I Am Not Italian

Billy Collins reminds us that when we travel, even if we are not natives in the country, we can “do as the Romans do” and enjoy the delights of the local culture. By drinking an espresso in a “little white cup,” the speaker – not an Italian – can taste “the same sweetness of life” as the locals.

I am Not Italian, Billy Collins

I am not Italian, technically speaking,
yet here I am leaning on a zinc bar in Florence
on a sunny weekday morning,
my foot up on the smooth iron railing
just like the other men, who,
it must be said, are officially and fully Italian.

It’s 8:40 and they are off to work,
some in offices, others sweeping the streets,
while I am off to a museum or a church
to see paintings, maybe light a candle in an alcove.
Yet here we all are in our suits and work shirts
joined in the brotherhood of espresso,

or how is it said? La fratellanza dell’espresso,
draining our little white cups
with a quick flourish of the wrist,
each of us tasting the same sweetness of life,
if you take a little sugar, and the bitterness
of its brevity, whether you choose to take sugar or not.

Billy Collins

I recently listened to a performance of Billy Collins reading a collection of his poems. Not all poets read their own poems well, but Collins's readings are superb, the cadence and tone of his voice a perfect vehicle for the poems on the page. Listening to his poems, it is no surprise to me that Collins is so wildly popular. His poems speak of the ordinary and the everyday in a new and often very ironic way that illicits laughter and delight. 

Humor is one of the most distinguishing characteristics of his poetry. He knows how to be both clear and mysterious, simple and profound. Whether he is spoofing love poems that pile on excessive metaphors on the beloved - as he does in "Litany," or describing the poignant vulnerability of a building ruined by an explosion - as he does in "Building With Its Face Blown Off," he is a master of his craft.