Arroma at the Campo de 'Fiori, one of the famous kilns in the area, attached to the wall there is this poem by Neruda:
"I said more than once
that the best poet is the man who gives us daily bread, the baker
nearest you hear god.
He does his majestic and humble work
to mix, put in the oven, and brown
deliver our daily bread with a Community obligation.
And if the poet goes up to this simple consciousness, the mere consciousness
can also become a part of a huge craft,
construction of a simple or complicated
which is the building of society,
the transformation of the conditions that surround the man,
delivery of goods:
bread, truth, wine and dreams. "
Pablo Neruda
For this reason, almost every day, I will return to potermela lunch break to read, to look into the eyes of gentlemen bakers and smell of good bread.
[ edit: There is no bad bread. the proper expression of this thought is, "and smell of good bread."]
