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    A medley of artwork from Le braccianti di Euripide collective

    The dolls have pronounced it – Poems by Mohamed Kheder

    Ukrainian Poetry in La Macchina Sognante – In Solidarity with the People of Ukraine

    Ukrainian Poetry in La Macchina Sognante – In Solidarity with the People of Ukraine

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    Three Poems from “The Bastard and the Bishop” – Gerald Fleming

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    God appeared at midnight: Three poems by Bitasta Ghoshal

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    I dream of the tree of silence: Poems by Rafael Romero

    Always another curtain  to draw open: Five poems by Helen Wickes

    Always another curtain to draw open: Five poems by Helen Wickes

  • Fiction
    FLORAL PRINT FLAT SHOES – Lucia Cupertino

    FLORAL PRINT FLAT SHOES – Lucia Cupertino

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    The Red Bananas – N. Annadurai

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    THE CULPRIT – Gourahari Das

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    A very different story (Part I) – Nandini Sahu

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    After Breaking News – Mojaffor Hossain

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    THE THEATER OF MEMORY – Julio Monteiro Martins

    Let the Rivers Speak! – Lucia Cupertino and the Poetry of the Global Souths, by  Pina Piccolo

    Fanta Blackcurrant – Makena Onjerika

    Photographer Sumana Mitra on her street photography and recent explorations of Surrealist techniques

    All the Sadeqs are getting killed – Mojaffor Hossain, translated by Noora Shamsi Bahar

    Photographer Sumana Mitra on her street photography and recent explorations of Surrealist techniques

    Here, Where We Keep on Meeting – Giuseppe Ferrara

  • Non Fiction
    Figures of Pathos  (Part I)- Salvatore Piermarini

    Figures of Pathos (Part I)- Salvatore Piermarini

    Plowing the publishing world  – Tribute to Brazilian writer Itamar Vieira, by Loretta Emiri

    Plowing the publishing world – Tribute to Brazilian writer Itamar Vieira, by Loretta Emiri

    Jaider Esbell – Specialist in Provocations, by Loretta Emiri

    Jaider Esbell – Specialist in Provocations, by Loretta Emiri

    Farewell, Silver Girl – Carolyn Miller

    Farewell, Silver Girl – Carolyn Miller

    Lino-printing fairy tales over Constitutions- The artwork of Mihaela Šuman

    Layers of overlap: theatre, cinema, memory, imagination – Farah Ahamed

    Architectures of Delusion –  Steve Salaita

    Architectures of Delusion – Steve Salaita

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    The Power of the Female Gaze: On Maria Antonietta Scarpari’s Artistic Practice – Camilla Boemio

    A new reality needed –  A conversation with Mathew Emmett, by Camilla Boemio

    A new reality needed – A conversation with Mathew Emmett, by Camilla Boemio

    Farewell, Silver Girl – Carolyn Miller

    A medley of artwork from Le braccianti di Euripide collective

    Sagar Kumar Sharma in Conversation with Santosh Bakaya

    Sagar Kumar Sharma in Conversation with Santosh Bakaya

    Sagar Kumar Sharma in a Literary Conversation with Sarita Jenamani

    Sagar Kumar Sharma in a Literary Conversation with Sarita Jenamani

    That’s how war left me alive – Wesam Almadani interviewed by Le Ortique

    That’s how war left me alive – Wesam Almadani interviewed by Le Ortique

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    M’aidez, May Day – Pina Piccolo

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    Desperately seeking Marion: A Review of ” Women, Antifascism and Mussolini’s Italy – The Life of Marion Cave Rosselli”, by Isabelle Richet

    Desperately seeking Marion: A Review of ” Women, Antifascism and Mussolini’s Italy – The Life of Marion Cave Rosselli”, by Isabelle Richet

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    Tim Ingold’s “Correspondences” – Giuseppe Ferrara

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    But for plants there is no delegating: Seven Poems by Achille Pignatelli

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    Skjelv Du På Handa, Vladimir? / Does Your Hand Shake, Vladimir? –  Transnational Solidarity Project (Odveig Klyve)

    Skjelv Du På Handa, Vladimir? / Does Your Hand Shake, Vladimir? – Transnational Solidarity Project (Odveig Klyve)

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    The malice of desires feeds the power of my imagination – Poems by Mubeen Kishany

    Alahor in Granata: A Forgotten Opera by Donizetti – Fawzi Karim

    Alahor in Granata: A Forgotten Opera by Donizetti – Fawzi Karim

    EARTH ANTHEM : A eulogy of the Earth, its beauty, its biodiversity – Abhay K.

    EARTH ANTHEM : A eulogy of the Earth, its beauty, its biodiversity – Abhay K.

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    IL BIANCO E IL NERO – LE PAROLE PER DIRLO, Conference Milan Sept. 7

    IL BIANCO E IL NERO – LE PAROLE PER DIRLO, Conference Milan Sept. 7

    OPEN POEM TO THE CURATORS OF THE 58th VENICE BIENNALE  FROM THE GHOSTS OF THAT RELIC YOU SHOULD NOT DARE CALL “OUR BOAT” (Pina Piccolo)

    OPEN POEM TO THE CURATORS OF THE 58th VENICE BIENNALE FROM THE GHOSTS OF THAT RELIC YOU SHOULD NOT DARE CALL “OUR BOAT” (Pina Piccolo)

    OPEN LETTER BY A GROUP OF BLACK ITALIAN WOMEN

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    Crowdfunding for [DI]SCORDARE project

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  • Poetry
    A medley of artwork from Le braccianti di Euripide collective

    The dolls have pronounced it – Poems by Mohamed Kheder

    Ukrainian Poetry in La Macchina Sognante – In Solidarity with the People of Ukraine

    Ukrainian Poetry in La Macchina Sognante – In Solidarity with the People of Ukraine

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    Three Poems from “The Bastard and the Bishop” – Gerald Fleming

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    God appeared at midnight: Three poems by Bitasta Ghoshal

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    I dream of the tree of silence: Poems by Rafael Romero

    Always another curtain  to draw open: Five poems by Helen Wickes

    Always another curtain to draw open: Five poems by Helen Wickes

  • Fiction
    FLORAL PRINT FLAT SHOES – Lucia Cupertino

    FLORAL PRINT FLAT SHOES – Lucia Cupertino

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    The Red Bananas – N. Annadurai

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    THE CULPRIT – Gourahari Das

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    A very different story (Part I) – Nandini Sahu

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    After Breaking News – Mojaffor Hossain

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    THE THEATER OF MEMORY – Julio Monteiro Martins

    Let the Rivers Speak! – Lucia Cupertino and the Poetry of the Global Souths, by  Pina Piccolo

    Fanta Blackcurrant – Makena Onjerika

    Photographer Sumana Mitra on her street photography and recent explorations of Surrealist techniques

    All the Sadeqs are getting killed – Mojaffor Hossain, translated by Noora Shamsi Bahar

    Photographer Sumana Mitra on her street photography and recent explorations of Surrealist techniques

    Here, Where We Keep on Meeting – Giuseppe Ferrara

  • Non Fiction
    Figures of Pathos  (Part I)- Salvatore Piermarini

    Figures of Pathos (Part I)- Salvatore Piermarini

    Plowing the publishing world  – Tribute to Brazilian writer Itamar Vieira, by Loretta Emiri

    Plowing the publishing world – Tribute to Brazilian writer Itamar Vieira, by Loretta Emiri

    Jaider Esbell – Specialist in Provocations, by Loretta Emiri

    Jaider Esbell – Specialist in Provocations, by Loretta Emiri

    Farewell, Silver Girl – Carolyn Miller

    Farewell, Silver Girl – Carolyn Miller

    Lino-printing fairy tales over Constitutions- The artwork of Mihaela Šuman

    Layers of overlap: theatre, cinema, memory, imagination – Farah Ahamed

    Architectures of Delusion –  Steve Salaita

    Architectures of Delusion – Steve Salaita

  • Interviews & reviews
    The Power of the Female Gaze: On Maria Antonietta Scarpari’s Artistic Practice – Camilla Boemio

    The Power of the Female Gaze: On Maria Antonietta Scarpari’s Artistic Practice – Camilla Boemio

    A new reality needed –  A conversation with Mathew Emmett, by Camilla Boemio

    A new reality needed – A conversation with Mathew Emmett, by Camilla Boemio

    Farewell, Silver Girl – Carolyn Miller

    A medley of artwork from Le braccianti di Euripide collective

    Sagar Kumar Sharma in Conversation with Santosh Bakaya

    Sagar Kumar Sharma in Conversation with Santosh Bakaya

    Sagar Kumar Sharma in a Literary Conversation with Sarita Jenamani

    Sagar Kumar Sharma in a Literary Conversation with Sarita Jenamani

    That’s how war left me alive – Wesam Almadani interviewed by Le Ortique

    That’s how war left me alive – Wesam Almadani interviewed by Le Ortique

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    • Intersections
    • Interviews and reviews
    • Non fiction
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    M’aidez, May Day – Pina Piccolo

    M’aidez, May Day – Pina Piccolo

    Desperately seeking Marion: A Review of ” Women, Antifascism and Mussolini’s Italy – The Life of Marion Cave Rosselli”, by Isabelle Richet

    Desperately seeking Marion: A Review of ” Women, Antifascism and Mussolini’s Italy – The Life of Marion Cave Rosselli”, by Isabelle Richet

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    Tim Ingold’s “Correspondences” – Giuseppe Ferrara

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    But for plants there is no delegating: Seven Poems by Achille Pignatelli

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    Skjelv Du På Handa, Vladimir? / Does Your Hand Shake, Vladimir? –  Transnational Solidarity Project (Odveig Klyve)

    Skjelv Du På Handa, Vladimir? / Does Your Hand Shake, Vladimir? – Transnational Solidarity Project (Odveig Klyve)

    Hunting for images in Guatemala City: Alvaro Sánchez interviewed by Pina Piccolo

    The malice of desires feeds the power of my imagination – Poems by Mubeen Kishany

    Alahor in Granata: A Forgotten Opera by Donizetti – Fawzi Karim

    Alahor in Granata: A Forgotten Opera by Donizetti – Fawzi Karim

    EARTH ANTHEM : A eulogy of the Earth, its beauty, its biodiversity – Abhay K.

    EARTH ANTHEM : A eulogy of the Earth, its beauty, its biodiversity – Abhay K.

  • News
    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    RUCKSACK – GLOBAL POETRY PATCHWORK PROJECT

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5:  Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    REFUGEE TALES July 3-5: Register for a Walk In Solidarity with Refugees, Asylum Seekers and Detainees

    IL BIANCO E IL NERO – LE PAROLE PER DIRLO, Conference Milan Sept. 7

    IL BIANCO E IL NERO – LE PAROLE PER DIRLO, Conference Milan Sept. 7

    OPEN POEM TO THE CURATORS OF THE 58th VENICE BIENNALE  FROM THE GHOSTS OF THAT RELIC YOU SHOULD NOT DARE CALL “OUR BOAT” (Pina Piccolo)

    OPEN POEM TO THE CURATORS OF THE 58th VENICE BIENNALE FROM THE GHOSTS OF THAT RELIC YOU SHOULD NOT DARE CALL “OUR BOAT” (Pina Piccolo)

    OPEN LETTER BY A GROUP OF BLACK ITALIAN WOMEN

    OPEN LETTER BY A GROUP OF BLACK ITALIAN WOMEN

    Crowdfunding for [DI]SCORDARE project

    Crowdfunding for [DI]SCORDARE project

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Home Out of bounds Intersections

TO SHED OUR IMPOSSIBLE GRIEF – Carmelo Militano

November 30, 2017
in Intersections, Out of bounds, The dreaming machine n 1
TO SHED OUR IMPOSSIBLE GRIEF – Carmelo Militano
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The following excerpt is from an in-progress work tentatively called  An Oneiric Education, a novel and/or novella that blends together elements of a murder mystery, the erotic, and the identity quest.

 

[…] We have discovered an old well. It is on an ancient side street in Catamaran di Chianti in Tuscany. There are three levels to the well: Medieval, Roman, and Etruscan. We have found artifacts from all three periods. The bronze, silver, and ceramics pots from the Etruscan period are the most exciting. There are some Roman votive coins and wine seeds. It will add to our understanding to the history of wine in the region during Roman and Etruscan times. We are all excited by the finds. It should add a few chapters to my PhD. Don’t ask what the ticket cost. It’s your Christmas present. You will love Perugia, a pretty hilltop town north of Rome. I booked rooms for us at the Priori Hotel off Corso Vannucci.

There is a great view of the valley and Assisi in the distance. Let’s go there for Midnight Mass.

Florence and Rome are way too expensive. See you soon.

Love always,

Franca

Gerard had called a week before on a Sunday night to say he would be late coming home. We were in bed when he called. They spoke in Italian; I could hear his voice sounding remote and tinny. She pushed my face away from the phone and mouthed the word private.

I responded by playfully pulling one of her breasts out from her nightshirt and encasing half her breast in my mouth. She gasped and pushed me off with her free hand.

-That was not smart. He heard me gasp. I told him the tree branches outside the apartment had scratched against the window and scared me. There is no need for you to be jealous. Accept what we have now.

I was not good at being the cool self-possessed lover. Her rebuke made me feel childish and unsophisticated. I resented her detachment about us. I left the apartment without saying goodbye.

#####################################################

The bus shuttle from Fiumcino airport to the train station took about forty-five minutes but not before we passed a series of arid apartment complexes in a dusty scrub landscape outside of Rome. In the distance there were the ancient dark mountains against a blue sky; ruins dotted the landscape, old fallen walls and aqueducts looked abandoned and forlorn.

We entered the city via the old Aurelian walls and past the Pyramid of Cestius near the Porta San Paolo. Here the magical jumble that is Rome took over; old and white pock marked columns from antiquity stood embedded beside dark sixteenth century windows and walls, remote baroque churches glared at eighteenth century paving stones. Big and small fountains splashed in the streets. Drowsy palm trees jutted out from behind high courtyard walls. Laundry on balconies and everywhere patches of soft buttery light- the kind you only see on a Roman winter morning-hit the old brown, red, and yellow and graffiti sprayed walls

The bus headed up up Via Nazionale, towards the Termini train station. Traffic slowed just long enough for me to make out the sweep of Gerard’s hair to the left of his brow, the distinguished gray, and his arrogant uplifted Roman nose. He was impeccably dressed, much like the last time I saw him, only this time he was wearing a black wool over-coat and a rich blue scarf and gold tie. Franca, my sister, was on his arm leaning towards his face and dressed in a black navy pea-jacket, collar up, partially covering her cheeks. She wore an elegant gold and yellow scarf. Her black curly hair was tied up in a casual French bun, a few long bangs hung in curved impish gestures on each of her face. She held a small paperback -or was it a guidebook- under her other arm. They looked happy together.

My first thought was to jump off the bus and surprise them but when I took a second look I became confused and fell into a state of disbelief. Was it truly Gerard and Franca? Before I could decide what to do the bus accelerated and at that very moment the couple turned on to a side street and vanished.

I got off the bus and took a moment to look down Via Nazionale before heading off to the train station. The marble stairs of the war memorial at the bottom of the street floated in the distance under a bright blue sunlit sky. What I had just seen? Was my exhaustion causing me to see things? Was the richness of Rome confusing me? The fountain in the Piazza Della Repubblica splashed softly in its quiet and realistic way.

The Termini train station at mid-morning five days before Christmas resembled an over-turned anthill. People were rushing to and from the station from all directions in all manner of shape, size, and dress. Some sat in the station caffe and enjoyed a morning cappuccino, others knocked back an espresso in two quick gulps.

I ordered an espresso, drained it quickly, and bought a fresh pack of cigarettes-Italian- and a new lighter before heading over to one of the ticket gates. I felt haunted. It occurred to me that Martin Delano looked like Gerard.

A train left for Perugia on time an hour later. I changed trains twice. This involved a heart-stopping dash from one side of the train platform to another by way of a tunnel under the station. The last change took place at Foligno half-hour before we reached Perugia. The people on the train were in a festive mood carrying Christmas packages even though we were standing. She, however, had managed to find a space beside me. She looked exhausted and asked me to make room for her small black carry-on luggage.

Her eyes were alert and although she was tired she took great delight in nimbly plucking a cigarette from my fresh pack. She stood with one hand under her elbow holding up the other arm with the cigarette between her fingers waiting for me to give her a light. Her black winter coat was hung over her shoulders. Underneath tight blue jeans and a maroon V neck sweater. A mixed orange, yellow, and gold scarf lay loosely knotted around her neck. I guessed her to be my sister Franca’s age somewhere between twenty-eight and thirty.

-Ah, Muratti my favorite. So what brings you to Perugia at Christmas? Its too early for the new semester at the university.

–   I am here to meet my sister for the holidays. She is working on an archaeological site in a village near Florence. Please excuse my bad Italian.

 

-I can understand you perfectly. You left your parents behind at Christmas? Shame on you!

– My parents are dead. Car accident.

-Oh, I’m sorry.

She turned embarrassed and stared out the window at the landscape as it flickered past in a blur of red unplowed fields and neat green gardens, farmhouses, fences, and brown limestone huts. She inhaled deeply and blew smoke up towards the top of the train window.

– Oh, Dio…I travel too much. It makes me so tired.

A weary melancholy descended over her and then disappeared.

– I would like to meet your sister. You think we can meet before I go to Florence for Christmas. Lunch, a drink, and a few cigarettes? Come to Bar Turreno behind the Cathedral. It’s a socialist bar. You can meet my friends. Ok?

It was late afternoon when I finally checked into the Priori Hotel. She was right about the view from the hotel: ancient stone houses organically followed the rise and fall and curves of the hill. Well- ordered fields stretched far as the monastery of Assisi. Dark blue mountains sat in a blurred hazy outline far in the distance. Large island shaped clouds hung low and gray with bits of blue between them.

I walked down Corso Vanucci past the crenellated Palazzo dei Priori and its thick medieval doors towards the Cathedral and the piazza and its fountain from the 13th century.

Men and women of all ages were out for a stroll elegantly dressed before dinner. Some had stopped for a quick aperitif and chat; groups of students moved like schools of fish eating pizza slices and joked with each other, Older gentlemen in winter wool coat and scarf sat in the outdoor cafes smoking and talking, newspaper tucked under one arm.

Franca had bathed and was waiting for me when I returned from my walk. Her thick curly hair on the pillow looked like woven rope. One foot was tucked under a bare thigh.

-Welcome back, she smiled.

I fell into her arms relived we had at last a few days together to once again try and shed our impossible grief away from Gerard and the eyes of the world.


 

 

Carmelo Militano is an award winning Italo-Canadian writer of five books:
The Fate of Olives (Olive Press, 2006) non-fiction, Ariadne’s Thread (Olive Press, 2007) poetry, Sebastiano’s Vine (Ekstasis Editions, 2013) novel, Morning After You, (Ekstasis Editions, 2014) poetry, The Stone Mason’s Notebook (Ekstasis Editions, 2016) poetry, A Filo Doppio, Un ‘antologia di scritture-calabro-canadesi, (Donzelli Editore, 2017).

 

 

 

 

 

Featured image: photo by Melina Piccolo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tags: archeologyCanadaCarmelo Militanoeroticismfictionidentity questintergenerationallove affairmysteryNovelnovellaonereicPerugia

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