un altro giorno in paradiso

looked out the window, checked the weather
then off to the market by the Vatican train station
returned home once for umbrellas,
weather from the window can be deceiving

then out again to that outdoor market under partial awnings
to get the names of ingredients in a vegetable mixture
a wonderful assortment of greens we bought yesterday
and now want to duplicate ourselves
careful now, we don’t want to duplicate ourselves
just that mixture of greens, stay with me

now home where M. is reading of old Roma
Bernini getting an obelisk in 1636
it nearly went to a collector in England
ended instead at Piazza Navona

M. reads aloud while i wonder
what note i didn’t jot down this morning,
rolled over in bed instead of getting up,
another idea lost to the ages

now hail is falling this afternoon
i didn’t have to say falling on the outside
cause i know now you’re reading carefully
aren’t we about finished?
can i take a nap?

wait, commotion down below
a fight broke outside
must be thirty-five people out there
it’s franco’s family, all of them
and friends and onlookers,
the usually sedate wife too, screaming

Manuale beat his uncle with a stick
three cop cars pulled in and broke it up
little Manuale split before they got there
he's the little prick who set off a half stick of dynamite
on new years eve in campo dei fiori
another day in paradiso

beam me

years ago there was a TV commercial
that said – bite me brother,
i’m a chunky

that was a candy bar commercial
that got laughed off the air
and went the way of
free willy

now,
back to now again
i saw three separate ladies

naturally they were separate
there were three of them
it wasn’t a tricycide
or a threeoid

one, two and the other one
not together
just shopping where I could see

absoluteway, there were three
women fortyish
they each wore blue jeans
that is the thing, the jeans

now,
twenty brief years ago
not now twenty ,
then twenty

well, they weren’t brief years either
just seemed that way
say zip

way back then,
there were no supermarkets in Roma
just open markets and small stores

that brief time ago the women
would have worn dresses
and their aunts,
and their sisters,
and Uncle Henry - uncle Henry? what the hell
get him out of . . . oh, he was just trying it on
and the next door neighbors
and their cousins
and their mothers
the lot of them

but now
it’s all blue jeans, TV and cell phones
a new world, baby
paper or plastic?

so beam me
somewhere, please
it’s your pick

i’m set
my jeans are packed
i’m ready to go
ciao ciao, john denver
see ya'roun, clownie

2010

i read on Andy’s blog
he is going from two thousand and whatever
to twenty ten, stream lining,
coming of age, me too then

nineteen something
was an old man on a crutch
twenty ten is a compact
with lubricated hinges

i’m stepping lighter already
head up, walking tall
come on down the line, new year
i’m unpacked and ready for it all

no technician has to fix it
Mr. Modern Guy has got it all(that's me)
all I need's a Chinese restaurant calendar
on the refrigerator or the bathroom wall

hoppng along

hopping along
this little bird
quickly sorting, checking
for what’s edible, i suppose

doesn’t turns it’s head
to look at me, keeps working
of no concern, although near
i’m not worth a glance

in this world, on this edge
who sees reality
and how much is apparent
to the bird or to me?

cold, wet january humanity

bused to Piazza Barberini
to our car insurance office
to see what we pay this year
where nothing is easy

took forty minutes
this afternoon a friend
will try online
to find a lower cost

stopped for lunch at Pasquali’s
sat at the common table
with the headcount
chatted with the regulars

the driver from the Maltese embassy,
another regular is curtain maker
for Rupert Murdock,
someone said i was a retired actor

so i mentioned working with Francis Coppola
Italians like to hear of Italians in Hollywood
and old folk drop names to keep face
at the common table

numerous they are
on varying paths and stages
through this maze
of humanity

Rupert Murdock’s curtain maker
i liked that, worth repeating,
first to my friend Bill who for forty years
has cooked for various embassy events

two day review

I.

sun bright
cold light
quiet Sunday
gentle anticipation in the air
saturates the walking gentry
tasting environs

II.

Monday contending
cool light winter rain
a light charcoal gray street sheen
umbrellas out for an airing
no hurry day people
all walking with care
cobblestones are slippery

horses

on Sundays Carabinieri in formal uniforms
patrol the center on their mounts
a morning treat to see
as old church bells toll the hour

upon waking we hear them,
look down from our window to see the slow passing,
two mounted officers ambled along
the stone narrow cobblestone way

the scene brings a warmth to my heart
in nostalgic alluring beckons of clip-clop
a connection with another age
to this sunny peaceful Sunday beginning

up predawn

up predawn
and i like it
nothing is going on
the ringing in my ears is me
straining to hear something

when i open the window
i swear i hear sweet dampness
on grey stone walls
from overnight rain
the city sound is not a hum
it's near rain dripping
humidity from damp January

there, a church bell
counting seven
not that early now
it took a while to start writing this

got up an hour an a half ago
arranged engravings on the wall
set the lights a new way
played the piano and got into it

don’t get excited, it’s only improvisation
quiet, dramatic, eclectic, i take my time
musically looking into how i feel
how it sounds to me
what i can imagine

headphones, electric piano
used audience concert hall settings
so it sounded large to me, distant
but all was quiet in the room, not disturbing
she is asleep in the other room

gray and white gulls on roof tops down the way
off a few blocks
or could be over the river
i haven’t been out at this hour to see if they’re flying
or just sitting above somewhere conferring

a friend used to tell me how much gulls and pigeons bothered him
always making noise
he lived above all
and i envied the light he had, the view
i can only imagine
this building is empty, only she and i

thinking of the top floor
i’d like to take a look from there
roma, the church tops, far hills and obelisks
the sky change, pale dawn light
i can only imagine

first light now, sky change
up there
while here it is mid street
half way up
between buildings
mostly quiet at this hour

make that very quiet,
i have to listen carefully
to sort the emptiness
to think of things to hear at this hour

there, the dragging of a suitcase over the cobblestones
now that reminded me of old times
early morning hand carts of the market vendors
taking out their carts from storage areas
beginning in pre dawn

but that was twenty years ago
now they start much later,
fewer in number
the market is fading in the advent of supermarkets

a door closed somewhere up the street
the only hum of the city is from the refrigerator
some voices talking down the way
it starts slowly, another day
building blocks in the story of the ages
i'll make coffee now
day has begun

the New Year in Rome

few buses were out
walked to forum then up Via Cavour
more or less, had a bus part way
we thought of riding to the end of the line

good thing we didn’t take a long pleasant ride
buses stopped after noon,
we would have been stuck
we’ve done that before

as it was, we went to a fine Indian restaurant
we agreed it was better than our Christmas meal
had curried spinach, chicken and rice
entertainment was a bit overpowering
singing and dancing full volume
on a TV video

near Piazza Vittorio
if you care to find it look for it by name
seek an establishment called Indian Fast Food
M. broke two forks that were quickly replaced
at no extra charge
they don’t make plastic like in the old days

no buses after, not a car
or a truck, a motorbike, bicycle or taxi
we walked the alleys back, way back
down hill, way down
then flat on home
it was very, very far

stopped at Saint Pietro in Chains
to see Michelangelo’s statue Moses
seventy people were patiently waiting to get in
but the church was closed
we saw written in Italian what the tourists didn’t
that the church was on closed on holiday schedule

it is fine to exercise a bit after a meal
weather had turned to cold and rain
no traffic,
only many wandering tourists
all on foot
waiting for non existent transportation
we found it too windy to use our umbrella

blue moon end of december

out late morning walking
to Trastevere in sleeveless vest, no jacket
warm yellow weather carressing my shoulders
why has winter gone hiding in wait?

light clouds, turning, whirling
in bright sky blue
i squint toward the sun
gull on wing over the river

crossed my favorite old stone bridge
exchanged hi and smiles to the Sunday accordionist
on Ponte Sisto working early this week
in preparation for the holiday

at the corner by the gray church
Giacomo calls down from his balcony
went up to his place for coffee
his son James there but for a minute
always in motion planning

returning toward home
along Lungo Tevere
blurring traffic running in tandem
ten thousand destinations
patiently moving in saunter
no blasting crush today
folks on foot in good number
treading in passing
a hurry about them with no commotion
chatting in flocks
some solo on cell phones
clutching it to their ears
children on holiday drag along, skipping

the cannon at noon
thumps once on windows a mile away
a piece of pizza bread from the forno
to carry home, enjoy slowly
with greens and cheese
where from window open
over slow sipping coffee
church bells call the quarter hour

in the clangs i hear the undertone
telling all it is new years eve tonight
make good plans with friends ,
do it well now
the new year begins,
be ready,
stay alert
to celebrate departure of the old
and to welcome into being
the formidable, erratic circle of the new

mid week

cloudy dark rainy cool mid week
our lane up and down
more than a hundred yards end to end
and thousands of years back to the beginning

our building rooted five hundred years ago
yet there are far older for sure
nearby is a building from the twelfth century
painted, cracked and redone countless times
the old salt road of pre time is nearby
how far have the old ones gone?

tonight night lights are few along the way
all is still, even breeze so light
buses are resting
cabbies are reading, waiting, near sleeping

no one out this moment,
no one walking
no dog, no cat
through narrow alleys
silent dark walls, cobblestones
still puddles barely reflecting dark gray
can’t begin to imagine a part of
what has taken place
on this brief length of Roma

home to so many over the centuries
in fights, in love,
birth and death
chickens, cows, carts, pigs and horses
dogs and cats birds, bugs, and rats
soldiers, drunks, candles, thieves and beggars
papas, mamas, priests and nuns
singers, poets, police, officials, the dandies
and nobodies
most of all
plenty of no bodies at all

a treasure of life
that endures

enough jack

there was jack london
and jack kennedy
course it started with
jack the baptist

i know they called him that
oh, yeah, i almost forgot where
i was gong with this
i’m changing my name

you can call me nabisco
it was either that or shell oil
i didn’t want to work to make my name famous
thought I’d start known and work down from there

my choice of name was made carefully
more than my parents did when they named me
late comer, number three
they already used their favorite boy name and the girl name

i was nine years later
lucky they didn’t call me the first thing out of their mouth
“You’re What?” or
“Holy Shit”

bused up

bused up
on the little bus
to the hill over Rome
where the noon cannon is fired

ever since the pope back in 1847
wanted his churches to
all know what time it was,
at least once a day

a crowd gathered to hear it
the cannon is loud
wasn’t precisely noon
should have covered my ears

then walked warm weather down
to old Trastevere
where our new favorite restaurant
was tried and confirmed

while walking back traffic was stopped
a helicopter hovered overhead
we waited to watch
something was about to happen

one cop called it a VIP cortege coming by
his word not mine
some Italian cops are literate
glad to hear it, anytime

fifteen cars and as many motorcycle police
and more police afoot every corner
all the way home they go to the Vatican
because the pope king went out for lunch

event over, we walked home
didn’t stop traffic
and didn’t cause any trouble either
as we shuffled along, all the way home

my cell phone has a clock on it
i could have told anyone the time
but no one asked
they must have heard the cannon

bumps

if you’ve seen
no bumps
you’ve no time
on the road

if i could

if i could write each poem
as a precious drop
warm sparkling clear
i surely would

instead, with my back to the rock
surrounded, i reload ready to run
like Butch and Sundance
into freeze frame

as the great theme grows under
the credits roll on the screen
lights come on, people go home
with proud steps and good memories

when you’re in the game
you take the pieces you have
and create with them
the best you can

vigilia, the night before christmas

rode with Roberto from the center
cross town to Parioli for Vigilia
eight thirty in the evening, no traffic
surreal tranquility in the city

more parking spaces than usual
many Romans are out of town
it seems even birds had flown
home to see the family

we wore light open jackets
on the evening of soft rain
unseasonably warm for Christmas
it was different to drive the city
without stop and go
no pressure from too many out there
a rare lazy meander across town
while at the Vatican the Pope was knocked down
some one was making a fuss

after dinner with Paola and Sandro
it was well after midnight
when outside the Vatican
workers had slipped the infant into the Nativity scene
as we departed our dinner with friends

in the same quiet we returned home
even buses had stopped running at nine p.m.
adding to city silence by the noise they left out
silent night, holy night

no snow, clouds over fields
no blue light from the Christmas star
drunks counting sugar plums asleep in doorways
even gypsies have taken holiday

electric bus

hopped on a whirring electric bus
that soon turned down an alley
then suddenly stopped stuck there
cause it couldn’t get by

a car was parked in that alley
protruding out into the lane
our way forward was finished
while cars packed us in from behind

a lot of horn honking ensued.

a quarter hour later the guy showed up
that got in that blue car, and then
like taking the lid off a pressure cooker
we sighed off our steam and all drove away

Natale is Christmas in Italian

preparations for Natale
now the day before
a good day to begin

bought a desert pie for the night before festa, Vigilia
with a physicist and two professors
who all love pi and pie and their wives

at Feltrinelli’s bought books for gifts
called Giacomo to compare notes
my Roman pal who is quick, alert and ready

his son Alex’s group is leaving now
to play for cash outside the bookstore
in the hum of street activity

said hi to Franco outside the store
his motor bike was stolen last week
didn't ask how he got there

closer to home
sat down for coffee at a table
outside Angelo’s coffee bar

intense people traffic
here they come
there they pass

a pigeon just got by an electric buses wheel
as I sipped coffee to a, look around,
a persistent subtle whining sound

it’s the dog under the next table
saying his piece without
moving his lips

and art show tonight, got ta go
crowds shopping now
all on alert, hurray the day

a woman comes buy
dressed like Pinocchio’s mother
Christmas is on the way

Alberto's car

his worn vintage car quit again
on the cold rainy road into Roma
no one in traffic stopped to assist
Alberto pushed it two hundred yards

then opened the hood
tapped the engine with a hammer
tried the motor again
this time it worked

proving that as with some people
now and then it’s a matter
of getting a machine’s
full attention

campo dei fiori

i know this campo
of flowers and markets
a circus in progress
many new faces in groups
slow walking and talking
some carrying sandwiches
now tourists Italian
all caps and dark warm jackets
slow passing non stop
through the piazza of Bruno
sun going down, lights coming on
many regulars out for the season
even beggars have rotated
near over the line, yet still in order
with just above freezing
no tickets or towing
cars, motorinos and bicycles
visible police and undercover
overflowing action no on can follow
too cold for mime or musicians
in season’s chill December
four days before Christmas