#spent my morning practicing italian prose

[apis-vergilii]

M. Laeta Francisco Petrarcae epistulam dedicat.

Fu nella tua città di Arezzo, maestro, ove per primo iniziai a dedicarmi alla lingua italiana.

Ero giovanissima, studentessa universitaria, americana, ignorante, peggio di tutto ero musicista, quando per prima sentii il tuo nome. (Petrarch, Petrarca, mi chiedevo, ma chi è questo? Petr-arca, arca di pietro, come un antico tempio romano. Recitavo il tuo nome come un incantesimo per placare il genius loci di Arretium, prima di leggere una tua singola parola. Perdonami.)

Ad Arezzo come in ogni altra città del mondo ero l’estranea di ogni gruppo sociale. La mia esperienza emblematica di questa vita da sempre è: osservare un circolo stretto di amici, dall’altra parte della stanza. Per quello studiavo piuttosto da sola, girovagavo in città da sola. Imparai un giorno che eri un poeta medioevale che cantavi d’amore, per una donna con cui non parlavi mai: come Dante con la sua Beatrice, sognando e piangendo ma sempre senza speranza, eri così per la tua Laura.

Alma del core, spirto dell’alma - sempre costante t’adorerò. Un altro ricordo di Arezzo di quell’estate. Una canzonetta settecentesca, una melodia tenera e semplice. Non c’entravi, eppur quando lo cantavo da sola nella mia voce tenua e fanciullesca, per le strade e nei parchi e boschetti, mi immaginavo di cantare per te, anche mentre cantavi a Laura. All’aria perfettamente vuota.

Una notte con i miei compagni di classe comprammo, con gli occhi sgranati e ridacchiando nervosi per il senso di trasgressione, una bottiglia di assenzio. Chiudemmo le luci a casa e facemmo il rito dello zucchero bruciato per addolcire il liquore amaro, lo bevemmo e ci sedemmo sul balcone della casa a guardare il cielo stellato e attendere le allucinazioni e visioni mistiche a noi promessi dalle leggende urbane e dagli scrittori morti male dell’ottocento. Ovviamente non successe niente tranne una consueta ubriacatura, ma io ad un certo punto iniziai a fissare dei cipressi lontani, alberi eleganti e malinconici, tratti di inchiostro nero che spezzavano il lume delle stelle, mai visti prima nella mia terra e così poetici che mi venne da piangere. I miei compagni di classe mi presero in giro e non mi credettero quando dissi di aver visto lo spirito di Petrarca.

Canzoniere. Io da musicista conoscevo già la parola “canzone”, ma “canzoniere” mi suonava magico, come un sospiro. Troppo romantico. Dovevo finalmente conoscerti. Entrai in una libreria - e maestro, tieni presente che tutto questo accadde prima che io avessi la minima competenza letteraria in italiano. Ero nella classe dei principianti analfabeti, con un’insegnante distratta e antipatica, e dopo un paio di settimane avevo già imparato tutto il materiale che ci aspettava per l’esame e iniziai a saltare le lezioni per pura noia.

Quel giorno - quel nostro giorno - presi in mano la mia nuova Canzoniere e salii in cima della città, ove regna la cattedrale come una fortezza etrusca costruita sopra la vetta della collina. Il sole quel giorno, quel nostro giorno, era di uno splendore travolgente. Accanto al cattedrale c’è un parco, con il tuo monumento - un po’ pomposo, trionfale, romano, augustiniano, precisamente come piacerebbe a te, ridicolo che sei. Di lauro incoronato.

Mi misi là, sdraiata sul prato, ascoltando in cuffie le sonate di Liszt basate sui sonetti tuoi, e iniziai a sfogliare ciecamente la tua opera. Dietro le parole che faticavo a decifrare percepii una bellezza struggente che mi tenne l’attenzione alla pagina. Poi lo splendore del sole diventò troppo, diventò un fastidio troppo caldo, e andai a cercare riparo ombroso da qualche parte.

Fu tutta una scusa per l’ultimo pelegrinaggio. La tua casa sta ancora là, la casa in cui la beata Eletta ti ha dato alla luce. Quel nostro giorno, la porta del cortile era aperta. Sotto un albero (forse un ampio faggio, se vogliamo citare il nostro Tityrus, ma lui quel giorno mi aspettava ancora, lontano nel mio futuro) aprì di nuovo il libro. Il nome di Laura - o meglio Laureta - mi catturò l’occhio.

Quando io movo i sospiri a chiamar voi,

e 'l nome che nel cor mi scrisse Amore,

LAUdando s'incomincia udir di fore

il suon de' primi dolci accenti suoi.

Restai là per forse 2 ore, soffermandomi su ogni parola, strappando i neuroni dal cervello per decifrare il tutto, lentamente, sperdutamente, senza la minima idea di cosa stavo facendo - ma alla fine, lo capì. Per questo lo chiamo quel giorno il nostro: perchè là a casa tua diventasti il mio primo vero maestro d’italiano, e mi hai insegnato una canzone. Rubai per te un fiore dal giardino e scappai via - un regalo per te, che conserverò tra le pagine della tua Canzoniere per sempre.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Padre Pio – Testimony by Lillo Militello a Restaurateur in London

When one reaches the reputable age of 81, one's body marked by the effects of time, but with one's spirit alive, can only thank God for his goodness. And to be able to recount one's life and to recognize the Lord's presence in it, becomes an extraordinary privilege. Not everyone in fact is given this gift of being able to see the story of their life as if in a film, and that continues into the future while one recounts it. One feels as if one is approaching some awesome goal, and encounter. The present can not satisfy one, the profundity of one's life is beyond us and we need the future to be able to read again one's past with some understanding.

My name is Lillo Militello, and I was born at Acquaviva Platani, in the province of Caltanissetta, on 26 December 1931. I am married to Anna Casdia and I have three children Giuseppe, Maria and Gabriella.

My life was influenced by my having to immigrate. This is a cross but can also be an opening. After having spent my childhood in my delightful little hometown of Acquaviva Platani, once it was time for me to earn my living, I joined the Carabinieri. I did my recruitment training in Caserta and from there I was sent to the Milan battalion assigned to the barracks of Luino on the Lago Maggiore. After six years with the Carabinieri, I then worked in a hotel in Lugano. Then in 1960, I made the great leap across the Channel and came ashore in the land of Albion.

In London I worked at the Mount Royal Hotel at Marble Arch, at the beginning of Oxford Street. I then spent a few years working in an Italian restaurant. This was an important experience because it was the introduction to what would be, from 1970 onwards, my work as a restaurateur. In fact, together with my brothers Salvatore, Giovanni and Gino, I opened the Concordia Restaurant. In the span of 38 years the Concordia Restaurant and the Concordia Notte would become a very well-known restaurant both for its food and service. The many famous people who came to the restaurant testify to this success. I was also involved in London with different associations to keep alive my sense of Italian identity. In the cultural world my brothers and I sponsored an Italian poetry and prose writing contest in which Italian writers and poets living outside of Italy participated.

Living abroad I was always able to keep up my faith. Thanks to the Italian Missionaries I was able to practice, with the weekly participation at the Eucharist, my faith, a light that always guided me in my personal and family life.

I decided to write these few lines to share with you some experiences that clearly reveals to me the intervention and goodness of Padre Pio in the course of my life, a friar to whom I have been devoted ever since my youth.

If today I am still alive, I have to thank this holy friar of Pietrelcina for his intercession. I was a smoker and a tumor was found in my lungs. I have seen all my friends die, because of the same condition. And even if I now live 24 hours a day on oxygen, I consider every day a gift from the Lord.

There are four episodes in my life that I have learnt, because of this, to see with the eyes of faith that I personally witnessed or played a part in and that I wish to relate and which bear testimony that the faith is not simply a belief in doctrine, but the perception of reveal divine presence in this valley of tears.

The first episode goes back 60 years. I was with the Carabinieri then, and I remember seeing with my very own eyes a boy younger than myself, gravely sick because of appendicitis. When he arrived in the hospital emergency ward they decided at once to operate on the boy since the appendicitis could quickly become peritonitis and be fatal. On duty that morning in the operating theater was a young doctor who had not practiced long and despite his more expert qualified assistants, when he was operating, partly out of nervousness as well as his inexperience, he cut the abdominal tissue of the boy causing a severe hemorrhage, damaging part of the intestines. The more expert doctors that took over and tried in some way to repair the damage. But the damage caused was serious and once out of the operating room the doctors gave the boy little hope. The parents were desperate. The father not knowing what to do, decided to make a trip to San Giovanni Rotondo to see Padre Pio and to ask for his help to save his boy. Padre Pio, placed his hand on the man's head and said: "don't worry, your son will be okay."

At that very moment in Milan his son who was gravely ill and considered done for, opened his eyes and said to his mother: "I feel fine." A few days later his father, after his return from San Giovanni Rotondo, when he saw how much better his son was, recalled at once the words of Padre Pio: "Don't worry, your son will be okay!" In fact, after four weeks of convalescence, I saw with my very own eyes the father and son in a field playing football (soccer) and as if the episode of the hospital had been nothing more than a bad dream. I am absolutely certain that Padre Pio had a hand in this episode.

The second episode took place on a trip to Italy that was organized by my parish church in London. The goal of the voyage was Pietrelcina, Padre Pio's hometown in the province of Benevento. Once we arrived we toured the town and then we went to the house where the saint was born and grew up. As soon as I entered the house, I felt a special atmosphere and was very moved and while my travel companions searched in vain to chip off a small piece of rock from the wall as a souvenir relic of their visit, a piece of rock all of a sudden fell at my very feet. I gave it to Father Natalino to divide and share out with my traveling companions. This was a beautiful lesson to me on how what one receives gratuitously one must be able to share it with others.

The third recollection took place about nine years ago. I went with my wife to visit some friends. When we were leaving I tripped over and rolled down like a ball the external stairway, a flight of 10 concrete steps. My wife who had already descended, seeing the violent fall right before her thought that I was dead. All the blood that covered my face forebode the worst. They took me to the hospital in an ambulance, but my faith in Padre Pio saved me and I had to have only a few stitches on my lips.

The last episode took place in my Restaurant the Concordia Notte. One evening a Sicilian family came to dinner in my restaurant. They were very sad, so I asked them why. They told me that at the hospital of Catania (Sicily) the husband had been diagnosed with cancer and had only a few weeks more of life and that they were in London for a further checkup in a hospital of the English capital (London) specializing in oncology. I was inspired to give them a piece of that rock and a photograph of Padre Pio. A couple weeks later, the whole family returned to dinner in my restaurant and were all very joyous because the husband had been cured.

[tailsbeth-writes]

Always the Sidekick - Prose

I wrote this piece for a genre fiction class at university, it’s a romantic short story. It’s one of the few stories I’m actually quite happy with and might even consider continuing.

Word Count: 2609.

The park had well and truly taken autumn in. Across the wet grass, lay leaves in shades of brown and yellow. The smell of pumpkin spice lattes was in the air, it really was the best time of year. Today my wellington boots had been taken on their first outing; their traditional green didn’t particularly coordinate with my red rain mac. However, I could not care less as my appearance was not my speciality. With my mousy brown hair complete with blunt fringe to my milk bottle glasses, I was not what you’d call typically attractive. I was content with my lot though, as long as I could get to my favourite bench with a notebook and pen, I was happy.

It was the best spot for people watching, it was right in the middle of the park. To your left was a large pond where children would attempt to feed swans and nearly kill them and to your right were the multi-courts where men would make fools of themselves on a daily basis in an attempt to woo the opposite sex, usually with dire results. I sat there for my lunch hour and marvelled at the awesomeness of humanity before my best friend Jenny arrived. I love her to pieces but thanks to her gorgeous good looks, my favourite bench became the viewpoint of frenzy for the sporting lads. She walked up in high heeled boots, a black tulip skirt which extenuated her curves precisely and a white chiffon blouse that didn’t leave much to the imagination. The cherry on top of it all was her blonde wavy hair which bounced lightly with every step.

‘April darling, how are we today?’ I loved the way Jenny spoke, so silly yet sophisticated.

‘I’m pretty excellent, how are you?’

‘So tired, rushed off my feet as usual. Glad to get a break.’

‘I just don’t know how you manage it, I wouldn’t dream of such a busy job.’

‘Well, April my dear, not all of us are content with spending our days in a library.’ Despite Jenny and I being the same age, she’s always spoke down to me a little. I never cared what she said about my job though, I loved it. Her job sounded like an absolute nightmare to me, she worked at a law firm which meant she was always busy and always had to look her best. ‘It’s all about reputation’ Jenny told me time and time again. Whereas at my work, I spent hours sorting out books full of magic and romance, I wore whatever I pleased and I got a full hour for lunch. With those stats, I’d never see the appeal of Jenny’s job.

‘What’s for lunch today then?’ Jenny enquired as usual, looking for the plastic lunchbox.

‘Roast chicken sandwich, last night’s leftovers.’ I handed it over to a starved Jenny.

‘Oh you treat me so well April!’ She declared before she took a huge bite out of the sandwich. From the size of her waist, you’d never guess Jenny had a massive appetite.

‘Are we still doing dinner tomorrow night?’ She asked between bites. Fridays were probably my favourite day. I had a half day at work, I’d pick up sushi as a treat on the way home and then I’d settle down to a good book or a Netflix marathon for the afternoon. The nights were usually planned by Jenny, with her job she managed to blag us theatre ticket most weeks. However, this dinner wasn’t one of our usual Friday nights. It was a set-up, a casual reminder that I was still single and apparently needed to find a boyfriend.

‘Was that tomorrow night? I forgot about that. I might actually be working.’

‘You’re kidding me right? Remember tick tock, you’re not getting any younger pumpkin.’

‘Thanks for that gentle reminder Jen, you aren’t ei-‘

‘April Louise Hollander, you are going to eat dinner with me and some lovely male company whether you like it or not! Trust me; I’m doing it for your own good. Also it’s a work thing, you’d be the bestest for coming.’ I knew there would be some form of blackmail; I was always the sidekick to her little plans.

‘As I’ve told you time and time ag-‘

‘April, just be there.’ She interrupts again. I’ve not paid much attention but she’s finished her sandwich and brushed off the crumbs. I didn’t even bother trying to reply this time.

‘I better get back to the office; they’ll be lost without me. Remember 7 o’clock tomorrow at that fancy Italian place, wear something nice. Ciao darling!’ And with that she marched off on her heels, already screaming orders down the phone.  I had been looking forward to Friday, I was going to marathon Breaking Bad. Now I’d spend the afternoon trolling my wardrobe. Help.

Friday mornings at the library were always fun. A couple of classes from the local primary school would come in and if there wasn’t much work to do I got to help out with the kids. They reminded me of myself at that age, always raring to start a new book. I brought out a table full of new books and they cheered as they scrambled to find the best choice. Their adorable little smiles were enough to make my day. On the other hand, on my bus home I saw a bunch of students glued to their phones and tablets. I understood you could read books on those too but the majority of them were playing addictive games or swiping through possible mates like baboons. What happens to us as we grow up? Does the world of fiction lose its appeal to jabbing away at a piece of plastic and metal? I got off my usual stop and walked a few metres down the road to pick up my Japanese feast of sushi and bubble tea.

My flat was in the building next door, on the third floor. It was small and cosy, ideal for me and my pet fish Oscar, named after Mr Wilde of course. Normally I’d have got straight into my pyjamas, unluckily I had to choose a suitable outfit for Jenny’s high standards. Queue a clichéd montage of chucking clothes around my bedroom. Fashion was never my thing; I was about comfort and practicality not designer labels. I reckoned simple and elegant-ish was my best bet. As I turned to the mirror, I imagined an eagle-eyed Jenny staring back at me.

‘Are you really going to wear that tonight? Why do you even own that?’

‘I don’t actually care Jenny.’

‘Well you obviously care my dear; otherwise you wouldn’t be imagining me in your mirror now, would you?’ I let a little frustrated scream out. Imaginary or not, Jenny did have a point though. I did care. I’ve seen the looks of disgust that Jenny’s colleagues give me when I turn up to a champagne party in my doc martens and no make-up. This time it was almost like a date, she’d mentioned male company. I hadn’t had a boyfriend since university, three years ago. I genuinely did want to try, while I had Hermione’s smarts, I unfortunately didn’t have Emma Watson’s good looks. Tonight was going to be different; I ran out to Primark and bought a little black dress. I braved my contact lenses and risked burning my hair with my straighteners. Make-up wasn’t my best friend, but I tried my hardest to not make it look like war paint. I, of course, made a few April-esque touches, a deathly hallows necklace and forest green brogues. It might have just been a dinner date but as I gazed in the mirror, I could have been ready for a ball.

I definitely preferred London at night time. The twinkling street lights bounced off the reflective skyscrapers that melted into the indigo sky. My taxi driver wasn’t very chatty which I was thankful for tonight. My mind was too busy buzzing with expectations to talk about the weather.  Jenny would giggle like a school girl over her carbonara at the dashing gentleman opposite her. Meanwhile I’d be enthralled in conversation with a boyishly handsome chap who happens to have a passion for Doctor Who. As I dissolved into my day dreams, I barely noticed the taxi screeching to a halt. Jenny practically pounced on me as I stumbled out the cab into the nippy air.

‘April, my darling, you’re a new woman! Where’s the milk bottles? And are you wearing make-up? I love, love, love it!’ She was grinning from ear to ear at my apparent transformation.

‘Aw, you’re very sweet.’ I felt my cheeks redden as she spoke.

‘I wish you dressed like this more often, speaking of which, where is this delight of a dress from? I never knew you owned such a thing.’

‘Primark, only a tenner actually!’ Jenny’s face dropped in repulsion, the idea of being seen dead in anything less than £50 freaked her out. Her grin returned as she took in my whole look once more.

‘Not my usual taste, but you work it.’

‘You sure I look alright? I’m way out my comfort zone here.’

‘Of course you look alright, more than alright! Do you not think you look fab?’ I had to agree with Jenny. I’d gone through my Cinderella transformation from drab to fab except my fairy godmother came in the form of Primark and YouTube tutorials. I gave her a courageous smile.

‘God damn it, I do look fab Jenny.’

‘Great, glad we can agree on that. The boys said they’re going to be a tad late unfortunately so we’ve just to head inside.’

‘Okay, after you.’ I followed Jenny’s lead. After all the commotion of my new look, I hadn’t taken in Jenny’s outfit for the night. Her hair sat in a subtle up do and a creamy fur shawl sprawled over her shoulders. Her dress was a figure hugging scarlet number, which finished just after the knees and her shoes were a classic pair of black heels. As usual, Jenny looked like an absolute bombshell. I felt rather lucky to be friends with someone so glamourous.

As soon as the restaurant door opened we caught the smell of the incredible menu. Chatter surrounded every table. The place was packed. It was a Friday night in London after all. Everything appeared to be draped in white; the tables, chairs and even the walls. Spaghetti Bolognese was off the menu for me then. We got seated straight away as we had reservations. Jenny briefed me on tonight’s mission; we had to show the representative from this company a good time essentially. He was bringing along an intern which is where I came in, I was the distraction while Jenny spoke business. Whilst this was technically work for Jenny, we agreed we were going to have a good time ourselves. Therefore the first order of the night was cocktails. Our waitress brought over two martinis and we clinked our glasses together.

‘Do you feel like you’re in Sex and the City right now?’ Jenny giggled.

‘You took the words right out my mouth.’

‘I think we could give Carrie and the girls a run for their money frankly.’ We chuckled as sophisticatedly as we could. A joint this fancy didn’t feel like it welcomed belly laughs.

‘Excuse me ladies, I do believe you’ve been waiting for us.’ We looked up from our drinks to see our delicious male company had arrived. Jenny got up to shake their hands.

‘You must be Michael? So nice to finally meet you. This is my friend April.’ Michael stretched a freshly tanned hand over to me, his chocolate coloured eyes slithering into mine. Behind him stood a tall redhead who smiled delicately at us.

‘Nice to meet you girls, this is Eric.’ Eric tottered over and shook our hands. His hands were slightly clammy, nerves were tugging at him.

‘Great to meet you both.’ I drank in his polite expression, it was very welcoming. We all took our seats, Eric sat to my left. His navy cord blazer grazed my skin as it fell on his chair.

‘What are we drinking ladies?’ Michael enquired. Every word was like silky caramel; Jenny stuck to every syllable while it was far too sickly for me.

‘Martinis, we can move onto a bottle of wine if you’d prefer.’ Jenny had to vaguely remind herself this was a professional dinner. Michael had other plans.

‘Of course no, martinis it is! Waiter!’ He glanced around and waved his hand in the air, Eric stared at his lap. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. A baffled waitress finally came over.

‘Six martinis please!’ Michael demanded.

‘Why six?’ Eric innocently asked.

‘We’ve got catching up to do! It’s Friday night after all!’

‘Christopher Eccleston’s your favourite doctor? Really?’

‘Yup!’

‘Wow, very controversial.’ I sipped my third martini, never losing grip with Eric’s bubblegum blue eyes. They made my insides feel cosy. That could have also been the alcohol. Jenny had gone to sit at the bar with Michael to have shop talk. Her legs stretched in front of the bar stool to keep Michael at a safe distance. She’d got over his caramel tones and was getting to work.

‘So how long have you known Jenny? I wouldn’t say you’re typically matched.’ I rolled my eyes at the world’s most frequently asked question.

‘Most people think the same. We’ve been inseparable since primary school, she shared her dolls with me when nobody else would. I don’t think she quite realised what she’d got into. We’ve been through semesters abroad with nothing but letters to each other and we’re still going. I know she comes across as ridiculous most of the time but that’s part of the magic of Jenny. It’s just kind of amazing that over ten years later, we still meet at a park bench every day for lunch and it’s not boring yet. God, sorry, I’m babbling now!’

‘Nah, don’t worry about it. I think you two are sweet. A bit mad but sweet.’ I looked down at my drink, my cheeks felt rosy. Sensing my awkwardness, he changed subject.

‘Do you have a favourite park bench in mind? I’m a bit of a people watching enthusiast myself.’ My mouth may have gawped open a little. It was like someone had taken my day dreams and moulded them into my perfect man.

‘Seriously? People watching is my favourite thing ever. You know Waverly Park, how the path cuts right through the middle? The bench right next to the pond and multi-courts.’

‘I don’t think I’ve been there, I’ll need to check it out sometime. If you’d let me of course.’

‘Suppose, but I’ll have to share between the hours of 12 and 1 on weekdays.’

‘Those terms are fair enough.’ His endearing gaze turned me to jelly. His movements were careful, his long fingers ever so slightly rubbed up against mine on the table. He picked up my pendant and edged a smile.

‘Harry Potter fan?’

‘Yeah. I must seem like a massive geek with this thing on.’ I mustered hesitantly.

‘Oh really?’ He smirked and got something out of his coat pocket, a wallet with the Hogwarts crest on it. I let out a slight gasp. Eric laughed lightly at my shock. He placed the tattered wallet back in his coat.

‘Massive geeks should stick together, well I think so anyway.’ He declared. Before I even realised, the space between us was gone as he kissed me gently.

‘I could not agree more.’