Poem for Italy's river: Father Po
The river Po rises in the Italian Alps and flows 400 miles eastwards through Turin, Cremona, Ferrara, and out into the Adriatic via its delta just south of Venice. Usually it creates a wide fertile flood plain, the source of Italy’s famed Risotto rice and many other crops. But this year (2022) with the worst drought for 70 years, extreme heat and hardly any snow cover in the Alps, all attributed to Climate Change, it has nearly disappeared. The whole region has declared a state of emergency.
Ancient Father Po, King of Rivers, we are connected to you.
For generations your swollen marshland
Defined the landscape and sustained nature’s growth,
Located towns and castles, fortresses of our culture.
Drunken Father Po, widened with rage
Shaking a fist at all authority,
Where brigands and vagabond musicians
Used to slip sides to avoid arrest.
Sacred Father Po, we are deeply connected to you,
Fellow entities in the same Biosphere.
Consuming your water and eating your bounty,
Life shared with you inhabits our own body organs.
Abused Father Po, we exploited and plundered you -
Source of raw materials and to cool power stations.
Now forgotten hulks lie exposed on your sandy bed,
Coypu* gnaw at your tree root bones.
Missing Father Po, our voices mix with shrieks of swifts above your silence.
It tries to rain, heavy drops hit the earth
Like tears, but immediately evaporate.
At your source, early Alpine flowers peep through the thin snow.
Sine aqua non erit vita.