Just last week, one last important bit of my Jeremy P's life was transferred to Austin. From his 10 years in New York, he had box upon box of books in storage, along with some pictures and his diplomas. We called a moving company and this precious stuff arrived safely.
Yesterday, as he opened every box I could hear "Oh wow!" or "Oh my God, I could barely live without this" or "Yes!"
Before long, I was sitting on the couch with a stack of books that he would bring, excited, one by one...usually some sort of ancient cookery or little books about wine or poetry, or poetry about wine.
(For Jeremy to do his DoBianchi thing, he needs his books, that scholar of mine.)
One of the gioelli that he found, knowing I would love it, was a little pink book of poems about wine in Neapolitan dialect:
Cantene', sto vino vuosto
e' di Puglia, 0 e' Calavrese
E' nu vino troppo tuosto
Unu surzo, e mm'ha pigliato
Comme fosse...mm'ha stunato
Ve veco 'int'a nu velo
Nun v'affiuro bona
Stu vino comme stona!
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This wine of yours,
is it from Puglia or is it Calabrese?
It's a very strong wine
One sip and it has me
It's as if...I'm in a daze
I see you through a veil
I can barely recognize you
This wine, it knocks me off my feet!
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Happy Labor Day! Please enjoy some wine.
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