n i g h t i n g a l e s h i r a z / blog
On missing San Miguel. Again, more, soon.

june 2023
january 2023
december 2022
september 2022
august 2022
july 2022
january 2022
november 2021
october 2021
september 2021
august 2021
july 2021
june 2021
may 2021
april 2021
march 2021
february 2021
january 2021
september 2020
august 2020
july 2020
may 2020
april 2020
march 2020
february 2020
december 2019
october 2019
july 2019
june 2019
may 2019
april 2019
march 2019
february 2019
january 2019
december 2018
november 2018
october 2018
september 2018
august 2018
july 2018
june 2018
may 2018
april 2018
march 2018
february 2018
january 2018
december 2017
november 2017
october 2017
september 2017
august 2017
july 2017
june 2017
march 2017
february 2017
january 2017
november 2016
october 2016
september 2016
august 2016
july 2016
june 2016
may 2016
april 2016
march 2016
february 2016
december 2015
november 2015
october 2015
september 2015
may 2015
march 2015
february 2015
january 2015
december 2014
november 2014
october 2014
september 2014
august 2014
may 2014
april 2014
march 2014
february 2014
*april 2013
*march 2013
*february 2013
*january 2013
*december 2012
*november 2012
*october 2012
*september 2012
*july 2012
*october 2011
*september 2011
*august 2011
*july 2011
*june 2011
*may 2011
april 2011
march 2011
april 2010
march 2010
february 2010
january 2010
december 2009
november 2009
september 2009
june 2009
may 2009
february 2009
january 2009
december 2008
october 2008
september 2008
august 2008
july 2008
june 2008
may 2008
april 2008
january 2008
december 2007
november 2007
october 2007
september 2007
august 2007
july 2007
june 2007
may 2007
april 2007
march 2007
february 2007
january 2007
december 2006
november 2006
october 2006
september 2006
august 2006
july 2006
june 2006
may 2006
april 2006
march 2006
february 2006
january 2006
december 2005
november 2005
october 2005
september 2005
august 2005
july 2005
june 2005
may 2005
april 2005
march 2005
february 2005
january 2005
december 2004
november 2004
october 2004
september 2004
august 2004
july 2004
june 2004
may 2004
april 2004
march 2004
february 2004
january 2004
december 2003
june 2003
april 2003
march 2003
 
Parsing

(Originally written Monday February 13th 2017, at 8:16am)

I wake up in Florence and what else needs to go in a sentence that begins with I wake up in Florence?  Nothing.  Not a single thing.  I wake up in Florence.

Today's the day my father's cancer was diagnosed.  Today in 2007.  In Italian a sentence like that can be written such that the subject comes after the verb, such that it seems incidental.  You could say oggi è il giorno in cui è stato scoperto il cancro...  Today's the day on which was diagnosed the cancer... ...of my father.  Like with terza rima, a certain grammatical advantage.

He once told me, you know, everyone thinks Friday the 13th is unlucky, but that's never been an unlucky day for me.  For me, it's February that has always been an unlucky month.  (And maybe something about Wednesdays...?  And maybe I'm not remembering this right.)

My father died before iPhones.  Or at least.  Before any of us had one.  I don't have a recording of his voice.  Seven years later when my mother's cancer came back I had learned from experience.  You get smarter with each parent that dies, about the little things.  Some big things too.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Santo Spirito, Firenze]
[martedì 31 ottobre 2017 ore 13:02:02] []

Some Things

I've seen you with the lights off
I've seen you and you  think   you    love     me
I've seen you with your hat off
I'm dreaming of a  time   you    know     me



[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Santo Spirito, Firenze]
[mercoledì 18 ottobre 2017 ore 12:48:00] []

Find things beautiful as much as you can, most people find too little beautiful.

I make the morning full of things Vincentian.  I have not watched a movie alone in a long time, and I have not looked forward to watching one this much, in longer still.  What will it mean that a thing like this already makes me cry?  That this makes me slow down the day, like yellow deepening?  That lines like these make my life feel a little less, these days, like the colours of rain:

In my view, I am often immensely rich, not in money, but (although just now perhaps not all the time) rich because I have found my métier, something I can devote myself to heart and soul and that gives inspiration and meaning to my life.

My moods vary, of course, but nevertheless I have on average acquired a certain serenity.  I have a strong belief in art, a certain faith that it is a powerful current that carries a man to a haven, although he himself has to put in an effort too.  I think in any case that it is such a blessing when a man has found his métier, that I don't count myself among the unfortunates.

I mean that even if I were in some considerable difficulties, and if there were dark days in my life, I would not wish to be taken for one of the unfortunates, nor would it be right.


I must remember though, that not everyone wants to know these things.  Perhaps they never will.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Santo Spirito, Firenze]
[lunedì 16 ottobre 2017 ore 12:10:18] []

“Just keep doing your work and learning to be gentle with yourself...”

These days in a room with del Piombo's poetessa, of loving Vincent and considering Marcel.  These days of a vendemmia selvatica and a wine from Val d'Aosta, of a matchbox, a Mastroianni, and a memory of Shahid.  (“Because I'm a poet.”)

These days of catbite and bandages and betadine, of Toi Dericotte in your Inbox (“It’s precious!”) and a dermatologist in your armpit.  These days of too much takeout and too much tea, more eggplant than you want (because you want none), more choices than make sense, and never — like always, never ever — enough writing.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Santo Spirito, Firenze]
[domenica 15 ottobre 2017 ore 10:18:18] []

Sia buona.

I try to tell Camilla what it feels like to buy an annual pass to the Uffizi.  “You know when you've done something or achieved or acquired something that makes you so deliriously happy right after that you think the smile on your face couldn't possibly get any sillier?  And then you think some more, and step outside of yourself and look, and you see yourself walking on a Saturday afternoon in October through Piazza Repubblica towards Via della Spada and Santa Maria Novella, with this thing you've just done, and you see that this — exactly this — is the kind of thing that makes you deliriously happy?  And that makes you even happier, and the smile gets sillier after all?  That's what it feels like.”


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Santo Spirito, Firenze]
[sabato 14 ottobre 2017 ore 15:10:18] []

Familiar, refrain.

I’m loving this week of Stein in ModPo.  But there are other things too, in my life these days.  And when Laynie Brown asks, “What is the purpose of purposefulness?” — for whatever reason, those things come up.  And suddenly, here, I cannot help it.  I abandon myself, at last, to think of the week’s drama, perhaps a longtime coming, but never quite long enough.  To think of years.  Roads stretching farther back than I want to travel.  What is the purpose, indeed.

Why was I not then, the person I am now?  Why did I not know how to be strong in their wrong-headed faces?  Why with my family does it feel like I learn only in looking back, from long times ago-beyond today?

And here, here maybe an idea.  What if I imagined myself five years from now?  Imagined the woman, the ways in which she would be wiser.  What would she wish I had known, this week?

And then I would write a blog post.  With a title like this: Familiar, refrain.  (Earlier I had considered: The F-Word.)

And then Mary Oliver, because it’s time I read Mary Oliver again (it’s life I read Mary Oliver more often than I think I love): I have posted this poem here before.  Some times, some bloods, cartilage.


[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Santo Spirito, Firenze]
[mercoledì 02 ottobre 2017 ore 10:24:18] []