So many colonisers here in this
terra amara, this bitter land –
from Ancient Greece to Bourbon Spain,
from Ancient Rome to Scandinavia,
from the Caliphate to Swabia – fitting
therefore that our cable car cabin
should be muti-lingual, each of us
keeping our space, averting our eyes.
As we descend from Via Luigi
Pirandello to Isola Bella,
past terraces with sun loungers, over
the Campo Sportivo and the tangled
scrub in the gorge, we hear suddenly
from the air itself it seems, from nowhere,
the first bars of ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ –
those fateful sisters who will choose the half,
in battle, that shall be killed, the half that live.
There is a confident flurry of amused
Nordic voices: ‘Er vi i himmelen?’
(Are we in heaven?) ‘Eller helvede?’
(Or hell?) You whisper, ‘The Vikings are back!’