Lazio

Something of the Etruscans is in us,
The music of their flutes in hunting and lovemaking,
The splendour of their tombs;
Or so I feel, running my hand over you,
Trying to grasp you before you disappear,
Reciting talismanic words:
Travertine, serpentine, porphyry, peperino.
Fantastical Tarquin with the heart of a wolf,
I want to paint you, to sculpt you, sublime,
To fashion your totem in terracotta,
And bring the hills to fruition.
You make me a builder of roads and bridges,
A god from the east, come into his temple,
The king of the golden grove at Nemi,
Awaiting the usurper’s approach.
The blood of the white bull flows
Into the furrows of speech,
A serpent steals up from underground
To lick the quicksilver sweet.
Oh, popes and Caesars, make your plans,
But take care in whom you trust!
As for me, just give me a bottle of wine,
And a plate of pappardelle al cinghiale.
Woman, I love your Etruscan smile,
Bringing out of Asia Minor
Thalassocracy and divination,
And, for me, this strange vocation,
Haruspex inspecting the sheep’s liver,
Observing the flight of birds.
Bronze she-wolf suckling gods and men,
Come with mirrors and perfume burners,
And we who saddle griffons
Will honour you with gold filigree.
The winged horses of Tarquinia
Shall draw your golden chariot;
And leopards attend your feasting,
Dancers cavort in your tomb.
See, the dead go to their new life
With masks and laughing jewels,
Making death seem nothing more
Than a painted ostrich egg;
Vanths and caronti escort the procession
Of souls to the underworld,
And from the waters of volcanic lakes
The drowned arise on horseback.