This makes sense, thanks. When I was in Rome I visited Keats's and Shelley's
home - still (several years ago) in a quiet neighborhood, unluckily I did
not have time to go to the Cemetery, hopefully some day soon. One of my
favorite visits is to San Luigi dei Francesi with its superb work by
Caravaggio:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Luigi_dei_Francesi
On Jan 31, 2008 2:24 PM, Roger Collett <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Rome's Protestant Cemetery is a peaceful oasis of green next door to the
> Pyramid of Caius
> Cestius. More properly known as the Cimitero Acattolico, or non-Catholic
> cemetery, this lovely
> spot houses the graves of Keats and Shelley.
>
> Roger
>
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Anny Ballardini" <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 1:16 PM
> Subject: Re: "In Rome"
>
>
> >I have a problem with : Accatolica, what is it?
> >
> > On Jan 29, 2008 7:15 PM, Frederick Pollack <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> >
> >> In Rome
> >>
> >>
> >> The caretaker of the Military Cemetery
> >> across the Via Zabaglia
> >> from the Accatolica, where Keats, Shelley,
> >> Gramsci, etc. are buried,
> >> can tell you interesting stories
> >> if you buy him a few drinks
> >> after his shift, or on a Sunday
> >> when the heat is great and the traffic slightly subdued.
> >> He says his charges have their moods.
> >> Normally satisfied
> >> with their well-watered lawn, the neat ranks of their graves,
> >> the shade of the concrete hand with its broken sword,
> >> they are uneasy when visited;
> >> collectively upset by ancient wives,
> >> unfamiliar sons and daughters, unknown grandkids.
> >> It isn't that they're unfeeling, but their ideas
> >> of comfort, presence, peace are not those
> >> of the living. Their perceptions
> >> are, we would say, blurred. The touring
> >> schoolchildren who occasionally come
> >> do not appear to them as bored for life,
> >> slaves of themselves, but as polite,
> >> lovely, attentive archetypes
> >> who nonetheless hear nothing and feel
> >> no ghostly caress. No more than a tree,
> >> the caretaker says, do his friends
> >> regard themselves as rooted and motionless;
> >> and although these particular dead
> >> are male, they see action,
> >> rather as women do, as someone coming
> >> to them. Perhaps the Gestapo officer
> >> who shot so many of them, prisoners,
> >> in the head. And perhaps he does come
> >> from wherever he lies to the north,
> >> reluctantly, in horror
> >> of their illogical welcome, their forgetfulness
> >> his torment. But they are haunted by the living,
> >> as if by incipient earthquake; like the cats,
> >> their familiars. He seems reluctant to say more,
> >> the caretaker, and you ask him
> >> if it's only the military dead
> >> who stir thus. And he says
> >> he has heard similar reports
> >> from the staff across the street, where poets lie.
> >>
> >
> >
> >
> > --
> > Anny Ballardini
> > http://annyballardini.blogspot.com/
> > http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
> > http://www.moriapoetry.com/ebooks.html
> > I Tell You: One must still have chaos in one to give birth to a dancing
> > star!
> >
> > --
> > This email has been verified as Virus free.
> > Virus Protection and more available at http://www.plus.net
>
--
Anny Ballardini
http://annyballardini.blogspot.com/
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
http://www.moriapoetry.com/ebooks.html
I Tell You: One must still have chaos in one to give birth to a dancing
star!
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