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The Bordighera Poetry Prize

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Contemporary Italian American Writing

Emanuel di Pasquale: Poems from
The Silver Lake Love Poems

I | IV | V | XIII | XIV | XXIV

di PasqualeEmanuel di Pasquale has published poems in American Poetry Review, Sewanee Review, and many anthologies and textbooks. BOA Editions published a volume of his poems entitled Genesis, pictured below, reprinted 1997 by Jostro Publications, P.O. Box 403, Edison, NJ 08818-0403. Bordighera has just published his love poems sequence The Silver Lake Love Poems. He has also translated numerous poets from English into Italian and from Italian into English. His translations include:Song of the Tulip Tree, by Joe Salerno, winner of the l998 Bordighera Poetry Prize, a bilingual edition; Sharing a Trip, Selected Poems, by Silvio Ramat,forthcoming from Bordighera Press; and Carlo della Corte's The Voyage Ends Here, (Gradiva Publications:Box 831, Stony Brook, NY 11790) In 2000, Emanuel di Pasqule won the Sonia Raiziss-dePalchi Translation Prize from the Academy of American Poets.

di Pasquale
Emanuel di Pasquale is pictured center with other poets at the Poets House Bordighera Prize Ceremony.

Dana Gioia wrote:"Two thousand years ago a Sicilian immigrant poet named Theocritus invented the pastoral--a mode of lyrical poetry in which a sophisticated, urban imagination recaptures the innocence of life rooted in the natural another Sicilian poet recreates the pastoral in American terms in the finely observed and delicate lyrics that make up The Silver Lake Love Poems. At once innocent and sophisticated, urban and pastoral, Emanuel di Pasquale creates poetry that is timeless and direct.

The following are poems from THE SILVER LAKE POEMS © 2000 Emanuel diPasqule, Bordighera Press.

di PasqualeI

Brother of Achilles,

you, sad face in your window,

lights behind you

"at dusk...lonely man..."


I can see you in your white shirt.


Try to see goodness in your friends.

(Even Agamemnon in his

thickheaded stupidity

had a feel for the gods.


I struggle in the mountains

thinking of you,

at times putting myself

in your small room next to the bathroom,

typing your poems,

playing my flute,

cooking eggplant,

arranging beach plums,

walking my small dog along the shore

at dusk.


Tresure the divine in you,

the silences,

the look at the stars,

the lonely ocean swims at dawn,

your morning music,

Pavarotti singing Christmas songs in May,

your bare feet

on linoleum.


I played with my children

last night, wheeling under the stars.

The last one to get dizzy and fall

down won. Guess?


(You may keep or chuck this photo--

taken "before the fall"

sitting on a fence on a

Virginia horse farm. Even then

my ass was flat.)


Walking along the north star

in the dark. Geese gossip.

Ice amoebas across causeway.

Deer in vacant lot.

The moon, only half a person,

has fallen down on his back.


You must understand-I adore my children

and they have always come first, for me, I guess,

not for them. I might die without them.

I might also die without my woods and flowers

and small dog. (When you walk on the beach,

I am waling in the woods thinking of you

walking on the beach.) I am part of these low

hills, this ash, oak, and hickory. I

know I have been too long at the edge

of this still glacial lake (where my mother

grew up), and I want to change, but, dear,

I cannot tear myself from here for good.

(Please tell those gods to quit

pummeling me.)

Copyright © 2000 by Emanuel di Pasquale and Via Folios/ Bordighera Press

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