so let me tell you a little bit about the farm. it is run by an american woman named edith who came to italy 35 years ago as an art history doctoral student. she's been here since. la fonte ferrata is half organic farm, half retreat 'place,' and edith herself follows a modified verson of st. benedict's rule for hermits. she is delightful.
edith has several cats, one of which got half its face ripped off by a fox or boar on the day i arrived. while it convalesces, the kittens that belong to it have been adopted by a surrogate calico. the little ones often...how to put this - meld their three miniature feline frames into a single sphere, which they then roll up next to the calico flank. it's impossilbe to tell which tail, ear, or muzzle belongs to whom. cute is a word too brief to describe this.
the adriatic sea is about 5 km away, and saturday night i found the perfect spot to view the sunset. next to the olive grove, there is a big fig tree and two long rows of lavender. the lavender looks like something out of dr. seuss. it is beautiful, but simultaneously so spiky and purply alien that i actually got a little freaked out thinking a sneech or lorax would materialize over my shoulder. but, for better or worse, we stayed this side of whoville and nothing more spectacular happened than the slow dunk of the ripening plum-sun into the sea. it was a fierce orange against the lavender, and the cypresses in the distance were silhouetted...I was like, dude - can we spread this out a little bit? can we donate 5% of this beauty to the krispy kreme parking lot at the corner of jefferson and 15A?
i do a lot of solitary work, but a couple times a week some neighbors come over to lend a hand. danielle is quebecoise, and has been living in italy for 8 years. french is her native tongue, and her english is excellent, but in trying to negotiate all the different idioms she sometimes makes these mistakes which are made more hilarious by the general context of fluency. above all, these instances make me feel better about being an amateur language user here myself. today, she tried to ask me if my time in italy is part of research for a dissertation or a thesis. and there, right at the end, she fell back on an anglicized version of the french 'la thèse' and ultimately came out with, 'so, are you here for a tease?'
i laughed. yes. i am. sunset with a side of cypress and lavender - that is a tease. whatever i will be able to accomplish doing research on dante or translating short stories, it's just a tease for what's really out there in both areas. more broadly, i think danielle hit right on it: thinking about the best essays i've read, the thesis - the main idea, the point - is so often just a tease. all the detail and example and description is so much more delicious than the summing up. the idea? that's great. the experience? better. let me rephrase. the idea of 'surrogacy/adoption' is beautiful - it means you can have more than one family. but the idea is nothing compared with a ball of kittens warming themselves at the breast of a strange cat.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
3 minutes
hello all,
i have three minutes remaining on my hour at an internet cafe/tobacco counter in donoratico, LI. this week and next i am working at an organic farm called La Fonte Ferrata - the iron fountain. it's solitary work, a lot with the weedwacker, and i take an inordinate amount of pleasure mowing down the tall grass and making it even. i am reading dante, james wright poems, and thomas merton. and harry potter 3, il prigioniero di azkabàn.
hopefully some more content will be forthcoming in the next few days. until then...
i have three minutes remaining on my hour at an internet cafe/tobacco counter in donoratico, LI. this week and next i am working at an organic farm called La Fonte Ferrata - the iron fountain. it's solitary work, a lot with the weedwacker, and i take an inordinate amount of pleasure mowing down the tall grass and making it even. i am reading dante, james wright poems, and thomas merton. and harry potter 3, il prigioniero di azkabàn.
hopefully some more content will be forthcoming in the next few days. until then...
Sunday, June 17, 2007
interview in the legislature
good morning.
one of my projects here in italy this summer is conducting research for an interactive database on the geography of dante. although the protagonist of the Divine Comedy (dante the pilgrim) undertakes a journey through the metaphysical terrain of the afterlife, dante the poet makes that journey real to his readers by frequent allusion to landmarks and vistas that he himself experienced in 13th century italy and that are still (to some extent) available to modern readers. my project is to take photos and collect information on the various locales that are part of dante's life and the tradition that continues to develop out of his work. whether it be a place where dante himself stopped or stayed during his exile from florence, a place he may not have seen but mentions in the Comedy, or places that travelers have explored since - imagining themselves following in dante's footsteps: my assignment is to catalog these places in image and text and then weave together the various itineraries into a coherent network of interactive web pages.
as part of this project, this past thursday i conducted a preliminary interview with il Dottor Pierluigi Rossi, an official in the regional government, doctor/nutritionist, and local television personality. this week on 'terra di arezzo' he presented his findings collected over the last year surrounding the Battle of Campaldino (11 june 1289), in which the florentines literally massacred the aretine army and their two commanders, Buonconte da Montefeltro and Bishop Guglielmo degli Ubertini. beyond the fact that dante himself was in the florentine cavalry for this battle, Buonconte has a prominent role in Canto V of the Purgatorio volume of the Divine Comedy and Guglielmo was the bishop who initiated the construction of the Duomo in Arezzo. This Dottor Rossi and others have found the skeleton of Guglielmo buried beneath a small Fransiscan church near the battlefield alongside two others - one of whom he believes to be Buonconte's. as far as the dante database goes, it's kind of a big deal.
in any case, the actual content of the interview aside, thursday was an interesting insight into italian local politics. il Dottor Rossi told me to meet him at 11:30 at the Sede della Provincia - the regional government offices. the Sede della Provincia is probably slightly more prestigious and powerful than a county legislature, but housed in a 14th century stone building with an interior of hardwood and fresco. il Dottor Rossi arrived at 11:50, we made our introductions, and he led me into the Sala dei Grandi - the room where the legislature meets and where it was, in fact, in session. il Dottor Rossi led me into the center of the room and gave me a quick visual tour of the room, including a detailed description of the far wall, covered with beautiful 18th century portraits of all the historical greats born in the province of Arezzo. now, il Dottor Rossi was completely at ease, but this was a slightly awkward situation for me. i needed to appear simultaneously attentive and respectful to him - he will probably become one of the most important contacts in this project - while also conveying to the entire assembly that i didn't intend my presence in the center of the room as a sign of disrespect. which it almost certainly was. a man immediately to our right was, in fact, making an impassioned oration about public health, and there i was, getting the dime tour.
after 3 or 4 minutes of being stared at by 75% of the regional government (perhaps the only that day that a majority was achieved), il Dottor Rossi told me to wait off to the side - he would sit for a few moments, sign the register to indicate that he had been present for that session of governance, and we could go out to the terrace for our interview. that is precisely what happened. il Dottor Rossi took his seat and chatted for about 7 minutes with the woman next to him while this man (apparently from the opposition) railed on and on about small town health care. a page came by with a beautiful leather bound portfolio; he signed his name, got up, and left. our interview and tour of the area lasted about an hour. i had to go to another appointment, and il Dottor Rossi had to go to lunch - no doubt worn out by a contentious morning of governance.
one of my projects here in italy this summer is conducting research for an interactive database on the geography of dante. although the protagonist of the Divine Comedy (dante the pilgrim) undertakes a journey through the metaphysical terrain of the afterlife, dante the poet makes that journey real to his readers by frequent allusion to landmarks and vistas that he himself experienced in 13th century italy and that are still (to some extent) available to modern readers. my project is to take photos and collect information on the various locales that are part of dante's life and the tradition that continues to develop out of his work. whether it be a place where dante himself stopped or stayed during his exile from florence, a place he may not have seen but mentions in the Comedy, or places that travelers have explored since - imagining themselves following in dante's footsteps: my assignment is to catalog these places in image and text and then weave together the various itineraries into a coherent network of interactive web pages.
as part of this project, this past thursday i conducted a preliminary interview with il Dottor Pierluigi Rossi, an official in the regional government, doctor/nutritionist, and local television personality. this week on 'terra di arezzo' he presented his findings collected over the last year surrounding the Battle of Campaldino (11 june 1289), in which the florentines literally massacred the aretine army and their two commanders, Buonconte da Montefeltro and Bishop Guglielmo degli Ubertini. beyond the fact that dante himself was in the florentine cavalry for this battle, Buonconte has a prominent role in Canto V of the Purgatorio volume of the Divine Comedy and Guglielmo was the bishop who initiated the construction of the Duomo in Arezzo. This Dottor Rossi and others have found the skeleton of Guglielmo buried beneath a small Fransiscan church near the battlefield alongside two others - one of whom he believes to be Buonconte's. as far as the dante database goes, it's kind of a big deal.
in any case, the actual content of the interview aside, thursday was an interesting insight into italian local politics. il Dottor Rossi told me to meet him at 11:30 at the Sede della Provincia - the regional government offices. the Sede della Provincia is probably slightly more prestigious and powerful than a county legislature, but housed in a 14th century stone building with an interior of hardwood and fresco. il Dottor Rossi arrived at 11:50, we made our introductions, and he led me into the Sala dei Grandi - the room where the legislature meets and where it was, in fact, in session. il Dottor Rossi led me into the center of the room and gave me a quick visual tour of the room, including a detailed description of the far wall, covered with beautiful 18th century portraits of all the historical greats born in the province of Arezzo. now, il Dottor Rossi was completely at ease, but this was a slightly awkward situation for me. i needed to appear simultaneously attentive and respectful to him - he will probably become one of the most important contacts in this project - while also conveying to the entire assembly that i didn't intend my presence in the center of the room as a sign of disrespect. which it almost certainly was. a man immediately to our right was, in fact, making an impassioned oration about public health, and there i was, getting the dime tour.
after 3 or 4 minutes of being stared at by 75% of the regional government (perhaps the only that day that a majority was achieved), il Dottor Rossi told me to wait off to the side - he would sit for a few moments, sign the register to indicate that he had been present for that session of governance, and we could go out to the terrace for our interview. that is precisely what happened. il Dottor Rossi took his seat and chatted for about 7 minutes with the woman next to him while this man (apparently from the opposition) railed on and on about small town health care. a page came by with a beautiful leather bound portfolio; he signed his name, got up, and left. our interview and tour of the area lasted about an hour. i had to go to another appointment, and il Dottor Rossi had to go to lunch - no doubt worn out by a contentious morning of governance.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
portrait: perugia bus ride
yesterday i was in the umbrian hill town of perugia to meet with a professor who is generously helping me as i investigate the process of translating short fiction from italian to english. so far it is uniquely satisfying, but oh my a lot of work.
i stand towards the front of the bus. i need to see what's going on, where we are. in the future i'd like to be able to recognize those landmarks, navigate on foot. i'd like to have no questions for the bus driver. i'd like to pretend i live here. i'd like to get to the point where all the beauty is old hat. it's awful: it's too easy to pretend i'm already there. even in italy, aesthetic experience asks for eyes up, ears open. there i am, turning over what i read in some book.
in the first seat, a few feet up and to my right, an unshaven man with dark eyes was slouched down in a washed out black sweatshirt. he looked around and i looked away. he was too lean, shifty. a few moments later, a young olive skinned woman in old sneakers came up to my elbow, holding a baby. a woman of her stature had approached me on the train 20 minutes before, asking for money. she had also been holding a baby. cheap, i thought.
but this woman was just waiting for an old man to get out of her way. the man in the sweatshirt was sitting with his eyes closed, his mouth just slightly open and breathing shallow. when she put her hand on his shoulder, he slowly raised his eyelids, then suddenly turned to give the fat baby a big toothy smile. it faded into a gaze of genuine...gratitude. then his eyes fell a bit and his mouth opened again, like something bitter might fall out. i looked for the first time at his right hand, which he was holding up along his jawline. it was bloated and swollen to twice its normal size.
there was a noise in the back of the bus. the man took only the slightest moment to gather his strength. a baby stroller had fallen down into the aisle. as he passed and moved decisively towards the back, i couldn't take my eyes off his hand, held up on a bent elbow against his chest. there was no protecting it from the maze of shoulders; it had to be broken, badly.
man. even in perugia, people are just trying to live. sometimes it is hard - to pack up the baby, come in from the outskirts of town, and take two buses up to the hospital. and the stroller won't stay put.
i stand towards the front of the bus. i need to see what's going on, where we are. in the future i'd like to be able to recognize those landmarks, navigate on foot. i'd like to have no questions for the bus driver. i'd like to pretend i live here. i'd like to get to the point where all the beauty is old hat. it's awful: it's too easy to pretend i'm already there. even in italy, aesthetic experience asks for eyes up, ears open. there i am, turning over what i read in some book.
in the first seat, a few feet up and to my right, an unshaven man with dark eyes was slouched down in a washed out black sweatshirt. he looked around and i looked away. he was too lean, shifty. a few moments later, a young olive skinned woman in old sneakers came up to my elbow, holding a baby. a woman of her stature had approached me on the train 20 minutes before, asking for money. she had also been holding a baby. cheap, i thought.
but this woman was just waiting for an old man to get out of her way. the man in the sweatshirt was sitting with his eyes closed, his mouth just slightly open and breathing shallow. when she put her hand on his shoulder, he slowly raised his eyelids, then suddenly turned to give the fat baby a big toothy smile. it faded into a gaze of genuine...gratitude. then his eyes fell a bit and his mouth opened again, like something bitter might fall out. i looked for the first time at his right hand, which he was holding up along his jawline. it was bloated and swollen to twice its normal size.
there was a noise in the back of the bus. the man took only the slightest moment to gather his strength. a baby stroller had fallen down into the aisle. as he passed and moved decisively towards the back, i couldn't take my eyes off his hand, held up on a bent elbow against his chest. there was no protecting it from the maze of shoulders; it had to be broken, badly.
man. even in perugia, people are just trying to live. sometimes it is hard - to pack up the baby, come in from the outskirts of town, and take two buses up to the hospital. and the stroller won't stay put.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
culture confrontations
1. american foreign policy is all over the television. the telegiornali this last week have been packed with news and commentary about the G8 summit in germany and the preparations for president bush's arrival in rome friday afternoon. on the one hand, the commitment that came out of the summit were encouraging: we americans have finally pulled our heads out of the sand, noticed that 'it's getting hot in here' (here being the atmosphere), and agreed that yes, climate change is a reality. also, the 7 most industrialized nations in the world plus russia renewed and expanded their commitment to fighting AIDS in africa, which is fantastic.
on the other hand, all the posturing is just so disappointing. leaving aside the issue of planetary destabilization - a term that david orr prefers to 'climate change' - i'm offended that all these decisions are being made by 8 people, all white and very well fed. i know that all of the leaders have consulted extensively with people 'on the ground' and of course this money will do worlds of good, but at the very least on the symbolic level there is no room at the table for africa.
2. last night i went with my host-brother filippo to a birthday party for his friend sara. there were about 15 people up at a little house in the countryside near to arezzo, and we spent a wonderful evening eating and talking. granted, filippo and his friends are all in their late twenties, but i was so impressed by how an italian party works even for young people. everyone rolled in around 8:30 and we sang happy birthday to sara and did a toast. that brought us to 9pm. from 9 until 1:30, we ate, drank, talked and sang without ceasing. throughout the evening a soccer ball would appear and all the males would be drawn to it by a distinctively european magnetic force. but i was most struck by another magnetism that animated the evening. it's as much a comment on the college party or american bar scenes as it is on filippo's friends, but there was a strong sense that last night we were in it together. of course smaller conversations were always breaking out and breaking up, but everyone was there for the long haul. eating and drinking were means for time together, not means unto themselves. while even i was aware of some small dramas unfolding over the course of the evening, no one was positioning themselves to go home with someone else and no one retreated into the privacy of drunkenness.
the conversation was immediately interrupted so i didn't have to answer, but late in the evening someone asked me what the differences were between italian and american culture. so i thought only to myself: 'tonight is the difference.' in italy, even among a group of 15 young friends, the family at table together remains the most important social model. for better and worse, the dominant american ideal seems best expressed by the most recent barrage of military recruitment advertisements on television: an 'army of one.'
on the other hand, all the posturing is just so disappointing. leaving aside the issue of planetary destabilization - a term that david orr prefers to 'climate change' - i'm offended that all these decisions are being made by 8 people, all white and very well fed. i know that all of the leaders have consulted extensively with people 'on the ground' and of course this money will do worlds of good, but at the very least on the symbolic level there is no room at the table for africa.
2. last night i went with my host-brother filippo to a birthday party for his friend sara. there were about 15 people up at a little house in the countryside near to arezzo, and we spent a wonderful evening eating and talking. granted, filippo and his friends are all in their late twenties, but i was so impressed by how an italian party works even for young people. everyone rolled in around 8:30 and we sang happy birthday to sara and did a toast. that brought us to 9pm. from 9 until 1:30, we ate, drank, talked and sang without ceasing. throughout the evening a soccer ball would appear and all the males would be drawn to it by a distinctively european magnetic force. but i was most struck by another magnetism that animated the evening. it's as much a comment on the college party or american bar scenes as it is on filippo's friends, but there was a strong sense that last night we were in it together. of course smaller conversations were always breaking out and breaking up, but everyone was there for the long haul. eating and drinking were means for time together, not means unto themselves. while even i was aware of some small dramas unfolding over the course of the evening, no one was positioning themselves to go home with someone else and no one retreated into the privacy of drunkenness.
the conversation was immediately interrupted so i didn't have to answer, but late in the evening someone asked me what the differences were between italian and american culture. so i thought only to myself: 'tonight is the difference.' in italy, even among a group of 15 young friends, the family at table together remains the most important social model. for better and worse, the dominant american ideal seems best expressed by the most recent barrage of military recruitment advertisements on television: an 'army of one.'
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Italia x2
hello everyone,
i'm back in italy. i thought the blog was an interesting forum to keep everyone informed of my various experiences and reflections last time around, and so i've decided to see what this medium inspires this time. as i remember writing in one of the very first posts, the title 'in the middle of the journey of our life' (taken from the first line of Dante's Divine Comedy) seems even more appropriate now. 18 months ago, setting out for 6 months in europe, i was heartened in thinking of my travels as part of a shared journey, whose challenges and blessings would be illuminated by those who had been a part of my life to that point, and also as part of the human experience of going out alone to make some aspects of the unknown more intelligible. i felt it was the least invasive way to keep interested parties abreast of that my particular process and its development.
i just wrote a whole paragraph about how fragile the 'our' in 'the journey of our life' can be, and maybe i'll come back to that in a later post, but the blog form encourages leaner fare and the thoughts that i'm developing on that front aren't as interesting or pressing as my most recent observation about italians: they rarely sweat. now, i am still acting under the assumption that if, hypothetically, one were to carry around a 25 lb. pack for an hour with the sun is beating down on an 80°F afternoon, that one might, nay, should expect some sweat collecting in the lower back region and potentially under the straps of the pack. and yet, here in italy, arriving at the home of friends in such a state provokes a cascade of commentary ending with a push out the door and commands to go take a shower and come back for dinner. of course, their company and the meal are more than worth it - even worth the phone call to the absent daughter of one's own age to inform her of one's arrival and an only slightly abbreviated rehashing of the afternoon's commentary - oddio tutto sudato come mai!
maybe i'm the only one around here drinking any water, or perhaps my scandinavian heritage or acclamation to the rochester clime has made me totally unable to handle heat, but on my run today i passed two other joggers who were both wearing sweatshirts. again, it's like 80°, and the young lady was wearing knee length tights and the gentleman had his long socks pulled up over his shins. perhaps the overarching realization about italians, evident in their cuisine, impeccable dress, social interaction, quantity of time spent drinking coffee away from work, is that everything for them is effortless. my northern european, protestant upbringing has given me an affection for work and a particular satisfaction in production (1) - whether it be the nuanced expression of an idea, the aesthetic experience that freshly cut lawn can be, or, when out for a run, ever expanding sweat stains emanating from the chest, back and underarm areas. i doubt i will ever become such a subtle creature as these italians.
Notes:
1. Weber, Max. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism.
i'm back in italy. i thought the blog was an interesting forum to keep everyone informed of my various experiences and reflections last time around, and so i've decided to see what this medium inspires this time. as i remember writing in one of the very first posts, the title 'in the middle of the journey of our life' (taken from the first line of Dante's Divine Comedy) seems even more appropriate now. 18 months ago, setting out for 6 months in europe, i was heartened in thinking of my travels as part of a shared journey, whose challenges and blessings would be illuminated by those who had been a part of my life to that point, and also as part of the human experience of going out alone to make some aspects of the unknown more intelligible. i felt it was the least invasive way to keep interested parties abreast of that my particular process and its development.
i just wrote a whole paragraph about how fragile the 'our' in 'the journey of our life' can be, and maybe i'll come back to that in a later post, but the blog form encourages leaner fare and the thoughts that i'm developing on that front aren't as interesting or pressing as my most recent observation about italians: they rarely sweat. now, i am still acting under the assumption that if, hypothetically, one were to carry around a 25 lb. pack for an hour with the sun is beating down on an 80°F afternoon, that one might, nay, should expect some sweat collecting in the lower back region and potentially under the straps of the pack. and yet, here in italy, arriving at the home of friends in such a state provokes a cascade of commentary ending with a push out the door and commands to go take a shower and come back for dinner. of course, their company and the meal are more than worth it - even worth the phone call to the absent daughter of one's own age to inform her of one's arrival and an only slightly abbreviated rehashing of the afternoon's commentary - oddio tutto sudato come mai!
maybe i'm the only one around here drinking any water, or perhaps my scandinavian heritage or acclamation to the rochester clime has made me totally unable to handle heat, but on my run today i passed two other joggers who were both wearing sweatshirts. again, it's like 80°, and the young lady was wearing knee length tights and the gentleman had his long socks pulled up over his shins. perhaps the overarching realization about italians, evident in their cuisine, impeccable dress, social interaction, quantity of time spent drinking coffee away from work, is that everything for them is effortless. my northern european, protestant upbringing has given me an affection for work and a particular satisfaction in production (1) - whether it be the nuanced expression of an idea, the aesthetic experience that freshly cut lawn can be, or, when out for a run, ever expanding sweat stains emanating from the chest, back and underarm areas. i doubt i will ever become such a subtle creature as these italians.
Notes:
1. Weber, Max. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism.
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