A Neapolitan in Venice
(In the year 1800, the opera composer Domenico
Cimarosa was expelled from his native Naples and
he took refuge in Venice, in the cold north. He
didn't know it, but he was already dying of cancer.)
I’ll never love this leaden northern sky.
New Year is here: a thing to ponder on.
Though teeth may trouble us, we still have work –
suggestion, resolution, solo, chorus:
despite my egg-and-dart, my bead-and-reel
I get a neat percussive Mozart feel.
You want the moment’s fad? The coming trick?
I love to see Anzulo’s melon-seller,
as unexpected as a tarantella.
Look elsewhere. I’ll keep on with quick-slow-quick.
Thank God we never know what lies before us!
Both man’s ingratitude and dropsy irk.
The century begins with number one.
I suddenly feel old – I don’t know why.
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