Erminia Passannanti: Two Poems of Compassion
I wrote these two poems at different periods of my life. The first, In Memoriam, was composed in 1993, after my father had passed away and while my mother was suffering the devastating effects of a severe stroke. The poem recalls the dignity of their lives—my father, a prisoner of war, and my mother, an orphan of war—both of whom devoted their efforts and imagination to instilling in their children a renewed and untainted love for life. More than anything, it is a tribute to the endurance of their personalities and values, which remain vivid in my memory.
Both my parents were teachers. My mother lost her father at the age of two due to a wound he had sustained during World War I, and her mother at six because of post-war malnutrition. She was placed in an orphanage in Naples, where she spent her youth until she graduated as a teacher. My father, a teacher of Italian, was working in Rhodes when, at the outbreak of World War II, he was recalled by the Fascist regime to serve as an officer. Having lived in Rhodes for seven years, he had developed the sensibility of an exile and had grown almost estranged from the state of affairs in Fascist Italy. Yet, like many others, he had no choice but to fulfill his duty, commanding a platoon to fight in a war he despised.
Following the American landing in Salerno, my hometown, on 9 December 1943, and the subsequent downfall of Mussolini—ousted by German paratroopers—my father and his platoon were taken as prisoners of war by the Nazis. They were held for two years in a concentration camp in Düsseldorf, where they endured starvation and brutal mistreatment until the day of the Liberation.
After the war, my parents, each independently and unaware of the other's existence, applied for teaching positions at the same school in the small village of Serre, where they soon met. Traumatized by his wartime experiences, my father longed to build a family with someone who shared his sense of loss and resilience. Having already exchanged a month’s worth of polite “buongiorno” greetings and a few strong coffees in the teachers' common room, he began courting his new, enigmatic colleague—my mother. After just a few days, and following a midnight serenade beneath her rented room in the village square, he proposed. With disarming candor, he declared himself enchanted by her beauty and intelligence, assuring her that he would be the happiest man alive if she agreed to marry him within, let’s say, three months. He added that he had already prepared a lovely home, secured a modest patrimony, and that his family would be honored to welcome her as his wife.
Far from being unsettled by his directness, my mother responded:
"Dearest Leopoldo, I find your proposal intriguing, and I must admit I am interested. However, I need to be entirely certain that your father and sisters fully approve of your choice. I therefore ask that your father write to me regarding this matter. Moreover, I have just begun rebuilding my life and career, and I have no time to waste on a long engagement. So rather than three months, I propose we marry in one."
Thus, after a swift negotiation, they wed at the next new moon.
In Memoriam is my tribute to their unwavering dignity and resilience in the face of war’s devastation. It is also a testament to the enduring presence of their honorable lives within me.
The second poem, The Nature of Melancholy, written in November 2001 when I unsubscribed from Poetryetc, explores—through an overtly speculative lens—the interplay between poetics and ethics. Figuratively and allegorically, it reflects on the inevitable effects of a severed relationship, whether rooted in love or animosity, and the melancholy attachments (to be read both emotionally and, playfully, as digital “file attachments”) that linger in our sensibilities and minds.
