At The Flower Market Poem by Alicia Patti
At The Flower Market
At the flower market
I found spice, holy water,
cobblestoned obsidian dreams,
but no flowers.
The blustery Tuscany day
showed me its underlying graffiti,
incantations of poetica esoterica,
and yet another way
to excavate the mystery.
Nostalgic Roman nights,
Spanish palabras, Sicilian incantations
of idyllic panoramas:
promises enough to purchase the moon.
Such a foolish sacrifice
to fresco up for portfolios
in sanctuaries precious and profane.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 9:10:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Lovely the way it reminds me of Italy. I have yet to write of my excursions there. I went years ago as a guest of our Canadian Antiquarian Book Association president and have yet to write of Italy. In my bio, the photo is from a court yard of one of the Medici Palazzos. I wonder about your last stanza though regarding the 'frescoing up of portfolios'. What is the meaning? Aren't frescos themsleves like portfolios of art? Is there something behind them the way they used to paint over old portraits covering works of genius? . I find this facinating if the frescos are superimposed over buried master pieces. If so, do you know anything of their history or patrons? I see you adore obsidian as I do. Obsidian was one of my earliest poetic treasures. I have an arrow head of obsidian I bought years later in commemoration for how to me obsidian is like a poetic arrowhead into ancient mythology. I love rocks of all kinds. Hawaii is another place I have yet to write of. I guess I've traveled more than enough so far as my writing has yet to keep pace with my explorations. Best wishes, Dawn