Dawn rises above the waters
Slapping the Venice Islands to gold
Crossing the arched bridge
Into the Rialto Market
My vest and robes are brown mud
My stall is stocked with fish & spice
From faraway lands, beyond the seas
Where the sun is goddess of ice
The tides are low as boats
Move towards the Grand Canal
In the square, under the Church bells
The market is noisy & aggressive as gulls
I barter and make deals
My word is good as gold
I sink my teeth to silver coins
To trade is to be bold
My pocket is lined with parchments
My biggest haul is selling slaves
Caught and weighed in the market
The skin of young men & women
are sold as concubines
Even convents need slaves
for domestic labor in the field, the galleys
are stocked with slaves until their graves
I sell death sentences
That dark gondolier is my slave
No festival mask can hide my gleaming eyes
As I stake my future in this market
Where I can reap great fortunes
Or where I can lost everything
By misfortune or due the wars
Midnight or dawn, this business is king
Notes:
The Venetian slave trade refers to the slave trade conducted by the Republic of Venice, primarily from the early to the late Middle Ages. The slave trade was a contributing factor to the early prosperity of the young Republic of Venice as a major trading empire in the Mediterranean Sea.
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB: It Begins at Dawn, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury. I had a fortunate experience of spending some time in Venice as part of my Italy vacation. I learned the good and ugly from the local tour guides. Thanks for your visits and comments.
Venice is one of my favourite place in the world, Grace, and I find its history fascinating. I love the way you set the scene in the opening lines, the Rialto Market and the boats on the canal. You’ve used sound evocatively too.
ReplyDeletewhat a brilliant setting for the dawn or should I say rising. The poem reads so liltingly with its medieval tales like the dark waters beneath
ReplyDelete"That dark gondolier is my slave
No festival mask can hide my gleaming eyes "
History comes alive under your pen, Grace, the poetic voice throbbing with the merchant's greed and recklessness for gain and the imagery rife with the city's sights and sounds, the inhumanities of trade and the slave trade's cruel dehumanizations, so casually engaged. The lines of the third stanza drive this home, opening as it does with "My pocket is lined with parchments" -- bills of sale for the "skin of young men and women." Powerful imagery.
ReplyDeletestrange spices, sun as goddess of ice, and the effortlessness of trading slaves. What a Venitian tapestry woven!!! Wow.
ReplyDeletemuch♡love
Such a beautiful facade of beauty with such ugliness underneath. Maybe it's best that Venice returns to the sea.
ReplyDeleteOne of my enduring memories is being allowed to handle JMW Turner watercolours in the print room of the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford when I was 17. Mostly of Venice, though I suspect they were sunsets rather than dawns but i have never yet managed to get there in the flesh. But this poem telling of the trade in human flesh tells of a much darker side to Venice...
ReplyDeleteBravissima! A very rich and enriching Arora-styed poem, though not for those slaves... Beautifully balanced and nuanced, Grace. x
ReplyDeleteHi Grace, this is a wonderful poem that shares a story of greed for one and tragedy for others.
ReplyDeleteI love the contrast of dawn and gold, life and slave. Are we ever without it? This poem tantalises then conflicts with I sell death sentences. Powerful words.
ReplyDeleteSuch a beautiful write, Grace! Merchants of Venice was the first Shakespearean play we studied in school. The underbelly of ugliness hidden behind the glitter of gold! A compelling write for sure.
ReplyDelete