Dawn
When I lived in Venice, I rented a room from a padrona who lived on the Lido, the narrow barrier island that separates Venice from the Adriatic Sea. The spot at which I worked, the Archivio di Stato di Venezia, stands in the city proper, at the Campo dei Frari. As a result, I had a considerable commute every morning. I rode a motonave from the Lido to San Marco, and then I made a thirty-minute walk from the boat, through the San Marco district, over the Rialto Bridge to Campo San Polo, and then on to the Archivio.
Because seating was at a premium at the Archivio, I tried to arrive there each day when the "sala di studio" first opened, namely at about 7:30. This meant that most mornings, I stepped off the motonave at San Marco just as the sun was rising.
Piazzetta San Marco, Venice, Italy, January 1984. To the left stands the Doge's Palace. Could there be a better way to start the day?
2 comments:
No better, indeed. You and Joseph Brodsky: Christmas in Venice. I always return to this, from his Venice Christmas series.
January 1, 1965
The kings will lose your old address.
No star will flare up to impress.
The ear may yield, under duress,
to blizzards' nagging roar.
The shadows falling off your back,
you'd snuff the candle, hit the sack,
for calendars more nights can pack
than there are candles for.
What is this? Sadness? Yes, perhaps.
A little tune that never stops.
One knows by heart its downs and ups.
May it be played on par
with things to come, with one's eclipse,
as gratefulness of eyes and lips
for what occasionally keeps
them trained on something far.
And staring up where no cloud drifts
because your sock's devoid of gifts
you'll understand this thrift: it fits
your age; it's not a slight.
It is too late for some breakthrough,
for miracles, for Santa's crew.
And suddenly you'll realize that you
yourself are a gift outright.
Merry Christmas, jmartin, and thanks for visiting!
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