Agrigento, Sicily

May 21, 2019 - Sea Cloud


There a wind endures that I remember

Burning in the manes of horses, slanting

In the races across the plains, a wind

That stains the sandstone, wears away the heart

Of mournful columns, thrown down on the grass.

Antique soul, grey with rancour, you go back to join

that wind, breathing the delicate moss

Covering the giants who have fallen from heaven.

How solitary you are

within the space still left you! And all the more

you grieve to hear the sound that moves far off,

a breadth of sound that moves towards the sea

where Hesperus already touches dawn:

a mouth-organ now quivers at the lips

of the waggoner as he climbs

up the hill made clean by the moon,

slowly among the murmuring Saracen olives.

Salvatore Quasimodo, The Road to Agrigentum. Translated by Anthony Thwaite

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About the Author

Robyn Woodward

Historian

Lecturing on expedition ships since 1996 has fueled Robyn’s passion for adventure, discovery, travel, art, and archaeology.  These diverse interests have carried her through several degrees, including a B.A. in the History of Art from Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario; a B.Sc. in Conservation of Archaeological Materials from University College, Cardiff, Wales; an M.A. in Nautical Archaeology from Texas A&M; and finally a Ph.D. in Archaeology from Simon Fraser University, British Columbia, in 2007. 

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