tuesday wheather report . last day of carnival 2021 and a small poem by anne carson

I know the times but I like to share with you all these snapshots

the house where richard wagner died on february 13, 1883, now during winter it is a gambling house managed by venice municipality

No one but you says she swore.
Why one night a god threw open the door.
I loved you more.
River river river river river river river.


Anne Carson,Nox, New York 2010.
all pictures taken by rinaldo rasa in the first half of february 2021 in venice

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tuesday february 16, 2021


SUNDAY WHEATHER REPORT : january 31, 2021

pictures from a gone month

waterbus sails at end of grand canal, by a fleet boats a bit bigger than that christopher columbus discovered america

“ponte dei sospiri” (bridge of sighs) usually crowded before covid-19, now deserted

saint mark square empty

wood scaffolding against high water at saint mark square

all pictures taken by rinaldo rasa in venice, january 2021




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sunday january 31, 2021


Tuesday Wheather Report : excerpt from ‘Acquainted with Grief’ (Carlo Emilio Gadda translated by William Weaver)

At the Central Military Hospital Palumbo had recalled the facts, already repeatedly put on record thanks to the local commission: expounding, with the dramatic accent of truth, in absolute narrative coherence, the terrible stages of the bombardment, culminating (for him) in the atrocious explosion that had reduced him to state a complete deafness.
Still, how do you prove that a war-deaf veteran is not deaf? That he can hear perfectly with both ears? If you reflect only a moment, you can see at once-just a minute’s reasoning is enough-that the problem is anything but simple. This character can’t hear. Why not? because a lacerating grenade went off near him, on Hill 131. So he can’t hear. And, if he can’t hear, there’s not much use in your saying,’Yes, he can’t hear’. How can you prove it? He flings Hill 131 in your face. It’s that Hill 131 that screws you. were you there, on Hill 131? Well then?
The weeks were consumed slowly, evilly; Palumbo by now believed he had been forgotten in the Central Hospital by the delays of procedure, and of the military bureaucracy.
And the days ripened, one after the other, like tasteless pears. A few cigarettes, a few tasks assigned by the quartermaster on duty, to shift forty pounds of rubbishy papers from one floor to another, to shine some brass handles, the iron door handles of the verandas, with pumice, leaving them, after rubbing and rubbing, al shiny and scratched. Every second Friday the peacock-colored entrance of the Hospital visitors of San Giovanni bringing two Toscan cigars, and two Umbrian chocolates.
Colonel di Pascuale, one morning, sent for ‘that character’ Palumbo. ‘Which, Colonel?’ ‘Which? That one!Itold you.’ ‘Ah! I know. Freguglia!’ ‘What Freguglia? That other character…131…the one who can’t hear!’ And when he had him before his desk, at attention, he wrote in blue pensil on the first sheet of his pad:’Tomorrow we will be send-/ing you home and you will have-/a month’s leave. Does that make you-/happy?’ And he turned the pad around, so that he could read.
He raised his eyes to look the soldier in the face. the poor deaf man flashed joy and gratitude from his eyes, moved around the table: and, grasping the colonel hand, his left, he fell to his knees, all of a sudden, like a beggar in a plaque by Tintoretto.
The deaf man was profuse with with benedictions, now incorporating several saints, among them San rocco, San Basilio bishop, and San Giovanni as well as the Madonna, and specifically the Madonna of Pompeii.
The dawn of next day broke, and all the bugles of the hospital sounded what there was to sound.
At ten Colonel Di Pascuale heard a knock; he said, ‘Come in,’ in a tone of irritation. But no one came in. Then a clerk got up: and he brought in Palumbo.
In the center of the office, standing, his collar undone as usual, the colonel was speaking and almost arguing with another, rather young, colonel, who began to raise his voice and to cobtradict him, more and more harshly. Now and then he drew his head down between his shoulders, as the turtle does, and raising his wrinkles halfway up his forehead, with his hand open, he said:’Now what am I supposed to do?’ and similar expressions to indicate inability to do anything and a desire to wash one’s hand, or rather one’s hams.
Colonel Di Pascuale, after a while, when he had glimpsed Palumbo, said: ‘Excuse me, excuse me juast a minute,’ to his fellow colonel, and turned. ‘what do you want?’ he asked the deaf man harshly, as if he were seeing him for the first time.
Palumbo didn’t answer, because he hadn’t heard, being deaf. And he questioned, in his turn, amazed, grieved, his superior officer, with those poor disabled-veteran’s eyes, disabled in both tympana! now abstracted from the muddle of acoustical signicances, of speechless world. ‘Ah!You want your pass?’ the colonel said then, all of a sudden, when he remembered the matter. ‘Hey, Quartermaster, where did you put this boy’s leave paper?’
‘Here they are, Colonel!’ the slender quartermaster said, with his facial springtime of pods; and he held out the papers that he had in his hand all ready:’Ah! All right!’ The colonel took them, went to the desk, dipped his pen, bent over, and signed absently: with his spirit still engaged in the argument, obviously, with the fellow officer, who went on talking to him all the time, tormenting him with constant objections: a dog who won’t ease his bite. ‘Now what are you trying to tell me? What they haven’t barred the promotion of Fagioletti Onofrio?’ etc, etc. There was a hail of plan of advancement and promotion merit (special being understood), with constant returns to Fagioletti Onofrio.
That argument had sincerely embittered him, poor Di Pascuale. He handed the paper back to sergeant, ignoring the soldier, and turned again to his colleague.
The quartermaster handed the two papers to Palumbo, pass and train ticket, saying to him (in a low voice, hower, out of deference to the quarrel between his superiors):’Here’s your pass. Fifteen days plus two days’ travel time.’
‘But he promised me a month!’ Palumbo blurted out hastily, in anguish.
Colonel Di Pascuale turned as if an asp had bitten him. He looked at him; he went over him.
‘Ah! a month?’ and he paused for a while, staring at him. ‘A month, I promised you?’ Palumbo’s face was scarlet. And now the other colonel also smiled at him, diabolically. The quartermaster’s face, a bit less yellow than usual under the maroon scum of the pimples, looked at him from the second line, as if apologizing:’Your sins, you know, will find out-but-it’s not my fault.’ The Central Military 051 surely hadn’t been his invention.
‘Well, boy, let’s get it over with once and for all, with this play-acting about being deaf. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again! here there’s testimony-two good eyewitnesses, as the law requires’ (the clerks were silent)-‘Colonel Zeppola’-and he gestured as if to intruced him to Gaetano, as one would do in civilian life-‘ nad this little quartermaster of mine… a fine boy… fine. Hey, Quartermaster, did you take your yogurt? I told you… with those buds blooming blooming in your face?’ Then again to Gaetano:’The witnesses that you’re all well… the Madonna of Pompeii this morning has worked a miracle for you. You ought to thank her with your face on the ground! All right, all right. Congratulations. So you can go and leave… unlimited leave… and the pension remains with the government.’ He turned to Zeppola, shaking his head, up and down:’Our poor governement… which pays so many pensions…’ And he waved his hand in mid-air, as if to say, ‘Plenty, and that’s the truth!’

carlo emilio gadda, acquanted with grief, translated from italian by william weaver, 1968 – excerpt edited by rinaldo rasa. photograph by rinaldo rasa taken in venice tuesday december 29, 2020.

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tuesday december 29, 2020


Christmas 2020 Wheather Report : Shirley Temple and Santa Claus

I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was six. Mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph.

Shirley Temple

saint mark square

near saint mark square

campo san polo

all pictures taken in venice on late december 2020 by rinaldo rasa






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friday december 25, 2020


saturday wheather report : old words…

carved on the Stones of Venice.

Venezia come città romantica è stata inventata durante l’Ottocento da artisti anglosassoni come John Ruskin e John Singer Sargent . Però nella vecchia città è come stare perennemente sotto gli occhi severi di pietra delle statue, siano esse religiose o civili. Un osservatore silenzioso di chi la sta visitando. E questo da secoli.

During the nineteenth century anglosaxon artists like John Ruskin and John Singer Sargent invented Venice as romantic city. However within many centuries the city was never so romantic: this is not to say Venice was a version of Gotham City but from a young age when my parents driving me throught the venetian streets I was impressed by the stone statues.
These stone statues, civil or religious, had egle-eyed as a silent threatening look. For centuries this has been.

Saint Mark Square and its Christmas Tree 2020

On 1555 the philosopher Guillaume Postel was arrested in this house by the Holy Inquisition.

The words in ancient venetian language carved in stone say : here your complaint regarding medical malpractice in Dorsoduro neighborhood.

campo santa margherita

campo manin


street art

all pictures taken by rinaldo rasa in venice, italy – december 2020





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saturday december 12, 2020


wheather report : last day of autumn 2020

Sometimes we talk and appear to be very smart. But suddenly someone explains what we said making us seem less smart than we thought: always we listen our own internal language then we speak. We need instead someone must explain what we really said.


there three cats near tintoretto house in venice



gheto novo [venetian ghetto square]


grand canal


saint mark square


catullus alley


Passer, deliciae meae puellae,
quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,
cui primum digitum dare appetenti
et acris solet incitare morsus,
cum desiderio meo nitenti
carum nescio quid lubet iocari,
et solaciolum sui doloris,
credo, ut tum gravis acquiescat ardor:
tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem
et tristis animi levare curas!
Gaio Valerio Catullo,
Carme II
catullus translated by rinaldo rasa
A sparrow together to my little young woman
kept on her lap for
her delight, she
plays with him
fingertips touch his beak, when I am
sad I would to be
like you my
little young woman
have a break
forgetting pain …


blub street art
all pictures taken in venice november 2020 by rinaldo rasa





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monday november 30, 2020

sunday wheather report : yellow lockdown november 2020 and other things

Venetian lands are in yellow lockdown,

the least worrying level of alarm but in any case the Covid pandemic is not over: the months to come will give some answers.People wear face masks and in most cases they have understood  the situation is serious and does not joke with the disease by underestimating the dangers as some politicians have done and still continue doing despite it is clear that they were wrong.
In the Venetian territory there was the first death of covid in the Western World and perhaps this led to the local authorities having decided to face the danger to public health in a decisive way.

and also a painting by John Sargent of the same subject.

… and some other snapshots of the Old City

street art
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all pictures taken  in venice, italy half november 2020 days

sunday november 15, 2020

WHEATHER REPORT: Halloweenesque Venice 2020

Waving October

(…it is still 2020)

Halloweenesque Venice 2020
Qualcosa su Halloween e Venezia…

In this pandemic year it is a very difficult thinking about Halloween,
however here is something you can still come up with.

Taking a cue
from the labyrinthine Venice and the name ancient Venetians gave to
small streets inside the city.

As a semi-professional wanderer in the city I found these locations
interesting and their names matching a halloweenesque feeling,
at least I believe few cities in the world have similar
street names.

Alley of Murders (Rio Tera’ dei Assassini)

Bridge of Rippers (Ponte dei Squartai)

Alley of Deads (Calle dei Morti)

thanks everybody
i love you all
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all photographs taken by rinaldo rasa,
last week of october in venice, italy


saturday october 31, 2020