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Write To Me From Naples
(words & music by alstone - kennedy)
Write to me from naples
Tell me all thats new
I loved you in naples
More than words can say
Call me cara mia
Tell me all thats new
Write to me from naples
Keep my heart with you
I can hear a mandolino
Softly it cries
While I raise a glass of vino
Praising your eyes
Since we said a rivederci
My poor heart cries
Just for a letter from you
Write to me from naples
Tell me all thats new
Write to me from naples
Keep my heart with you
Please come back, come back to me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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See Palermo and enjoy it, see Naples then die.
See Naples, and then die! For the smell you find there.
I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the Stern Fact, the Sad Self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from.
quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think that my interpretation of Italian was a lot more southern than what my husband cooks. You know, I grew up in Queens and in Brooklyn, and we - really, it's more southern. It's Naples and Sicily. It's heavier. It's over-spiced. And like most Americans, I thought spaghetti and meatballs was genius.
quote by Debi Mazar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Genoa
A long farewell to Genoa
That rises to the skies,
Where the barren coast of Italy
Like our own coastline lies.
A sad farewell to Genoa,
And long my heart shall grieve,
The only city in the world
That I was loath to leave.
No sign of rush or strife is there,
No war of greed they wage.
The deep cool streets of Genoa
Are rock-like in their age.
No garish signs of commerce there
Are flaunting in the sun.
A rag hung from a balcony
Is by an artist done.
And she was fair in Genoa,
And she was very kind,
Those pale blind-seeming eyes that seem
Most beautifully blind.
Oh they are sad in Genoa,
Those poor soiled singing birds.
I had but three Italian words
And she three English words.
But love is cheap in Genoa,
Aye, love and wine are cheap,
And neither leaves an aching head,
Nor cuts the heart too deep;
Save when the knife goes straight, and then
There’s little time to grieve—
The only city in the world
That I was loath to leave.
I’ve said farewell to tinted days
And glorious starry nights,
I’ve said farewell to Naples with
Her long straight lines of lights;
But it is not for Naples but
For Genoa that I grieve,
The only city in the world
That I was loath to leave.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A still—Volcano—Life
601
A still—Volcano—Life—
That flickered in the night—
When it was dark enough to do
Without erasing sight—
A quiet—Earthquake Style—
Too subtle to suspect
By natures this side Naples—
The North cannot detect
The Solemn—Torrid—Symbol—
The lips that never lie—
Whose hissing Corals part—and shut—
And Cities—ooze away—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Epigram : To Leonora Singing At Rome 2 (Translated From Milton)
Naples, too credulous, ah! boast no more
The sweet-voiced Siren buried on thy shore,
That, when Parthenope deceas'd, she gave
Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic grave,
For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse
Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course,
Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains,
Of magic song both Gods and Men detains.
poem by William Cowper
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A Map of Verona
Quelle belle heure, quels bons bras
me rendront ces régions d'où mes
sommeils et mes moindres mouvements?
A map of Verona is open, the small strange city;
With its river running round and through, it is river-embraced,
And over this city for a whole long winter season,
Through streets on a map, my thoughts have hovered and paced.
Across the river there is a wandering suburb,
An unsolved smile on a now familiar mouth;
Some enchantments of earlier towns are about you:
Once I was drawn to Naples in the south.
Naples I know now, street and hovel and garden,
The look of the islands from the avenue,
Capri and Ischia, like approaching drum-beats—
My youthful Naples, how I remember you!
You were an early chapter, a practice in sorrow,
Your shadows fell, but were only a token of pain,
A sketch in tenderness, lust, and sudden parting,
And I shall not need to trouble with you again.
But I remember, once your map lay open,
As now Verona's under the still lamp-light.
I thought, are these the streets to walk in the mornings,
Are these the gardens to linger in at night?
And all was useless that I thought I learned:
Maps are of place, not time, nor can they say
The surprising height and colour of a building,
Nor where the groups of people bar the way.
It is strange to remember those thoughts and try to catch
The underground whispers of music beneath the years,
The forgotten conjectures, the clouded, forgotten vision,
Which only in vanishing phrases reappears.
Again, it is strange to lead a conversation
Round to a name, to a cautious questioning
Of travellers, who talk of Juliet's tomb and fountains
And a shining smile of snowfall, late in Spring.
Their memories calm this winter of expectation,
Their talk restrains me, for I cannot flow
Like your impetuous river to embrace you;
Yet you are there, and one day I shall go.
The train will bring me perhaps in utter darkness
And drop me where you are blooming, unaware
That a stranger has entered your gates, and a new devotion
Is about to attend and haunt you everywhere.
The flutes are warm: in tomorrow's cave the music
Trembles and forms inside the musician's mind,
The lights begin, and the shifting crowds in the causeways
Are discerned through the dusk, and the rolling river behind.
And in what hour of beauty, in what good arms,
Shall I those regions and that city attain
From whence my dreams and slightest movements rise?
And what good Arms shall take them away again?
poem by Henry Reed
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Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet VI
So he departed angry and in haste,
A bitter wanderer on the ways of life:
He cared not whither so he found a feast
Spread for his hunger which should need no strife.
He went out silent, scornful and alone,
That none might pity him. He would not make
Of his too public grief a public moan,
Nor yet feign laughter for his manhood's sake,
For now that love was lost he less had heart
To cast his pride too on the dunghill there,
And his were griefs where none could bear a part,
And his a cup of pain no lips could share.
He went his way, to Germany some said,
And some to Naples, some that he was dead.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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An Enigma
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet-
Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff-
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it."
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
The general tuckermanities are arrant
Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent-
But this is, now- you may depend upon it-
Stable, opaque, immortal- all by dint
Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Tom The Character
Sitting in Starbucks I look to my right
Tom Vilello is sitting there with smile so bright
He tells me he's all Italian and raised in Philly
His grandfather came on boat from Naples, Italy
He says he's a clean cut boy, not in the mob
He dresses real nice, not like a slob
He says the mob were Christians and they
gave food to the poor, they even bought coal
to keep their families warm
He says it's sad the government came in and
threw the mob in jail, he says they helped Philly out
it should be the other way around without any doubt
Now Tom will be 80 in a month or so
He looks more like 60 with his face aglow
I told him he looks really young for his age
He replied he drinks vodka cocktails at restaurant Daves
That's the place he will be
on October 11th having his favorite cup of tea
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Tom The Character
Sitting in Starbucks I look to my right
Tom Vilello is sitting there with smile so bright
He tells me he’s all Italian and raised in Philly
His grandfather came on boat from Naples, Italy
He says he’s a clean cut boy, not in the mob
He dresses real nice, not like a slob
He says the mob were Christians and they
gave food to the poor, they even bought coal
to keep their families warm
He says it’s sad the government came in and
threw the mob in jail, he says they helped Philly out
it should be the other way around without any doubt
Now Tom will be 80 in a month or so
He looks more like 60 with his face aglow
I told him he looks really young for his age
He replied he drinks vodka cocktails at restaurant Daves
That’s the place he will be
on October 11th having his favorite cup of tea
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Twenty-First Century Romance
They check out your sign…., help you combine….,
While you’re taking a chance….,
In cyberspace, with virtual satin and lace…,
This could be the start of a Twenty-First Century Romance.
When Cupid takes aim…., it won’t be in vain…,
You’ll share the ultimate dance….,
With no firewall, you’ll have a ball….,
This could be the start of a Twenty-First Century Romance....! ! !
No matter where you are…, love’s magic creates a trance…,
From the heart of New York City to Naples, maybe even Paris, France.....,
This could be the start of a Twenty-First Century Romance….,
Yes, this could be the start of a Twenty-First Century Romance.
poem by Trade Martin
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In the Shadow
In the shadow
I live in the shadow
the shadow of the mountain
Vesuvius.
the days are warm
The soil is fertile
I grow olives and I grow
rich.
Long ago the mountain rumbled
spewing lava, pumice stone
Pliny told us of the horror
Pompeians dying in their homes.
the days are warm
The soil is fertile
I grow olives and I grow
old..
Life in good in greater Naples
We live in an expensive home
every now and then a rumble
vulcan working at his forge
poem by John F. McCullagh
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I Love Only One Girl
(words & music by sid tepper - roy c. bennett)
Oh, I love only one girl, the one I got my arms around
I love only one girl, one in every town
In paris there is mimi, and when the moon is bright
I love to take her walking, along the seine each night
I kiss her on the left, then I kiss her on the right
Oh, I love only one girl, the one I got my arms around
I love only one girl, one in every town
Im proud of my brunhilda, in frankfurt on the rhine
Oh shes a lot of woman and all of her is mine
Oh she can lift a steinway as easy as a stein
Oh, I love only one girl, the one I got my arms around
I love only one girl, one in every town
In naples theres maria how she can cook and flirt
You cant beat her lasagna, I eat until I hurt
And then she tops it off with amore for dessert
Oh, I love only one girl, the one I got my arms around
I love only one girl, one in every town
Oh I love only one girl, the one I got my arms around
I love only one girl, one in every town
I love only one girl...i love only one girl
I love only one girl...i love only one..girl..
Shes the girl for me...
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flesh Tint
Like a painting by Velazquez
A woman stands
Alone in the frame
Touched by the brush of light
Blossoming.
How did
Flesh Tint reflect Naples Yellow
In this greenish blue room?
What made the sun
Suddenly rise on the palette?
That beggarwoman on Tulsi Pipe Road
That streetwalker in Chicago
What immortal light has washed them
To make her stand here
Naked
In mysterious clarity?
Venice, Barcelona, Madrid, Rome
Florence, Castile, Nice,
Pune, Satara, Valsad, Palanpur, Jaisalmer,
Thrissur, Kottayam,
Hissar, Ludhiana, Muzaffarpur, Bhuvaneshwar,
Ujjain, Jhansi, East Godavari, Karwar,
Vengurla, Alibag,
All geography is as colourless as linseed oil
Pigments come from the sky
Like a naked woman from over the Western Ghats
Luminous.
[Translated from Shesha: Selected Marathi Poems ]
poem by Dilip Chitre
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When Two Worlds Collide
Shots ring out in paris, the bells ring out in rome
Your photos in the paper, buy youre getting old
Footsteps in the carpark hes the governor of the night
The omens say crime dont pay but each dog has its price
When two worlds collide
The tears well inside
When two worlds collide
A boy is found in naples, his bodys in a ditch
His young life counts for nothing when somebodys getting rich
Theres flowers on the table, he sips water she drinks wine
And I dont think that mercy is the language of our time
When two worlds collide
The teardrops inside
When two worlds collide
You break me up inside
Backstreet of chicago a black man plays the gold
Theres a man on every corner says hed like to buy your soul
Bhuddists in the temple, bullets in the night
Steeping out of their world, into your world, into mine
In the jet black night
The tears well inside
When two worlds collide
You break me up inside
Two worlds collide
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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