other every day. Or perhaps have never even seen each other. They are such important parts of our lives. BothContinue reading “Sunday”
Three Books
There are three books half covered by a quilt next to a box of Kleenexes on my bed. Judi Dench on her delving into the psychology of the Shakespearean characters before bringing them to life on stage, “Held” by Anne Michaels, short stories in Italian by Camilleri. How differently one reads them! Most of myContinue reading “Three Books”
Day After Day
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF AN ALMOST 97 YEAR OLD LADY WHO HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO FALL AND BREAK HER LEG A YEAR AGO Hard to realize I’m no longer independent. Hard to realize my lovely dog has crossed the rainbow bridge. Now who invented that idea? I find there is a real rainbowContinue reading “Day After Day”
The Sagra Part II
Local pop groups have set up their acoustic guitars and drums and a singer is trying out her repertoire. They seem to be popular despite their rather deafening volume as people start dancing. There may also be theater representations with plays in the local dialect and with improvised actors. In other words, an evening ofContinue reading “The Sagra Part II”
Xenia
I am in my shop just off Piazza Duomo when Carlo stops by. If you don’t have anything better to do, I’m going to see a friend in a small town in the hills. Want to come? Well, yes. I don’t have anything better to do and my sales assistant will see to the shop,Continue reading “Xenia”
Birdie
Birdie with a yellow bill, hopped upon my window sill The birdie with a yellow bill I saw just now hopped . . . upon the branch of a chestnut tree, and chirped away looking for a mate as the wind ruffled his feathers and the leaves around him. Inside, on my window sill, aContinue reading “Birdie”
The Snail
Snails are molluscs or gastropods and they have only one foot. In my house in the country I had not only mice but snails perambulating around. Of course, with only one foot one can’t really say they walk. They creep or crawl. Maybe even slither. Which they do of course. There have even been snail races.Continue reading “The Snail”
What Happens to Montalbano?
Camilleri, the father of the Italian police commissioner Salvo Montalbano, which became a series of mystery stories published by Sellerio, was originally a stage director and playwright. It is tempting to compare him to Pirandello, the Sicilian author known for his plays and short stories and awarded the Nobel prize in 1934. Camilleri died atContinue reading “What Happens to Montalbano?”
Homeless by Choice
Gaunt, with a straggly flowing grey beard and hair, he sits huddled in the doorway of the bank at the crossing of two of the main streets in town. Or you may find him on the short street that leads to the market where he is more sheltered from the wind. Wrapped in a blanket,Continue reading “Homeless by Choice”
If only or what if
Hah! It’s not the if only of several weeks ago. It has to do with the ould verbs. Could, would, should. Will have to check the etymology. Is it subjunctive? Oh dear, here one gets into Old English. I could have, I would have, I should have. None of which is what I did. However, this led me toContinue reading “If only or what if”
Encounters
Fleeting encounters I remember, but do they? One never knows what life will hold in store. Throughout the years we cross paths with people of all kinds, for all kinds of reasons. Perhaps I was more likely to have a variety of encounters since I had a shop on the cathedral square, since the localContinue reading “Encounters”
Roads not Taken, Lives not Lived
One wonders sometimes what life would have been like had we taken a different road. One can’t help but thinking of Robert Frost and the road not taken. If only … I could have … Why didn’t I? Everyone has a story to tell. Everyone is what one is because of a life that perhapsContinue reading “Roads not Taken, Lives not Lived”
Books I’ll Read Again.
As a new friend, met as usual at Blue Bar, which is becoming a sort of expat Casablanca, you’ve asked me for suggestions as to what to read. I don’t really know where to start as I now sit here at my computer, having finished lunch and waiting for my “dogwalker” (I can still readContinue reading “Books I’ll Read Again. “
Last Rose Musings
On January 30th of this year, I wrote a poem about a rose. I called it the last rose and, in the end, said I would throw it out. “… an everlasting rose so beautiful in its essentiality that I hesitate to throw it out, despite the fact that it is no longer in its prime.Continue reading “Last Rose Musings”
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”
Erika Bizzarri 