Today's Response to Poetry

Two in class free writing responses to this poem: http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/poetry/2008/10/06/081006po_poem_warren


I like how she uses the word “serious”. “Serious cooking.” I don’t do “serious cooking,” and if I did it sure as hell wouldn’t be in the morning. Pour cereal, crack some eggs, whatever, just get some food in me. I don’t usually wake up early either, most of my breakfasts could properly be defined as “lunch”, but no, my real lunch will come later and my dinner is sometimes at ten. Mara (one of my roommates) gets on my case about it, “but it’s ten! You can’t eat dinner at ten!” Oh can’t I? You know my family is halfway across the globe experiencing the afternoon on the West Coast and don’t they exist just as we do? They are eating their lunch when it’s ten in Italy?! Gasp, how strange! And yet I’m hungry now and so I will eat now. Not at five, not six, I wasn’t hungry then, but now. And it probably won’t be serious cooking either.


Churches and cooking? Microwaved apostles? I don’t quite get it but maybe it’s because tympanums and so on make me think of things I learned in school, not walking by and experiencing them for the first time by seeing one. I guess that would change your view later in life and you could play with them more. I wish my lettuce was that pretty.


My personal food map (also made and shared in class):

Midterm - Macabre Rome: A Cut Above the Rest

My first week in Rome was pleasant enough: puffy white clouds, songbirds in the morning, people smiling in the streets, and dozens of decaying human remains waiting to greet me in churches. In America, you are hard pressed to find a lifeless body on display anywhere outside of a morgue and even then you need a really good reason to see it. I was particularly interested in the heads: the most recognizable and psychological feature now just a mere object. I viewed many sites, but below you’ll only find the spots that were a head and shoulder above the rest.


Saint Valentine, Santa Maria in Cosmedin

I decided to visit this lovely saint’s decapitated cranium on Valentine’s Day, but was surprised to find the 4th century church nearly empty, even though a line wrapped around the building for pictures with its other famous attraction: La Bocca della Verità, or The Mouth of Truth. I guess some people have better things to do on the day of love than visit the dead.

Saint Valentine has got to be the tiniest head I have ever seen, living or departed. It seems at some point a creative monk thought it would be a good idea to shove some red roses on him, almost like Jesus’ crown of thorns. Poor Valentine sadly gazes out at his audience, completely embarrassed by this game of dress up. His missing tooth and jaw added to my pity for him, his golden display case resembling a gilded cage for this once rebelliously romantic saint.


John the Baptist, San Silvestro in Capite

Chopped off by order of King Herod Antipas after a night of drinking, the location of John the Baptist’s true head is claimed by seven places around the world. The church itself is enjoyable enough though, decorated in paintings of decapitations, assassinations, and suffering saints.

I found John in a blindingly white room off to the side and was terrified by what I saw. This particular head is mummified, with a black stone-like cloth tightly covering every inch of his skull and its tilt turning a missing jaw into a permanent scream. The glass case that covers him reflects a nearby red candle’s glow out from his eye sockets (at certain angles) and I was convinced those covered holes could still somehow see me. Where those floor to ceiling bars put there to keep us out, or John the Baptist in?


Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccino

Feng shui meets the macabre in this church’s unique crypt. In 1631, to save space, bodies were exhumed and, for some unknown reason, put up on the walls instead of in containers. There are entire walls filled with skulls carefully stacked upon each other, creating sturdy columns, cute arches, and delightful centerpieces to pelvis star designs. Some even have the skin left on to help you lose your appetite that much easier.

My favorite room was made clear when I was reminded of the true purpose of an idle cranium: the classic skull and crossbones. This piratey design was found in several places throughout the third area of the crypt, adorning the walls above a few lucky (deceased) monks.

For such a dark theme, the monks really did a good job of keeping the place cheerful, with ribcage flowers, hipbone fans, countless vertebrae lining the walls, and a jolly message at the end “What you are now, we once were; what we are now, you shall be.”


David With The Head Of Goliath, Villa Borghese

The last stop on our dark tour of craniums is the master of light and dark himself: Caravaggio. He seemed to have a clear grasp of what an actual decapitated head looks like for this painting, making it the perfect end for those that get lightheaded when viewing the dead. In a twisted decision by a depressed artist, Caravaggio painted the head in his own likeness as David sadly looks on. This was a point in Caravaggio’s life when he was desperate to go back to Rome, the city he was exiled from for killing a man, a feeling shown in this somber painting.


This is only a small sampling of the captivatingly decapitated heads to be found in Rome. And whether your visit takes you to catacombs or crypts, you can always rest in peace knowing that if the dead become a bit overwhelming, your exit to the world of the living is always near.

A Writing Assignment (aka homework) - Wandering

Walking through Rome is always a tale of discovery. The roads twist and turn with the flow of the city, losing you in its comforting maze until suddenly it opens up and you are awestruck, faced with a bright piazza containing some grand fountain. This could never happen in the United States. This couldn’t happen anywhere else in Europe. Only in Rome do the streets suck you in and lose you, hiding its treasures within a labyrinth of city life.

Most of the days I’ve been here have been gloomy and full of rain, until suddenly, at the end of February, the clouds opened up and warm breeze brought out the people of Rome. It was amazing to see how quick a city could change: windows opened, clotheslines were filled, and every eatery was empty as people opted to eat outside in the sun. I had wandered through Rome before, feeling a little like a tourist my first two weeks as every monument and fountain surprised and delighted me, though I couldn’t help but panic a little when I somehow saw the Pantheon three times on the way home.

Thankfully now I can walk a little slower through the streets, vaguely knowing which way my apartment is and becoming familiar with the main roads. Each landmark is a polite reminder of the area I’m in, telling me which way I need to go if I’m lost, or where not to turn if I feel like exploring a little more.

I always prefer to take side streets over the larger roads when I’m not in a hurry. Crowds there are quick, having no interest in their stunning surroundings, but keeping their goal in mind as they charge at you. People don’t stay to a certain side and they always have more of a right to the path then you do, playing a game of chicken as a group walks straight at you till you are forced to jump off the sidewalk, narrowly missing a speeding car.

And the city changes throughout the day too. A nice stroll in the morning is the ideal time to see the ancient landmarks of the city. As you walk down Via dei Fori Imperiali the area is practically deserted and people are even able to jog in the streets. The sun basks everything in an orange glow making even the ordinary beautiful. On the weekend the silence is only broken by a few birds or a car slowly driving by while the city sleeps in.

The middle of the day brings out all the tourists, crowding areas as Romans push past the stationary people studying maps. This is the best time to visit the countless churches of the city. It is always a relief to walk into one as the cool darkness covers you and the chaos of the city is shut out the moment the door closes. These are proud places, each one adorned with beautiful sculptures and paintings, sacred relics hidden away in niches and a grand nave and apse designed to take the breath away of everyone who enters, religious or not. Even if I have a destination in mind, it’s always nice to step inside for a moment to relax when the crowds and twisting streets become too much.

At night quiet piazzas turn into noisy hangouts as people crowd areas like Trastevere, populating hip bars and cozy restaurants and crowding the streets as they yell across to one another and vendors fight to sell their wares. As I walk through the brisk night air the warm smell of roasted chestnuts on every corner near Spagna reminds me of Christmas songs and suddenly the vendors seem so out of place without snow. A nighttime stroll becomes more about the people as light allows darkness to fade away the tops of buildings and statues and chooses instead to illuminate a person twirling in the distance.

It’s easy to lose track of time when walking through Rome. The constant changes keep your interest as a street you’ve been to earlier in the day is transformed when you find it again. It’s fascinating but exhausting, and by the time night falls you realize just how badly your feet hurt from the uneven cobblestone. It’s only then that I realize I should start heading back to the predictability of my apartment, as I see Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano in the distance, the last reminder that I’m on my way home.

Today I Saw The Pope/Why Nuns Hate Me

Today I went to Holy Thursday Mass for the last supper lead by Pope Benedict XVI as a part of Holy Week. It was held across the street from my apartment in San Giovanni in Lateran. Now, I’m not a religious person and I’ve never followed the Catholic faith except for educational purposes in high school. I’m agnostic, because you never can be too sure about the world, but if there is a god, I certainly don’t believe in all the ceremonious aspects of worship for it.

However, the point is, I heard the Pope was comin’ and I wanted to go.

The group I was going with decided it was best to go and wait around three, since it started at five thirty. Sounded smart, right? Wrong. Ends up we weren’t getting past the guards unless we had tickets. A kindly gentleman informed us he got his three months ago, and there was no chance we were getting in. However, we could try the American tourist office, but they probably wouldn’t have any left either.

Game plan: I rushed back to the apartment to make some calls to the Vatican and Google the tourist office while the rest questioned the crowd for extra tickets.

Result: there is no such thing as an American tourist office in Rome and the Vatican doesn’t like answering their phone, or advertising the fact that you actually need tickets for today’s mass on their webpage. Luckily, the rest had more luck. After a nun changed her mind about giving them her extra tickets, a lady with stacks of tickets in her hands gave us seven, the perfect amount to get us all in.

Now, it is a well known fact that the Italians don’t believe in lines. They are aware of them, and draw pictures of people lining up nicely in their language books, but they never practice the idea. This meant that getting into San Giovanni was harder then getting to the front of a mosh pit and the people were certainly meaner, going so far as to push tiny nuns out of the way. But somehow we made it inside, and after more pushing and shoving, managed to get seats in the center section of the church. We were all split up, as a priest picked people out of the crowd and showed them to open spots. I was placed next to a group of nuns and priests-in-training all the way in the back of the basilica. Lovely.

I’ve never been to mass. I also can’t read Italian. I found out later that at some point the Pope said all Catholics are called upon a “constant examination of conscience”, which was his indirect way of mentioning the recent church scandals. But other than that I had absolutely no clue what was going on and the guide booklet they gave me was absolutely no help at all.


A Confused Guide to Mass:
Did you know there was a choir? Yes, apparently they are hidden very well from your vision behind a column, so be prepared to freak out as haunting music suddenly fills the basilica. All the words are in the guide booklet, but you won’t know that until the nun elbows you in the ribs. Be prepared to sing along when the red letters say “L’assemblea ripete” or the nuns will become more focused on you than the Mass.

Singing, chanting, singing, talking, singing, chanting, talking, singing, stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down. This goes on for a while, maybe an hour, until the Pope decides it’s time to speak up. Unfortunately whatever it is he says will fall on deaf ears because it’s not translated and isn’t even in the guide booklet. It must have been good though, because people begin shuffling around in their seats, forming the cross on themselves, and looking to the heavens passionately. Good for you Pope, way to rock it.

Suddenly everyone gets to their knees and you follow suit. It’s time for prayer, so rest your hands on the chair in front of you, tilt your head ever so slightly down, and utilize the time to get a good look at the church and the cardinals, as this is the only time that tall guy in front of you is shorter.

What’s this? Greek? Yup, just when some of the Latin starts to make sense they decide to switch it up a little, keeping you on your toes. Cue fantasizing about being a badass secret agent in Rome. And now for a new trick: English! Yup, suddenly English pours out of the speakers explaining that the collection is going around and that the Pope asks it to be donated to rebuilding a church in Haiti. A long silence passes as the collected envelopes are presented to him. Happily, Mass continues on, this time with a complicated dance of a group of priests switching places at the podium to say a very short paragraph in their native language.

English: For all Priests, ministers of Christ the teacher, priest, and pastor: that, by their service, they might build up the People of God, which is the Church, into a holy temple of the Spirit.

It’s said in an Irish accent, and I’m not quite sure what he meant by it, but it was very relieving to understand words for once.

We go back to our old routine of chanting, talking, and singing, with some shuffling of the Vatican crew every once in a while for some reason. At one point the Pope walks to twelve priests, ceremoniously washing their feet, probably as a sign of humility or something to do with the last supper.

until we come to Communion, which you have totally forgotten exists. Old men dressed in white shuffle down the fenced off center aisle to give the entire audience a wafer. What does it taste like? Should you get one? No, that wouldn’t be a good idea, you’re not Catholic, so just calmly sit down and---woa! Apparently that nun next to you doesn’t think that’s a good idea and she certainly won’t take the whole “seriously, I’m NOT Christian” excuse for an answer. She shoves you right up to the front and pushes you till you open your mouth, glaring back at her. The priest asks a question involving Jesus and puts the wafer in your mouth, wait, did you just accept Jesus or something? That doesn’t matter right now, because the wafer tastes god awful! Swallow it quick as you stumble back to your chair.

The chorus starts up again followed by more prayer. Note: NEVER wear a dress and tights to Mass. The floor is marble and so is freezing and hard on the knees. It’s okay to give up at some point though, because the next prayer is two pages long and your reputation with the nuns can’t get much worse.

Bells ring out for a good five minutes. It’s hard to tell what to do here, or what it all means as everyone is staring ahead, stoic.

Finally, the assembly up front rises as a golden cross is carried forth. They form a line and follow it down the steps and to a room at the far left. You’re supposed to be singing during this, but barely anyone is as a massive scramble for cellphones and cameras ensues. Don’t worry, you’ll know that tiny blur amongst the crowd in your picture was the Pope. Besides, who needs clear close photography when there is Photoshop?

People begin to leave and half is nearly out the door when the procession appears again, heading to the door on the right. Luckily you’ve figured out enough Italian to read the part of the guide booklet informing you of this maneuver and have moved forward in the church to get a good look. Ends up the popester is a rather short fellow though, but at least you got a good look at the random golden umbrella that oddly follows him around. Success.