By: Julie Holm

Julie Holm — Fri, 04 Jan 2019 02:42:08 +0000

The room that the bones of all the Canons of the church are buried in was just outside, almost a part of the Sacristy. I saw it when I first visited in 2005, and I am glad we persisted until we saw it. There is also a major plaque outside commemorating Carmine Troisi. He was not only a Monsignor, and the head of the school, but he was also a poet. I have loosely (using Google Translate and some Italian-American dictionaries online) translated some of his poems for my own use. Here is one.
IX.

A tree all white flowers
of extreme tender tenderness,
and unstable, sloping. . . (Never are tired
eyes gazing at the vision blessed.)

It stands on area springs the color of sapphires,
a heavens that looks like a great sweetness:
there is sometimes a song, winged
creature alone, or in flocks.

Others do not see and do not desire to see
more, this is enough to occupy the mind
of what is dear to the man on earth to have;

a living virgin freshness,
an open passage for the ethereal spheres,
and flights and voices that are all and nothing.

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By: Julie Holm