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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]) _http://www.myspace.com/larissaworld_ (http://www.myspace.com/larissaworld) _http://blog.myspace.com/larissaworld_ (http://www.myspace.com/larissaworld) http//:www.cdbaby.com/cd/shmailo _http://cervenabarvapress.com/shmailointerview.htm_ (http://cervenabarvapress.com/shmailointerview.htm) _http://www.bigbridge.org/deathlshmailo.htm_ (http://www.bigbridge.org/deathlshmailo.htm) 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 >