Fog (Giovanni Pascoli)

Today's poem, Fog by Giovanni Pascoli (or a better Italian version) reminds me of the fog that chokes Sacramento's streets some mornings. I had never seen much fog before I moved to California and it's such a phenomenon - it sits and obscures and eventually the sun does lift it. Somehow when they are aloft, clouds seem way more magical. Fog is not wispy or daydream-inspiring (for me, at least). It's neat, but it seems to get in the way.

Although, the N is today's poem, seems to kind of want the fog to sit and obscure many things from him. Repeatedly, he demands, "Hide every distant thing" of the fog. Maybe N's mind is too concerned with the past and future that he does not see what is present / in front of him. From the things he asks the fog to hide from him (the dead, people drunk on tears), it seems that someone he cares for has recently died and he wants the fog to insulate him from his grief. 


Which is definitely understandable, though if it's a healthy way to deal with one's grief is yet to be seen. Although, I do understand wanting space from your grief, so that N may engage with the present world - may notice - "near / to me, my dog". 

I think fog's a great metaphor for grief. It sits - seemingly immobile, obscures, is all consuming. And eventually, some midday sun lessens it until you can move about your day. 

Cool poem.

Favorite line: "Hide every distant thing, / you wan impalpable fog"