Great Storm in Venice
​
Part 1
Along the canals
A brute, mutant gust
dived under the veranda,
threw my book from the table,
Scattered the owner’s sauces and napkins,
and pushed his chair to the ground.
The street rang out
with animated shouts.
The tourists grasping billowing carry bags,
and featherweight hats,
It seemed to come from out of nowhere.
The next wind wailed
into my ear
and as I flung out a hand to grab my book
A shadow fell over the ground.
In seconds the azure, divine sky
had been ambushed
by a charging army.
The air tense and electrified
with the looming threat
of the first bomb.
Out bounded the owner
To rescue the fleeing napkins and ketchup packets
And grab up the armpits of the fallen chair
But he stopped dead, eyes blazing
At the woman clinging
onto a lamppost-
her dress flailing
like a kite
as the claws of the wind tried to drag her away.
And all around
bodies surged
with increased urgency,
singing Caspita!
in lilting Italian as
their collective awareness’s
heightened
and their interest in their surroundings
shot up
while the black warrior clouds continued
to be blasted across
the lowered roof.
The air was heavy and pulsing
and everybody seemed to be waiting for it.
And then it happened.
A deep groan creaked from above
and the sky ripped open.
Dropping great white sheets
that were caught by the wind and
missiled through the air.
To the sound of shouting vowels
The owner ran back inside.
Running and hiding
The sky groaned like a wounded beast
and then exploded with a thunder
that rumbled
and shook the ground.
People were running
at various paces,
Some of the men
half-waddling,
half-jogging
in that funny socially-conscious way
that only adults do.
And some of the women were
shrieking aloud
to express the inner excitement
that they couldn’t contain.
Screeching,
like little girls
to let out the glee
at the break in the monotony
that was spicing up everyone’s lives.
The Tribal Excitement
I strapped on my rucksack,
stepped onto the pavement.
Rain thrashed down
with the force of a waterfall.
So hard it was bouncing
back up off the concrete
and over
my already-soaked shoes.
I headed
towards the terminal
where strangers huddled under the iron roof
that was curved
like an upturned boat.
Some were crouching
in 100m sprinter poses
as they waited to make run for it.
No sad faces though,
only grins and wide eyes
as one by one
they would dart out
into the deluge,
Screaming with delight
as it soaked them.
The Eye of the Storm
I got under the roof
and walked in its shelter
towards the edge,
where surging waves were smashing
up and down,
Like angry Neptune battling
the force of Zeus.
And all to the strange musical tune
of breaking glass.
I’d hardly ever seen
waves like it,
even in the North Sea!
The lowered sky merged
with bristling waves.
I could barely make out
the grey shroud
of Venice beyond.
I was in the eye of the storm.
I wanted to get on that water!
I spotted a young, wide-eyed girl
behind me,
asked her which boat to get to the train station?
She said number 9.
I asked her if was always like this here?
“No, its not-a.
It’s never’a been this before-ih,
and I’m a bit-a scared-ih!”
she serenaded,
her brown eyes
staring at the downpour
battering against the roof.
We shared something psychically
as we watched together.
Everybody was,
and it was great to see-
All the people huddling close,
exchanging smiles,
conglomerating the shared experience
of elemental freakishness.
It was tribal.
Anarchic.
Way more ancient
than all the tourist-gawking places
that Venice had to offer.
Then the rattle of a machine engine
came up from behind me,
and I turned to see
the number 9 vaperatto
tossing about like a see-saw.
“That’s the one-a” The girl said,
and I thanked her
and headed round the railings.
Chapter 2.
The Holy Boatman
I waited on the platform
as the boat teetered over
and the boatman emerged-
his black poncho drenched
like a seal.
He leapt up onto the platform
and unclipped the rope for me,
and I carefully stepped down
onto the boat.
The waiting room was packed.
People standing on each other’s toes.
I didn’t really care anyway
and stood out under
the exposed middle,
the rain lashing into me
at a 90-degree angle.
I let it wash through me
as I looked up at the tall boatman-
Standing resplendently,
with the rope in his hand,
his eyes beholding the sky
and his lips stretching wider,
and wider,
until his serene, uncontainable smile
beamed like a lighthouse.
The passengers chattered
inside, their eyes darting
out the windows.
Some of them soaked to the bone
And shuffling about,
Stepping in puddles as they tried
to get comfortable.
But no-one else
got onboard,
and the engine
kicked in.
The boatman untied the rope,
and we were off
in the direction
of the flashing western sky.
The lone man pushing through the rain
The house roofs
on the island to my left
had been swallowed up
in the greyness of a new,
enclosed world.
Another menacing rumble went out.
The boat went on.
There was another island on the left,
I think it was Guidecca.
And on the far side of the water
under the red-tinted sky,
a lone man, was pushing bravely
through the rain,
staying tight to the wall,
in the little shelter
of the overhanging roof.
Life was here.
On edge.
And all that mattered
was nature.
The Cowboy Boatman
The boat shuddered on
slowly and
turbulently,
and though the next terminal was empty,
the driver steered us in.
The cowboy boatman emerged,
looping his rope,
lassoing it round the lodge post,
then snaking it round
to secure us.
While the engine kept running,
the boat still moving,
he sprang his right foot up
onto the platform,
balancing with his left
on the boat,
darting his head left
then right,
then untying
milliseconds later.
He leapt back onboard
As we edged towards the town.
The streaks of lightning
The boat crept up
to the side of Venice,
passing a graveyard
then drawing up by
the old buildings
and walkways
alongside the grand canal,
edging up by St Marks.
The sky stopped flashing,
and its overcast parted,
to reveal a giant orange ball.
It was astonishing.
The setting sun
sending fiery red,
orange,
and yellow beams
through the gaps in the thin clouds and
lighting up the world
with a technicolor performance.
And it got even better
as it sunk lower,
and reflected against the sea,
sending blues
and purples
up
to paint a rainbow-coloured paradise
in the western sky.
But in all other directions,
especially behind us.
it was the bipolar opposite-
The clouds puffed up and swollen
as dark as night.
It was like looking from
Zeus’s battlefield
to Jesus’s heavenly domain.
And just then,
as the western sky remained calm,
a crooked fork of lightening
lit up the north
like a bomb!
Supercharging the sky
with a sizzling crackle
that was followed by a deafening, echoing
BOOM!
The racket continued
as the lightning spread its way
to the southern sky and
jumped over our heads
to the north,
flashing and frazzling and roaring
in every direction
like each part held
a separate God
trying to express itself.
The man-child and his wife
The boat slowed,
pulled into another stop.
Half the people got off
as quickly as they could.
I was happy
where I was,
and was already soaked anyway.
More people got on;
a husband and wife dressed in shorts and t-shirts.
The wife walked through and stood
under the shelter,
and the husband grudgingly
followed her,
But changed his mind,
and came out to stand next to me.
As the boat pulled out
I looked at him-
Around 40ish,
bald head gleaming as the light
bounced off his wet scalp,
his t-shirt stuck tight to his skin.
A broad smile forced itself on his face,
and his eyes were bright
with the joy of life.
His inner child shining through
and leaping out from his soul.
His wife stayed behind him,
bowing under the shelter
of the waiting area ceiling.
And though her eyes weren’t serious,
she sounded like she was scolding him
in that sweet singing Italian accent.
I couldn’t help myself,
and burst out laughing.
The man looked at me strangely,
then looked back at his wife.
They silently communicated something
and she broke into a cheeky grin
that confirmed to me
that she had been telling him off.
I looked out over the water and smiled.
A few more rumbles
called out from behind us
as the boat chugged along.
But it was gradually quieting,
and the rain slowed too.
The odd flash was still going off
in the distance
as I got off at Santa Lucia,
and walked towards the train station.