Poesia de Firenze

Something I’ve been asked a lot since being back from my time in Florence, Italy is whether or not I was bored. After all, being in the same city for a couple of months must’ve been tiring. My earnest answer, however, is that it wasn’t. I wish I was there for longer!

Every morning I’d wake up and walk along the Fiat-lined streets to get to class or to grab a cappuccino from a different café. Un cappuccino per favore, I’d rehearse in my head upon entering and end up being greeted with ecstatic buongiorno’s or ciao’s. I had a list of shops, treats, and museums I wanted to check out and I’d meander about clocking 2000 to 7000 steps per day.

Even after visiting the same spots, I started frequenting my favorite cafes or restaurants. I did it so often that one day, one of the waiters asked me what was wrong because he knew I always finished my basket of bread. There’s always a cultural event going on, whether it be an opera, Sunday pop-up vintage market, chocolate fair, the annual MIDA crafts fair, or carnival. Encapsulating my experience has been near impossible but as a creative writer here has been an attempt:

Pinnacle of a city built,

rebuilt upon history, flooded

with patches, dabbled in

divots littered with cracks

from cars, bikes, horses, feet. A life

captured in stone constructs crafted from conceit,

pride alone warding against the city’s plight, with a coat of arms

etched on a shield, the sounds of the street

performers and businessmen’s merriment, a soft luxury

of conversations that speckle the streets like streamers

leftover from children celebrating Carnival.

Even the pigeons have earned their place

atop marbled, marveled statues, beckoning the morsels

dropped by passersby.

Sun cresting

the tips of tiled buildings, glancing off

manicured limestone walls in golden hues

of laughter. Cloud cushions covet

the sky, the rain runs in careening beads

of cheer surround the sculpted sandstone, the sidewalk divots

like cups greedy for water. In the wake of the darkening sky, the

streets brighten, light careening off mirrors peppered

throughout the cobbled crevices. Reflective

windows pebbled in droplets streaking

down in discordant rhythms. The Duomo stands

strong, be it through swarming

tourists, singing hawkers

or alone, alleys abandoned

with only the cloud’s tears to keep

them company.

Above is a poem I wrote during my time in Firenze. I wrote my poem about the area surrounding the Duomo as a focal point as it was something I had the honor and privilege to pass every day on my way to classes or to the Odeon, which was my favorite study spot. I took inspiration from walking at night after it had been raining, while the rain let up and the streets were nearly abandoned. There was a secretive glimmer to the duomo, sitting stoically despite the weather, the hawkers, the time. And I wanted to make an attempt to capture the beauty of this piece of history and pride at all times of the day. The Duomo is one of the only buildings that seems to get bigger the farther away you are from it, it is just as captivating up close as it is from afar. A beautiful view from the Piazza del Michelangelo at sunset, sunrise, and nightfall.

By Maria-Andrea Nivon Galvez, Semester in Florence Spring 2024 student

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