“I guai della pigniata sabe sol’ o cucchiao”
(The troubles deep in the pot are known only by the spoon—Sicilian proverb)
This collection explicates the cycle of immigration of a man who fled Sicily and feared vendetta for his entire life. The rough terrain of Sicily, both literally and figuratively figures prominently. The vagaries of displacement, adjustment, abandonment and the politics of place , juxtaposed with the migratory patterns of birds can be found in these poems. It is a timeless issue in a world that is ever on the move.
Bird the island with the naked eye and you come upon the rare, the accidental, the vulnerable, the extirpated. The island didn’t give them anything then. Beaks, sharp as the points of knives, strike before being struck. It is our way, they might say. By mountain, by sea.
O mare, O mare!
Nature has a passion for erasure, subjugation, for keeping the powerful unbowed. For survival, while feeding yourself with one hand, you deny your mother’s love, look askance at your father’s sad smile, with a fierce, but quiet disdain. There now, do not worry. Walk the sun baked estate with impunity.
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