città del vaticano

You know that I know, my lord, that you know
That I draw close to take pleasure in you,
And you know that I know that you know who I am;
So why do you delay our acknowledging each other?
If true is the hope that you give to me,
If true is the great desire that I've been given,
Let the wall between them be broken down,
For doubly violent are concealed woes.
If I only love in you, my dearest lord,
That which you love in yourself, do not scorn
Because one spirit has fallen in love with another.
That which I desire and learn from your beautiful face
Is imperfectly comprehended by human minds:
Who wishes to know it must first die.

by Michelangelo Buonarroti to Tommaso Cavalieri (around 1532), the inspiration for the image of Christ in the Last Judgment





XLVI

If you ask me, I will admit:
I prefer the way the Masters saw it,
the way they saw me and you-

body is the spirit's echo,
its likeness glimmered back
from the skin's unbroken mirror,
gazing at itself.

And so, in Rome,
up and down the Sistine Chapel altar,
and scrolled out across the nave,
the frank and vaulted ceiling,

the body's glorious cursive
may be seen to squiggle everywhere,
and bleed.

Massive reclining sibyls,
sages and saints with muscled arms
and calves, and in the center
of this storm of burnished forms,

a warrior-god stands tall, his chest as creamy
as virgin marble, come to judge
over a lush but vanished world.

A well-known lore:
on the day of its unveiling,
Rome's mitered royalty blushed and hid
behind their mittened hands.

Faced with Michelangelo's vision
of pink delirious flesh,
they all were taken ill, forlorn, betrayed.

A temporary state it was,
for the world had yet to remember,
embrace the faith all artists keep:

god is body, bright beautiful body,
or else why must he be worshipped,
why must he be god?

by J. Neil C. Garcia (Kaluluwa, UST Press, 2001)

amore

Hi Voltaire! Seems you are having the time of your life in Italy! Aside from arts and history, looking forward to your posts on....Italian cuisine. -Gleo Guerra, November 15, 2007

Eccolo! Renaissance Italy, like the Philippines up to the time of the ilustrados (some would say up to now), consisted of warring cities or regions, each having an independent government and nurturing a unique culture. The Republic of Venice ruled the Adriatic Sea in the North, for example, while the Pope exercised temporal power from Rome over the Papal States in the Center, beside the Republic of Florence. As a consequence of this diversity, as well as the availability of produce in local markets, different regions developed unique culinary traditions.

Since, as in France, food is eight to ten times more expensive in Italy compared to ours in Manila, my breakfast and lunch usually consisted of Sky Flakes and a large bottle of water, which I would refill in restaurants or public water fountains. In Florence, for that extra boost of energy, I indulged in affordable, creamy gelato, but only when it was produzione propria (homemade) as this is reputedly the best ice cream in the world (in Paris, I got my daily calcium from Berthillon, which is vying for the same title). Apparently, the secret to delicious ice cream and good food in general is the use of fresh, natural ingredients that are available locally: as French chef Alain Ducasse said, "In my kitchens, a dish always begins with a product, never the other way around."

Each night, having explored the museums and historical sites, I allowed myself a hearty dinner in a restaurant recommended by the locals. In Firenze, the typical meal begins with an appetizer, like salami or crostini misti. The first course (primo) could be ribollita soup or spaghetti al pomodoro; this is followed by the main course (secondo) which could be chicken, veal or beef and is accompanied by a side dish (a contorno), like fagioli. One enjoys all this food with Chianti wine from the countryside; the meal ends with dessert like tiramisù and sweet lemoncello.

I had a memorable supper in Il Latini, a traditional Tuscan trattoria near Santa Maria Novella, where just as I bit into a slice of involtini- rolled veal stuffed with vegetables and stewed in its own juice- I found myself looking across the communal table into the most beautiful gray eyes.

Buona sera.

It was the beginning of a ritual that would last throughout the three-hour meal. Look. Madrid is the fire of Pinatubo and Mayon. Talk. Paris is the air of Banawe and Sagada. Touch. Florence is the earth of Nueva Ecija and Bulacan.

In the land of the loving, I surrendered to my senses.

hardin

Origin

The dream recurs

In another world, we
Wake
God's first creatures
Alive
To sudden light.

Pure and slender as dawn
Rising
Our bodies explore
The touch and feel
Of worlds.

No past intrudes
All lifetimes
Merge
To this particle
Of time
Only.

Love speeds us to
Move
Now.
In this garden
God whispers:
Come.

by Marjorie Evasco

modernità

"God the Father endowed people, from birth, with the seeds of every possibility and every life." -Pico della Mirandola (Florentine scholar, 1463-1494)

I was able to check my email again in Firenze. Acting on a tip from Brian, a backpacker with whom I roomed in Venezia, I found a house tent in a 13th century olive grove, situated on a hill with a view of the Duomo.

One message was from Jerick, my thesis partner and the valedictorian of our class in the School of Economics. From his temporary base in Tunis, he had tried to set me up on a blind date in Paris and asked concernedly about my romantic life, while casually mentioning his own. How was I to explain to my Casanovan friend that I didn't like going out on blind dates, that I preferred a more spontaneous approach to meeting people?

I remember our college days, when Jerick was still struggling with heartbreak and self-doubt. He has come a long way since then. Now, I picture him as a model of the modern Filipino: rational, individualistic, and confident of our State's dignity and destiny. In a way, he has realized an ideal of the Renaissance, a founding age of modernity.

Jerick has begun sharing his ideas and colorful experiences in the Philippine Star- read one of his articles here.

muling pagkabuhay

Despite the wealth of Venice and the power of Rome, to think of Renaissance Italy is to think, first and foremost, of Florence, the city that led all other Italian cities in both daring and achievement...

It was a city of crimes, violence and revolutions. But there was also a fundamental continuity to Florentine life that enabled (people) to go about their business with reasonable confidence.

-John R. Hale, Renaissance (1971)

firenze

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libreria acqua alta

Change

I have outgrown them all, and one by one,
These loves I took so mightily to heart
Before you came; the dolls that overran
My childhood hours and taught me fairy art;
The books I ravaged by the censored score;
Music like delirium burned my days;
The golden calf I fashioned to adore
When lately I forsook the golden phrase.

And thus I shall outgrow this love of you.
Sooner or later I shall put away
This jewelled ecstasy for something new.
Brand me not fickle on that fatal day:
Bereft of change that is my drink and bread,
I would not love you now. I would be dead.

by Angela Manalang Gloria (1940)
Literary Editor, Philippine Collegian