Rebecca’s Eye

When the C.O. David Harris was in prison

His waiting wife, Joan Baez, penned this line:

And the stars in your sky are the stars in mine

Child of modern science, I believe it with no qualm.

 

Yet each day I scan this sky of clouds as if never seen.

Only the artist in Rebecca has caught the Sistine ceiling,

While the poet in me wonders if the fate of not seeing

Lies in the stars, or in ourselves that we are underlings.

 

A Growing Collection.

Buy No Wine You Can’t Find (Go Ask Orson Welles)

Fragolino, the dessert accompaniment served by our dinner hosts, turns out to have quite a history, one whose strains of truth are proving hard to sort out on Wikipedia.

In one version, (after it had been introduced from the U.S.A.) Vitis lambrusca brought a parasite that began to destroy European wine production.  In another varietal of this narrative, the importation was made (first into France) for the exact opposite reason: to fight the phylloxera plague.

Either way, its cultivation was eventually banned in Europe, nowhere more stringently than in Italy, where sale and distribution were made illegal.  And today, the real fragolino is not to be found.  (Even so, what remains will do.)

On a poetic note: the Isabella cultivar was brought to several former Soviet nations, through the seaport of Odessa.  Given its port name among Georgians, “Odessa” wine was once described by the poet Osip Mandelstam in these most appropriate images: “fleshy and healthy like a cluster of night itself.”

Relayed Home

Last year, early on the morning we left,

A shopkeeper was sweeping the street.

 

This year, shopping at her place once a day,

We’ve taken to greetings each time we pass.

 

Today, we leave with our fruit.  “Buona Domenica,”

She bids us to go in peace.  “Have a good Sunday.”

Additions to the Doors Collection (Castelluccio)