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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!
>
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