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Periplumb August 14, 2015

Posted by The Typist in poem, Poetry, The Journey, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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Full-moon Venice preriplumb
Vaparetto No 2. S. Marco:
Campari soda at Harry’s Bar (2)
linen slacks, lime sherbet shirt
my best hat (American, called Milano)
new Italian loafers (no socks)
squandering Euros for a moment
of history, of artificial beauty–
better leather, tan-complimenting
French nails, Italian movie glamour.

The anarchists are out
in the dark like rats:
case por tutti
non si ama liberi
Sheila can you dance like Mussolini?

but the grave carabinieri
who shared my boat,
a blocky, Homeric man
with a square beard,
hefty Berretta on his hip,
keeps their paint bombs
away from S. Marco.

Abandon Harry’s mirrors,
women dressed for Venice
but not Venice, tawdry
among the marble.

Vaporetto No. 2. S. Marco,
round out the periplumb.
One woman alone: brown hair,
glasses, simple slacks and blouse,
natural, a primal Italian beauty,
a noble line of face
fit to strike in metal
the color of her skin.

Glances at my age are flattering,
returning them feels unbecoming but
alone in full-moon Venice
is temptation monumental.
By happy accident I take a seat
in the bow across an aisle
wide as the Grand Canal.
No words. No room. No hope.
Her glances continue, presuming
some intent in my choice of seat.
She removes one shoe, stretches red toes
suggesting the continuation
of lithe curves tending toward
a narrow alley in some quiet sestieri
but no. I watch the passing palazzo.
She turns assertively
to look the other way.

My Venice adventure passes by,
Ca’ Desdemona dark in the moonlight.
My periblumb ends as it began
at Ferrovia.

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Wood and Water: The Working Boats of Venice August 3, 2014

Posted by The Typist in Toulouse Street.
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While everyone else went camera-mad for gondolas, I found myself drawn to the working boats of Venice. To live in a city of canals and narrow streets interrupted by bridges of steps, everything travels by water and courier, men hustling push carts full of the goods a city requires. Look at the bottom of any photo of Venice along the canals and there at the bottom, you will find boats. Here is a picture meant to be of the Doge’s Palace, the domes of the Basilaci di San Marco and the towers of the building that house the museum of Venice, there are boats: a Vaporetto, the ubiquitous mass transit on the left, a yellow tour boat pulling into S. Marco, a water taxi rushing up the middle of the Grand Canal, and one of the polished wooden runabouts of those who can afford 12 Euro to drink a Campari and soda at Harry’s Bar.

Doge's Palace (& Boats)

I was drawn less to the gleaming wood or the bright fiberglass of those who could afford them. Rather, it was the working wood boats that nestled up alongside the quays of the smaller canals that caught my interest. Frequently painted in the bright, Mediterranean colors seen throughout the archipelago city, they serve both as family car and truck do in cities where the streets are of pavement and not water.

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In this series, I watched a working man loading his boat for the day ahead while sitting in the cafe just down from our hotel.

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Any picture of a side canal will be filled with moored boats. The first two are the views up and down Rio Marin, the canal outside our hotel. The others are miscellaneous shots filled with boats. I wasn’t keeping a photo journal so I can’t give the other locations, except to place the last on the island of Burano.

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One nod to the gondola: the boat yard at Squero di San Travaso:

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