a study of caffe trieste

untrammelled conversation, the intimate back-and-forthing
of wayfarers and local characters and assorted visitors
old women with curious eyes and investigative spirits
paying their respects to dispossessed artists and isolated dreamers
the pleasant din of copper-bottomed pans and baking tins and forks and knives
performing a silverware symphony
with the counterpoint of the jukebox
hearkening back to fifty years ago
history’s pouring out of the jukebox
history is painted on the walls and suffused throughout the building
and in the silverware and in the people
and in the black-and-white photographs on the walls
and on the slightly faded mural on the wall with gondoliers and sunbaked buldings
it’s in the poetry that was written and
stories told, and stories untold, and stories yet to be told

***
seasoned conversation

the scent of roasted olives and sundried tomatoes
wafting through the building
olive oil and crushed garlic
basil infusions and fire-roasted peppers
with an admixture of lively conversation
of fires and friendships and failures and findings

***
was sarah there?

so he said and she said and they said and you said and
did they come to the party and were they there and did you see
mary’s lovely white dress at the dance and did paul bring you
the old edition and did sarah come did sarah come please tell me
did she come? yes she did, sarah was there, sarah was there with her long perfect hair and her sparkling conversation and impeccable taste and other literary cliches. what did she do? what did sarah do? tell me what she did, oh, please, oh, please! sarah was never a good girl, was she? was she, now, was she? i always knew she was trouble behind that perfect smile. now mustn’t avoid the topic, don’t let’s ignore sarah. what do you mean, sarah’s business is hers? explain, explain, this is sarah we’re discussing. pray tell, pray tell, tell me her story.

***
joy in simplicity

subtle conversation under the innumerable stars;
old volumes in letterpress, letterforms slightly eroded with
the passage of time;
classical beauty on stretched canvas in gilt frames;
the symbols of the Universe’s hidden Platonic forms;
dew forming pointillist landscapes on primroses and proper roses;
verbal puzzles of typography and intricate mazes of words;
women’s airy voices set against lush electronic soundscapes;
the sinuous curves of calligraphic words on slightly porous creamy coloured paper;
sublime figures cast in marble and precious stone;
and the wonder of knowing that I am an “I”, observing myself and you and this
multifarious universe.

Finn Gardiner resides in the San Francisco Bay Area, and created these pieces on the spot during our January reception. He may be reached at sodalitas.paludis@googlemail.com and welcomes comments and feedback from other writers.