Pierre, I liked the poem also. Here is Anna Akhmatova on the same exile.
Dante
Il mio bel San Giovanni - Dante
Even after death, he did not return
To his old Florence.
Leaving, he did not look back;
I sing this song to him.
The torch and the night and the last embrace
Beyond the threshold of fate’s wild lament,
He, from Hell, sent her a curse,
And could not forget her even in heaven.
But he did not pass, candle in hand,
In his penitent’s shirt through the Florence he wanted:
Faithless, low, and long-awaited.
Trans. L. Shmailo
Larissa Shmailo_ [log in to unmask] (mailto:[log in to unmask])
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In a message dated 2/19/2007 9:04:33 PM Eastern Standard Time,
[log in to unmask] writes:
Fine poem, Pierre. Liked it a lot.
Andrew
>
> This afternoon Dante
> will be ex-
> pelled from Florence —
> a good thing as how could he
> have written so well
> on the far-away imaginary ex-
> ile of the comically divine
>
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