{"id":25936,"date":"2014-07-15T06:30:54","date_gmt":"2014-07-14T18:30:54","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/?p=25936"},"modified":"2014-07-14T23:17:30","modified_gmt":"2014-07-14T11:17:30","slug":"the-tuesday-poem-refeaturing-catherine-fitchetts-learning-italian","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/2014\/07\/15\/the-tuesday-poem-refeaturing-catherine-fitchetts-learning-italian\/","title":{"rendered":"The Tuesday Poem: Refeaturing Catherine Fitchett’s “Learning Italian”"},"content":{"rendered":"

Learning Italian<\/strong><\/p>\n

Pizza, pasta, cappuccino<\/em><\/div>\n
weren\u2019t in the dictionary when Harry signed up<\/div>\n
By the time he arrived in England,<\/div>\n
the war was almost over, so Harry<\/div>\n
never got to Italy. Besides, that was another war<\/div>\n
and Harry was more of a meat and potatoes man, anyway.<\/div>\n
Fifty years later there would be<\/div>\n
espresso, prosciutto, ravioli<\/em><\/div>\n
but the soldiers already returning<\/div>\n
while Harry drilled in sling camp<\/div>\n
took other souvenirs \u2013 not mala aria<\/em><\/div>\n
\u00a0– bad air \u2013 but shell shock, scars,<\/div>\n
and flu, spreading faster than rifle fire.<\/div>\n
Harry\u2019s young bride sickened and died,<\/div>\n
her unborn child with her. Later, lonely Harry<\/div>\n
ran off with another man\u2019s wife, disrupting<\/div>\n
several intricate networks of cousins.<\/div>\n
And besides, Harry\u2019s wife was not<\/div>\n
who they thought she was, having been born<\/div>\n
five months after the Navy arrived<\/div>\n
in town and her parents met.<\/div>\n
Of such events lives are made, <\/em><\/div>\n
la influenza<\/em><\/div>\n
\u2013 the influence of the stars.<\/div>\n

.<\/span><\/p>\n

(c) Catherine Fitchett<\/p>\n

Published in Flap: the chook book 2<\/em><\/strong>, The Hen House, Christchurch 2010<\/p>\n

Reproduced here with permission.<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

I am currently featuring fellow Cantabrian and Tuesday Poet, Catherine Fitchett, as part of my series re-focusing on\u00a0 poets whose work has posted on the blog several times over the past four years (and we’re now into the fifth, which is wonderful, but also scary in terms of just how quickly the time has gone!)<\/p>\n

When this poem first featured on June 19, 2012<\/a>, Catherine provided the following commentary:<\/p>\n

“This is one of a number of poems that have arisen out of my intensive study of my family history over the last ten years. As I pursue the details of ancestors\u2019 lives, \u00a0I often find myself wondering \u201cwhat if\u201d. If my great-grandfather hadn\u2019t gone bankrupt he would never have come to New Zealand \u2013 then my grandparents would never have met and I wouldn\u2019t be here. Or, if my grandfather hadn\u2019t taught me to play chess, I wouldn\u2019t have met my husband (I would still be here, but my children wouldn\u2019t). \u00a0The poem didn\u2019t come together, however, until I read Elizabeth Gordon\u2019s column in The Press one Saturday early in 2009, when she discussed words that had come into English from Italian. The description of the word \u201cinfluenza\u201d as meaning \u201cthe influence of the stars\u201d reminded me not only of the death of my great-aunt, Harry\u2019s wife, in the 1918 influenza epidemic, but also of the many small coincidences that make up our existence.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

To find out more about Catherine and her poetry, check out her bio as part of the original post, here<\/a>, or better still, visit her on her blog:<\/p>\n

Still standing on her head<\/a><\/h3>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>To check out the featured poem on the Tuesday Poem Hub<\/strong> and other great poems from fellow Tuesday poets from around the world, click here<\/strong><\/a> or on the Quill<\/strong> icon <\/strong>in the sidebar.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Learning Italian Pizza, pasta, cappuccino weren\u2019t in the dictionary when Harry signed up By the time he arrived in England, the war was almost over, so Harry never got to Italy. Besides, that was another war and Harry was more of a meat and potatoes man, anyway. Fifty years later there would be espresso, prosciutto, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-25936","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25936","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25936"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25936\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":26327,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25936\/revisions\/26327"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25936"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25936"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/helenlowe.info\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25936"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}