FEILE-FESTA
Spring 2011

Poetry

Ancestors
- R. Baldasty
Beloved Albatross
- D. Bastianutti
From Trã Bãn
- K. Cain
The Current (La Corrente)
- L. Calio
Down with the King
- M. Cirelli
May Mass – 1957
- L. Dolan
America
- G. Fagiani
Persephone’s Devotion to Her Mother
- M. Fazio
Bastardu
- V. Fazio
Christmas
- D. Festa
L’Amour, L’Amour on Summer Afternoons (L’Amour, L’Amour D’estati Filuvespiri)
- M. Frasca
Sgrìob
- S. Jackson
Sirocco
- W.F. Lantry
Little Swift
- R. León
Since You Asked
- M. Lisella
Dublin 2010
- V. Maher
39 Fifth Avenue
- C. Matos
Sunrise in Sicily
- A. O’Donnell
Watching Monzú at Work
- F. Polizzi
L’incontru (Rendezvous)
- N. Provenzano
Propriu Quannu Sta Scurannu (When the Day Is Almost Over)
- N. Provenzano
Bones (Le Ossa)
- D. Pucciani
Things
- E. Swados
Mount Etna
- G. Syverson
Poet Jack Foley Says, “We’re Not Writing for Eternity
- J. Wells
Lord of Winter
- A. Zanelli

FEILE-FESTA
Spring 2011

Prose

Review of Frank Ingrasciotta’s play, BLOOD TYPE RAGU
- L. Calio
Dinner for Three
- D. De Santis
Notes
- A. Guruianu
Review of Carol Bonomo Albright & Christine Palamidessi Moore’s anthology, AMERICAN WOMAN, ITALIAN STYLE
- R. Holz
Review of Joanna Clapps Herman’s memoir, THE ANARCHIST BASTARD, GROWING UP ITALIAN IN AMERICA
- R. Holz
Exiles in the Lost World of Italian Food in America. Review of Anthony Di Renzo’s BITTER GREENS
- M. Lisella
Reverbs
- A. Morazán
The Bearded Woman of Inis Mor
- D. Schummer

Featured Artists
Andy Kover

Richard Holz

BIOGRAPHIES

Contributors

Diana Festa

Christmas A respite from misanthropy, sparkles, mistletoes and warbling songs - holiday crowds move in invisible banners, the philanthropy of the sky. A horse in Central Park weaves a buggy through the snow, snorting puffs of breath in the air. I hold a woolen scarf, old threads from wartime, years ago in Italy - horses neighed on the other side of the wall. Strangers in the village, we huddled by a meager fire of chips gathered from beneath the snow. A festive bowl of oranges on the table, we drank water from the well, warmed by the flames, listened to donkeys’ and cows’ mournful pleas. Dogs barked at the fall of the sun. Rumbles of war again - and the smell of sulfur, the killing in far lands, boys sent to wars spawn by the elders. I try not to think of blood and death - not today. I drink champagne with friends. We toast to poetry, verses lodged in the throat.