MICHAEL ESCOUBAS REVIEWS THE ITALIAN SOUL BY JUDITH VALENTE
The Italian Soul. How to Savor the Full Joys of Life by Judith Valente. 20 Reflections ~ 20 Illustrations. 192 pages, published by Hampton Roads Publishing, ISBN: 9781642970722
True confessions time for a book reviewer. I am a committed “doer.” I make daily lists of items to get done and become “undone” if I haven’t checked the “completed” box(s) by end of day. I occasionally neglect my family by insisting on writing one more poem or adding one more paragraph to a book review. I like a tight schedule and the feeling that the world may fall apart but for my actions!
ENTER STAGE LEFT:
The Italian Soul, by Judith Valente. It was her subtitle, How to Savor the Full Joys of Life, which hit me hard upside the head. This remarkable book of life-reflections has taken me hostage. Pulitzer Prize nominee and former NPR journalist, Judy Valente, freely admits similar shortcomings. However, over time she has become a student of contemplative living. The Italian Soul is a labor of love—love that nurtures a life-long quest to live a full life—a life she found and continues to find in Italy, her ancestral home.
She seeks a more contemplative life,
which means an attitude of the heart that allows one
to see the sacred and poetic in the simple and
mundane elements of daily living.
Her native Italy planted the seeds of change. Italy is a nation ensconced in beauty. As if its landscapes, seascapes, skyscapes, history, architecture, food, wines, and fashions are not enough—Italy offers something more—a gentler, more balanced way of life. In Valente’s words, la dolce vita (the sweet life).
The book is set forth in twenty chapters which describe the ancestral traits that shape her life. For Valente, these “traits” amount to art forms. A few examples follow:
Chapter One: The Art of Conversation
Chiacchiera describes a “stream-of-consciousness” chitchat often meant to simply pass the time. In Italy, casual conversations happen all the time. This differs markedly from my constant “face-in-my-phone” way of life.enjoy idle conversation. Valente offers a brief list of discussion questions at the end of each chapter. Here are the questions following Chapter One:
FOR REFLECTION
Do you have a special place to meet with friends and simply chat?
What is that experience like?
What are some effective ways you have cultivated for coping with loneliness and building a community of friends and support?
What are some ways in which you can forge a better sense of community where you live?
Chapter Two: Fare Bella Figura (the Art of Making a Good Impression)
Italian men and women take care with personal grooming and attire. As Valente asserts, “They would never appear in public looking like an unmade bed.” One grants that God looks at the heart not the physical appearance. Valente’s point is about loving others enough to look one’s best. My grandmother never went shopping in downtown Peoria, Illinois without her makeup, best dress, stockings, and a hat with netting. Without a car, she dressed up to ride the Garden Street bus!
Chapter Four: A Bloody Jesus, a Madonna with Real Hair
This interesting chapter title arrested my attention. It has been noted (tongue-in-cheek) that there are more churches in Italy than grocery stores. Religion is enmeshed within Italian culture. Valente notes that reminders of the sacred are everywhere. While institutional religion has waned nationwide over the decades, Italian communities typically retain their patron saints and traditional festivals. All of this tightens and strengthens bonds of faith and family.
Chapter Six: An Ode to Slow
Italy is among the few countries in the industrialized world that has not succumbed to, as Valente puts it, the cult of fast. Italians spend a lot of time cooking... Don’t get me wrong . . . I love my country and the innumerable advantages it offers. However, Valente makes points well worth listening to and pondering over.
Chapter 13—Looking for Beauty
Valente compares the beauty of two great American cities: Chicago and Washington, D.C. with small towns in Italy. Both American cities have storied, though much different, beauty signatures. Italy offers something much different:In Italy, you don’t have to look far. Beauty is often at every step. It might be found in the vicoli—the narrow streets of a 12th-century village, or a stone watchtower, an ornate iron gate, a marble arch, or a fresco-covered church. When I am in Abruzzo, I never tire of looking out on the soaring, snow-capped Apennines, or the amber, yellow, and pink pastel-colored houses that line the streets.
Valente’s point references back to slowing down and taking in deep draughts of la dolce vita (the sweet life).
This is Holy leisure. A way of life desired by many, realized by few. It is akin to The Rule of St. Benedict, which Valente describes and applies in chapter 18. Benedict divided the day to provide measures of time for prayer, study, work, and rest. Especially, creative “rest” or leisure.
Valente believes that la dolce vita is within the reach of all, and for what it's worth—this writer is contemplating changes!
~ Michael Escoubas
MICHAEL ESCOUBAS REVIEWS GATHERINGS BY DAN FITZGERALD
Gatherings: Poems by Dan Fitzgerald. 32 Poems ~ 46 pages Publisher: Kelsay Books ISBN: 978-1-63980-697-3.
No less a luminary than John Keats had this to say about why poets write poetry:
Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his
own highest thoughts, and appear
almost as a remembrance.
Keats observation resonated as I took a deep dive into Gatherings, Dan Fitzgerald’s latest collection. What stood out to me was Fitzgerald’s love of life, his commitment to looking for and finding beauty and spiritual sustenance on planet earth. Moreover, Gatherings is “plural,” which suggests a variety of gatherings the poet intends to explore.
Fitzgerald leads with “A Collection of Things.” This poem features common things “gathered” within his home: pictures on the wall, “Picked up over the years, / some cared for with love, / some hung to fill a spot.” Each picture has a story to tell, holds a special place in the poet’s life. They hang by the same things I have in my own home: screws, nails, wires, strings . . . a kind of life-definition . . . we’re “a collection of things.” Considering Keats’ axiom that though
I can’t believe how much time
I waste in a day:
distracted by birds at a fountain,
waylaid by a book found
idle on a table,
ambushed by clouds proud
to be in the sky.
There was that time
when half a day was lost
just talking to an old friend.
And all that time down by the river,
just listening, watching, pondering
how many ways water flows over stones.
It is no wonder I never
get anything done.
This poem refreshes me; it takes me back to my youth, when I held my head under a deep-well pump on 95-degree days in July. Wasting time? Let’s waste more time with such poetry. “Campfire Smoke Rises,” highlights Fitzgerald’s facility with sound and outdoorsy ambiance: “Campfire smoke rises like incense / as the crackling prayers of flames / burn the stacked wood to ash.” The poem continues with brushstrokes that paint
“Stars that blink in the night through milky clouds,” and “fire flares in the dark.” The campfire becomes a kind of “sacrament” as voices “mix with the rising smoke.” The whole poem becomes a mystical experience within the space of a mere seventeen lines.
“Helping Out,” is a gathering of light sources; a varying of senses, shadows, a buffer against that which might otherwise take us down. Here is an excerpt:
I light a candle
from time to time.
There are all kinds scattered
small votives, three inch pillars,
tapers long and short.
The poet's subtlety marries his penchant for candles to practical experiences that define his life:
The one burning now, I lit
this morning when I got out of bed.
This day felt like it needed
a little help to move on its way.
His very surroundings become “gatherings” around which life coalesces. Fitzgerald captures another example of this in “Childhood Picture Gifts.” The poet discovers a long-lost envelope of pictures drawn during his childhood. They had been “resting” in a drawer as if waiting to be rediscovered . . . a blessing deferred. I return to Keats’ axiom as the poet reflects on what “The Years,” have meant:
Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his
own highest thoughts, and appear
almost as a remembrance.They sittogether,
the years,
talking among themselves,
telling old stories,
the occasional old lie.
New things come to them
as the days add up,
making one more year
to join the group.
They seem happy enough,
Even though some have seen
rough times.
Content in a way,
Though a little weary
that there are so many of them now.
I don’t know what to say
to them anymore.
They have heard so much
from me already.
So mostly, I just listen
letting them talk.
They seem pretty good
at telling me what I need
to know.
I am confident that John Keats would agree. Gatherings is underpriced at $17.00
~ Michael Escoubas
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