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Accademia

THEMES: VENICE

This is the first post in a new category, one which brings together poems with a connecting theme.

I first visited Venice in 1989 with my wife and daughter. We travelled by train from Bologna – where our daughter was studying – and crossed the lagoon on the railway causeway built by the Austrians during their second occupation of the city. We exited St Lucia station and there was the Grand Canal.

I have been back a number of times, the last being in 2017.

My first actual sighting of the city was in 1976. Again I was with my wife and daughter. We were returning from a holiday in Corfu. The pilot announced that we were flying over Venice. I looked down – and there it was, sunlight catching the terracotta roofs, surrounded by blue, romantic, enigmatic. I remember wonderingly if I would ever spend time there, and thinking it would be important to do so.

Venice has inspired a screenplay – IN THE LION’S MOUTH – as well as a number of poems. The poems on the site set in Venice and other islands in the Venetian Lagoon are listed in alphabetical order:

 

ACCADEMIA BRIDGE

Although elsewhere they must compete with tall men

from Senegal selling faux Gucchi bags…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/accademia-bridge/

 

A CONTINUING CITY

A millennium of trade and empire

has pushed the wooden piles the founders drove

more deeply into the seditious silt…

https://davidselzer.com/2012/12/a-definitive-history-of-venice/

 

BACINO DI SAN MARCO

From the Daniele’s restaurant terrace,

a bride and groom watch a shower of rain…

https://davidselzer.com/2012/12/a-definitive-history-of-venice-3/

 

CITY OF ART

There are the Biennale’s Big Beasts, of course…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/city-of-art/

 

COGNITIVE DISSONANCE

Ezra Pound looks both querulous and almost

slightly shifty…

https://davidselzer.com/2024/06/cognitive-dissonance/

 

DECLINE AND FALL

Once, there were no panhandlers in La

Serenissima. Now there are four beggars…

https://davidselzer.com/2012/12/a-definitive-history-of-venice-2/

 

EZRA POUND IN VENICE

Sitting in a traghetto, Olga Rudge

from Ohio and Ezra Pound from

Idaho – together fifty years…

https://davidselzer.com/2009/06/ezra-pound-in-venice/

 

FRUITS OF THE SEA

On the island of Burano, where women,

sitting at their front doors for the light, make lace…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/fruits-of-the-sea/

 

GRANDE HÔTEL DES BAINS

…Cholera is no longer a rumour…

 https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/grande-hotel-des-bains/

 

LA FENICE

At Punta Della Dogana, a cellist

seated under the arcade, is playing

melodies from operatic arias…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/la-fenice/

 

LA SERENISSIMA

…stucco white as cuttlefish. In shadows,

a lion’s mouth utters advantage or blame.

The whitewashed stench of the prison inspires

the palace. An improbable city…

https://davidselzer.com/2012/12/a-definitive-history-of-venice-5/

 

O BRAVE NEW WORLD

On the third floor of Ca’ Rezzonico –

where gondoliers slept when the palazzo

was let to the song writer Cole Porter…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/o-brave-new-world/

 

PIAZZA DI SAN MARCO

After the sky has shaded from indigo

to sepia, when swifts have gone and pigeons

roost in the crepuscular arcades…

https://davidselzer.com/2012/12/a-definitive-history-of-venice-4/

 

RIVA DEI SETTE MARTIRE, VENICE

If you stroll far enough, long enough eastwards

on Riva Degli Schiavoni (Shore

of the Slaves)…

https://davidselzer.com/2017/11/riva-dei-sette-martiri-venice/

 

 

THE ARMENIAN MONASTERY, SAN LAZZORO, VENICE

San Lazzaro island was the city’s

leper colony until the Doge

gave the Armenians sanctuary, no doubt

to annoy the Turks…

https://davidselzer.com/2016/09/the-armenian-monastery-san-lazzaro-venice/

 

THE FISH MARKET

The resin and fibreglass installation

of one of the sculptor’s small children’s

hands and wrists emerges from the Grand Canal…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/the-fish-market

 

THE GARIBALDI STATUE, VENICE

Usually on a geometric plinth,

sometimes ahorse, once like Charlemagne…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/11/the-garibaldi-statue-venice/

 

THE GHETTO

We came here more than twenty five years ago

but know when we reach the Trei Archi bridge

we have gone too far and turn…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/the-ghetto/

 

THE GULLS OF VENICE

Many things are forbidden in Venice…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/the-gulls-of-venice/

 

THE LAGOON

Like most houses over centuries here

this one has been divided…

https://davidselzer.com/2018/09/the-lagoon/

 

THOUGH NOW THERE ARE ANGELS

Long ago, before angels learned how to fly,

https://davidselzer.com/2025/07/though-now-there-are-angels/

 

WINTERING IN VENICE

The exiled Russian poet, Josef Brodsky…

https://davidselzer.com/2024/03/wintering-in-venice/

 

 

 

 

 

CITY OF ART

There are the Biennale’s Big Beasts, of course –

this year David Hockney’s ’82 Portraits

and 1 Still Life’ at the Ca’ Pesaro (each

painted in three days) and, at Palazzo

Grassi and Punta Della Dogana,

Damien Hirst’s ‘Treasures from the Wreck

of the Unbelievable’, which took ten years –

the pavilions in the Giardini

and the Arsenale; the freebies

in rented palaces and tenements.

 

And there are the abiding grand masters,

the Titians, Tinterettos, Tiepolos,

displayed in salons and basilicas;

the Bible transubstantiated into

oils and canvas, Latin verses made flesh.

 

And poor, visiting geniuses opting

for elsewhere – like Modigliani, who stayed

five years near the Accademia

then chose the avant-garde Montmartre,

and whose ‘La Femme en Blouse Marine’

hangs in the Guggenheim Gallery

on the Grand Canal, worth seven figures.

 

This is a city of stratagems, opulence,

dissembling – each turn of a corner,

each slap of water on bricks in a canal;

no place for penniless innocents,

no place for those without reputations;

mercantile, mercenary, magnificent;

an improbable, floating metropolis.

 

 

 

A DEFINITIVE HISTORY OF VENICE

DECLINE AND FALL

 

Once, there were no panhandlers in La

Serenissima. Now there are four beggars –

men from Dalmatia, the old colonies,

and a Roma woman with no past.

Near the Rialto, two alternate

on the same pitch: heads sunk, hands out, their stories

in English on cardboard. The third plays

an accordion near the Accademia,

his history on plywood at his feet.

Only the woman, dark-eyed, distressed, who sits

anonymous, huddled, swaddled against the

long wall of the Ospedale Civile,

looks charity the tourist in the eye.  She

takes the last  vaporetto  for Torcello

– and disembarks somewhere in the dark lagoon:

but returns always as if she were any

other traveller on the chopped and dancing

water, under the pellucid sky, in the

serenity of the light.