The Whittakers visit

What a pleasure to have had the Whittakers as my guests in San Michele...after so many years and so many promises the long week end arrived but too short.

As a souvenir Deryck composed this lovely and touching poem.

Polenta e Palladio

The hour was late, the 10th cuckoo,
A nudge to shed the slough of sleep,
To shower, to dress, don bag (non-U !).
For we had promises to keep

In that Most Serene Republic.
Serene indeed, no sirens sound.
No bus, no car to spoil the magic.
That marvellous, marinated town.

Itself a trick of palaces,
Of buildings, of Byzantia,
Perched on poles. Perennial crises
Threaten, but this early venture

Has survived for 15 centuries.
And will surpass our short, sad span.
(Assisted by restricted entries -
A great idea, this recent plan).

So what to say of this short trip?
Too short of course, the same refrain.
From time to time the Bastaaard ! quip,
But then the shared Bellini game,

The pleasure in that trompe l’oeil,
The pristine curves of Canova,
Botte ballocks, S.Michele,
And the mists that each night cover

The roads. The mantecato fogs
That add such mystery. The house,
Your clockwork tic, the burning logs,
Carla Bruni, her smokey voice,

Her softest ciao, before we end.
Because she knows that half-an-hour
Is all that separates good friends,
By Easy Jet, or Punto power.

What do we do, we friends of years?
We stay then leave. What can we do?
Stavanger cools, Jakarta sears.
Our present state is what we owe

To time. The layers of things, somehow,
We’ve shared. And albeit life’s too fast,
I think we three will all allow
Our mixed and distant love will last.

Deryck, Halloween, 2005