26 09 07
Last few moments before the off
Giardini
Saline
A good day
Leaving Marsala having sampled and tasted some vitals.
Saw the big smiling man from Mozia who gave me a hearty wave form the street, I feel almost at home - for a second.
Coffee at the saline, stretched out in the sun feeling twenty years younger.
The straight road to Salemi past the vines and olive groves.
The view down the bonnet.
Head for Rudi de Gibelina, an area that was hit by a devistaing earthquake in the 60’s.
For interest or morbid fascination?
It does not disapoint. A shocked landscape fragmented, left and abandoned. Buildings and towns partially collapsed, fragments of architecture.
I park up and walk around, An artist has made a huge concrete sculpture over the old street plan of the town. I was looking for the ampitheatre that was built as part of a festival to comemorate the disaster, Aparently they used to hold concerts of contemporary music and theatre ther, including works by John Cage. All that was left was a few remnants of scafolding and overgrown steps.
In the derelect garden of what must have been a grand house stood a lone fig tree, black and dark against the light, its curls and knots form their way out of a dark centre. The tree says alot, dark in the shadow of the bright light - as a memorial.
The whole place is frozen and empty in this heat.
The only sound is the distant whiring of some wind turbines up on the hill.
The next town is similar, roads leading up into derelict plots. A grand manor stands shattered but still standing.
The town of Poggioreale is a whole place left half standing and abandoned. The main street as a skeleton behing some modern gates.
Its as if the destruction has come from within or below.
From above a long overgrown street runs through the middle.
An absense of people.
Deserted fragments, someone elses grave, I feel I should not linger out of respect.
I read later that the whole earthquake lasted about three minutes.
I can’t imagine the feel of such force coming from the earth.
Something imovable as rock set into motion.
Up over the top, over a craggy beaten land. Only the whirr of the windmills.
The road to Alcamo sweeps down along open plains, great road, empty and to myself.
Leaving should take time
I’m sitting in Il Bella at Alcamo marina, after driving through the hills.
The mountains of Zingaro ( my mountains ) bathed in azure
lapis lazuli sea, torquoise and brown.
west wind
the sea is alive and cooling the sun
I love this place, Sicilia is full of suprises.
Palermo rush hour is something else. As usual the signs for the port dissapear and I weave the car through the traffic. Il Bella didn’t glinch once. Crawling down towards the docks through slow sets of traffic lights. It is like threading a needle through traffic, just waiting for the car to overheat, but it didn’t - a great little car.
Finaly drive on to the ferry La Superba.
Watch the departing on deck.
Crowds of family waving their loved ones farewell - from the homeland i guess.
Watch palermo slip away and its bright neon citied clamour recede.
To the west a fantastic lightening storm flashes accross the sky and over the mountains. All white and orange through the clouds. Some shards right down to the horizon.
Earth and Fire
Elemental
Sicilia
your brown rude earthiness and breathed wind
is so real to my dreaming
dreaming a deep south
for somewhere in the memory
shut as a nut
to unlock
a bloom to flower
open and spike.
Leaving should take time
Untill a next time.
This intriging place
It has such alot, and each time it shows me something else
so to the stars and the ink blue sea,
and to the North
Giardini
Saline
A good day
Leaving Marsala having sampled and tasted some vitals.
Saw the big smiling man from Mozia who gave me a hearty wave form the street, I feel almost at home - for a second.
Coffee at the saline, stretched out in the sun feeling twenty years younger.
The straight road to Salemi past the vines and olive groves.
The view down the bonnet.
Head for Rudi de Gibelina, an area that was hit by a devistaing earthquake in the 60’s.
For interest or morbid fascination?
It does not disapoint. A shocked landscape fragmented, left and abandoned. Buildings and towns partially collapsed, fragments of architecture.
I park up and walk around, An artist has made a huge concrete sculpture over the old street plan of the town. I was looking for the ampitheatre that was built as part of a festival to comemorate the disaster, Aparently they used to hold concerts of contemporary music and theatre ther, including works by John Cage. All that was left was a few remnants of scafolding and overgrown steps.
In the derelect garden of what must have been a grand house stood a lone fig tree, black and dark against the light, its curls and knots form their way out of a dark centre. The tree says alot, dark in the shadow of the bright light - as a memorial.
The whole place is frozen and empty in this heat.
The only sound is the distant whiring of some wind turbines up on the hill.
The next town is similar, roads leading up into derelict plots. A grand manor stands shattered but still standing.
The town of Poggioreale is a whole place left half standing and abandoned. The main street as a skeleton behing some modern gates.
Its as if the destruction has come from within or below.
From above a long overgrown street runs through the middle.
An absense of people.
Deserted fragments, someone elses grave, I feel I should not linger out of respect.
I read later that the whole earthquake lasted about three minutes.
I can’t imagine the feel of such force coming from the earth.
Something imovable as rock set into motion.
Up over the top, over a craggy beaten land. Only the whirr of the windmills.
The road to Alcamo sweeps down along open plains, great road, empty and to myself.
Leaving should take time
I’m sitting in Il Bella at Alcamo marina, after driving through the hills.
The mountains of Zingaro ( my mountains ) bathed in azure
lapis lazuli sea, torquoise and brown.
west wind
the sea is alive and cooling the sun
I love this place, Sicilia is full of suprises.
Palermo rush hour is something else. As usual the signs for the port dissapear and I weave the car through the traffic. Il Bella didn’t glinch once. Crawling down towards the docks through slow sets of traffic lights. It is like threading a needle through traffic, just waiting for the car to overheat, but it didn’t - a great little car.
Finaly drive on to the ferry La Superba.
Watch the departing on deck.
Crowds of family waving their loved ones farewell - from the homeland i guess.
Watch palermo slip away and its bright neon citied clamour recede.
To the west a fantastic lightening storm flashes accross the sky and over the mountains. All white and orange through the clouds. Some shards right down to the horizon.
Earth and Fire
Elemental
Sicilia
your brown rude earthiness and breathed wind
is so real to my dreaming
dreaming a deep south
for somewhere in the memory
shut as a nut
to unlock
a bloom to flower
open and spike.
Leaving should take time
Untill a next time.
This intriging place
It has such alot, and each time it shows me something else
so to the stars and the ink blue sea,
and to the North
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