IL POETA DEL PONTE

On this perfect Sicilian spring day, I was invited to lunch, along with friends, at the home of Professore Lonardo and his wife. I'll get straight to the food!

First, these prettily arranged antipasti [that's marinated artichoke at the back]. So simple, yet so appetising:

Then fusilli al forno. [I love crunchy pasta!]



And how about this for a beautifully presented main course?

For dessert there were exotically perfumed March mandarins, Linda and Chiara had made a spongecake filled with Sicilian orange marmalade and I had made a lemon semifreddo [a standby of mine which everyone seems to like].

The Lonardo apartment has a stunning view of our Ponte Guerrieri so of course, I had to go out on the balcony to take these pictures to share with you:

Then I got in on the act!

From another balcony, you can see the station and above it [in the centre] the Cappuccini Monastery. This building brings back memories of my first Christmas Eve in Modica, in 1993, for I attended Midnight Mass there and was amused when the monks made us rehearse all the carols before they would start the service! [I couldn't crop out the crane in this picture without losing a lot of today's beautiful sky, so I left it alone.]

And I want a balcony plant like this one! Does anyone know what it is called? [The leaves are velvety.]

Finally, I thought you would like to see a photo of "our" poet and his wife:



Yes, this is the man who brings us poems like the one below and beside him sits his inspiration for so many of them.

SUGGESTIONE

Giocare
a nascondiglio con la luna
tra nuvole ed alberi;
afferrare
i primi raggi di sole
nell'ebbrezza del mattino;
gustare
i frutti della natura
tra le primizie di stagione;
bagnare
l'erba della terra
con lacrime e sudore;
ricordare
gli occhi di una donna
nella suggestione della vita.

ENCHANTMENT

Playing
at hiding with the moon
between clouds and trees;
seizing
the first rays of sunlight
in the exaltation of morning;
tasting
the fruits of Nature
among her first gifts of the season;
soaking
the grass of the earth
with tears and with sweat;
remembering
the eyes of a woman
in the enchantment of life.

- From Le Stagioni del Cuore by Antonio Lonardo [Modica, 2008].
[My translation.]