af Jonathan Matthew Schwartz
They were always a problem:
Which string to pull,
To open or close,
Daylight or night.
They rattled
And flapped,
Dust on each blade,
Except where you touched.
You cannot open the windows
Where Venetian blinds are hung.
Thanksgiving 2011.
This poem has a hidden lesson. I and my wife spent three days in Venice, November 2011. Of course I had the ambition of writing at least one poem about the canals, the buildings, the boats, the people, paintings, etc. Nothing came out either in the hotel room, cafes, trains on the way home, or even back home. But I remembered my father's study at home in Detroit 1930's, (1940's) which had Venetian Blinds, since there were many windows. So I wrote "Venetian Blinds", not about the city but about the chlldhood home. Also a kind of blindness. Best, Jonathan