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| Diana, from the Villa Arianna in Stabiae National Archaeological Museum, Napoli Photo by New York Scugnizzo |
August 15th marks the Ferragosto, the modern manifestation of the ancient Roman Feriae Augusti. Instituted in 18 B.C. by Emperor Augustus, the month long celebration paid homage to the gods for a bountiful harvest as well as the changing seasons. The goddess Diana was especially revered during the festivities.
With the advent of Christianity, the festival was eclipsed by the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Today the various towns of Southern Italy celebrate the holiday in their own fashion, usually with fireworks, large meals, or a leisurely trip to the beach.
Some of the more interesting celebrations include The Feast of the Madonna della Madia in Monopoli, Puglia, where townspeople reenact the discovery of the Marian icon that washed into the harbor on a raft in the eleventh century; and the so-called "Burning of the Svevo castle" in Termoli, Molise, which recalls a vicious attack by the Ottoman Turks in 1566.
Some of the more interesting celebrations include The Feast of the Madonna della Madia in Monopoli, Puglia, where townspeople reenact the discovery of the Marian icon that washed into the harbor on a raft in the eleventh century; and the so-called "Burning of the Svevo castle" in Termoli, Molise, which recalls a vicious attack by the Ottoman Turks in 1566.
In celebration, I'm reprinting "And It Won't Rain Anymore," a poem by Alessandro Dommarco.(*) The accompanying photo of Diana Saettatrice, or "Diana as an Archer," from the Villa Ariana in Stabiae was taken during my 2010 visit to the National Archaeological Museum in Naples.
And It Won't Rain Anymore
Summer you were. As you came in the room
with you came in the sea, seaweeds and rocks:
and the sun came in and through the olive trees
came the cicadas, and the countryside
of an August night stars in the sky and quivering of crickets.
Scarlet August moon, a full moon you were
inside the room: and you ran within me
laughing in my veins, deep within my blood.
You were, my love, the light, the air,
the scent of earth, the colors, the flowers of the summer.
Summer you were. And like a mellowed fig
you melted in my mouth, sugar and love:
you let me nibble you grape after grape like a juicy bunch.
And I caught fire like a vine shoot, and burned before your eyes.
(*) Reprinted from Dialect Poetry of Southern Italy: Texts and Criticism, edited by Luigi Bonaffini, Legas, 1997, P. 44
