Frank Corcoran

irish composer


Sent: Fri, Sep 2, 2016 5:17 pm

Subject: Lago Lungo Mistico

No mist this morning on the bright East coast, behind Da Morano and Paolo Pescatore, ambling up to that Villanova stilts village. Sun hot, hot and yet.

I saw the brilliance of 3000 years of blue there, the warm foam lapping, better than Yeats,s more Northern Sligo.
That great expanse, that deceptive distance ready to drown the foolhardy, age/old olive trees watch as you die a watery death, a lake knell and yell and glug/glug and the lungs full of warm water.

I did feel those Neolithic and Bronze Age amblers , fishers and hunters , spears older than all Roman madness military as I skirted that shore, only one quietly chugging motorboat keeping parallel to my path as , stripped to his togs, the angler angled for corrigone.

A grand morning before I slipped in quietly myself.

Posted under: Humble Hamburg Musings

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