What you call the end
Is the opening thrust:
Wild yeast charges the fruit
And the air is sour with must.
Jasmine blooms along stone walls,
White stars on prickly, furrowed fields
That sprawl, burlap-brown, in the bite of heat,
Bitter, craggy, water-starved.
The landscape is the medicine,
If you can stomach it.
Kore couldn't, but now returns
Because she felt wheat berries push
Into that earth, all acrid-red,
That soon will see a new green blush
Spread, and grow, and bring the bread.
She knows new wine will flow at last.
Ede, ede! Tachy, tachy!
Come now, come now.
Come fast, come fast.
Hello,
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for sharing this beautiful poem. My name is Brooke and I'm from California but my great grandma and grandpa were from Naples and Palermo. I loved listening to your series on Mountain Rose Herbs about Italian ethnobotany and was wondering where I could find more. I have independently been trying to study the medicine of my ancestors and learn more about Italian herbalism. Do you have any resources that you would recommend or more stories like the ones you told on the podcast? I can read Italian as well if that helps you in selecting resources. Thank you so so much!