As a child I saw Santa Claus with his reindeer come through the window, and I told my angel to see how shining they were - in Italy, a distant poor and cold land, they had Santa Lucia, the blind with the donkey who came on the night of December 13 with her eyes on a dish and the gentle ringing of a bell, on the windowsill I put a plate with yellow four for her animal & walked all the way with my pyjamas under the coat sinking half a meter in the snow to my other aunt at 4 am
presents and presents, the thrill of unwrapping them
in Italy some have Baby Jesus and the New Christians believe they are most right, they are a coalition, a mafia, a thick order with their philosophers, writers, preachers and songs - power makes them repeat the same mistakes of the old, you speak to one but they are 20, 500, thousands; a student of mine who belongs to them, all round and well fed with white Bugs Bunny teeth she shows when happy or sad, says Santa Claus is a consumers’ holiday : Baby J. was born, instead, and him we have to pray. I enlightened her by letting her know that Claus is the German Nikolaus, the Italian Nicola, Saint to all Christians be them old or new, who gave away what he had to help those tortured by misery and shivering in cold.
Ah, goes the round ball of flesh with a strange twinkle in her eyes and I can guess her back-thought, I am still better than you - you want it or not.
Anny Ballardini
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
If you go with rivers, not roads, the trip
takes longer and you weave and see a lot more.
(from Houses)
Richard Hugo
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