Claudius Claudianus
A Latin poet, flourished during the reign of Theodosius and
his sons Honorius and Arcadius, A.D. 395-408. The Roman
Senate ordered a statue erected in his honor, comparing him
to Virgil and Homer.
Cautior ante violentum navita Corum prospicit
In Eutorop. ii. 5.
"The cautious sailor sees long before the approach of the violent south-west wind."
A Latin poet, flourished during the reign of Theodosius and
his sons Honorius and Arcadius, A.D. 395-408. The Roman
Senate ordered a statue erected in his honor, comparing him
to Virgil and Homer.
Cautior ante violentum navita Corum prospicit
In Eutorop. ii. 5.
"The cautious sailor sees long before the approach of the violent south-west wind."
I have used this quote by Claudianus as an opening to Irish Italian Poetry, and as an introductory statement. This is to be more than a place for Irish poetry written by an Irish poet or Italian poetry by an Italian, but a testament to what I think is beautiful and noteworthy regardless of origin.
We are intermixed in spirit, the Claudianus's and I. My origins are, I am told, as ancient as that of the hills of Rome itself, as windswept as the seaside cliffs of Eire, and as bonny as the sound of the pipes drifting over the Scottish highlands into the England countryside. I am all of these or I am none of these. For a poet there is no middle ground.
I endeavor to bring all of my experience and knowledge to bear in this simple enterprise of presenting to the reader small gifts from the past. There is enough that passes us that is pretentious in knowledge and no more beautiful than an old discarded pair of pants rejected even by the rag man.
I do not pretend to be a great literary person for I am not. My one and only goal is to include here what I find interesting and intellectually satisfying, and if I may, make this a refuge of peace and pleasantness among the thorns. No ideology here. I will leave it elsewhere and for another time.
Irish Italian Poet
We are intermixed in spirit, the Claudianus's and I. My origins are, I am told, as ancient as that of the hills of Rome itself, as windswept as the seaside cliffs of Eire, and as bonny as the sound of the pipes drifting over the Scottish highlands into the England countryside. I am all of these or I am none of these. For a poet there is no middle ground.
I endeavor to bring all of my experience and knowledge to bear in this simple enterprise of presenting to the reader small gifts from the past. There is enough that passes us that is pretentious in knowledge and no more beautiful than an old discarded pair of pants rejected even by the rag man.
I do not pretend to be a great literary person for I am not. My one and only goal is to include here what I find interesting and intellectually satisfying, and if I may, make this a refuge of peace and pleasantness among the thorns. No ideology here. I will leave it elsewhere and for another time.
Irish Italian Poet
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