Ode to Federico Fellini da Firenze
Today I watched as my swoot fell
For for the tomb and fresco di Dante.
She had no idea of the stories I’d tell
After a mezzo Chianti.
We saw some statues and churches and art
All that the good boot could offer.
As for the economy we did our part
With tithing at Gucci’s alter.
We dined with drag queens at Minore
And we offered manages with wine.
But my swoot, well aware of the story
Was not about to have a good time.
But we had a good time in the Tuscany hills
Regardless of Dante’s hell.
She liked Rome better she said in a shrill
(She must not have noticed the smell.)
To me any culture is measured by art:
Just look at Hollywood glitz.
Compared to Fellini, oh boy was he smart
To tell his own story in bits.
Marcello lives on and banks the genius
In an era of Pucci and Leda.
Each art form tries to capture the penis
Or some other Dolce Vita.
Except for the fools who linger in black
A nuclear product prolonged.
The art quickened-up under threat of attack,
Modern triumphs are petty and wrong.
The key in this time is to talk it out
Which leaves little time for creation.
When will the messiah come back to tout
The virtues of life toward salvation?
He will when the art is replaced completely
By all shows pernicious and seedy.
When even the rich man is boxed in so neatly
That the poor man no longer seems needy.
So talk to your friends and see what they know
About history as comparative art.
Then sit back and cry or get up and go
To Florence before it blows apart.
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 1992. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.