What are your thoughts on Italian nationalist poet Gabriele D'Annunzio, who was the subject of the documentary "Fiume o morte!"?

Romanza; A una torpediniera nell'Adriatico; Assisi; Bocca d'Arno; La pioggia nel pineto; I pastori.

O Sea, o glory, strength of Italy, at last from your free surges let Youth flash out like tempered steel to the wind!

and in the broad circle of the water the flowering hills, mirrored, seem images of pyramids overcome in the ivy’s triumph.

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His works include “San Pantaleone", a collection of short stories, and novels that include “Il piacere", “Il trionfo della morte" and “Il fuoco". His plays include “Francesca da Rimini" and “La figlia di Iorio". The latter is often considered his masterpiece. “Il fuoco" is the story of his love affair with the actress Eleonora Duse.

D'Annunzio's works may not be profound but they are outstanding for their verbal brilliance and a frank sensualty. He also wrote poetry and his poetry is to be rescued from his complete works. The small body so salvaged shows irrestible youth, sensuality and vigour if somewhat tinged by a Romantic's dissatisfaction with the world.

Fiume refers, of course, to the city into which D'Annunzio led troops in defiance of the League of Nations, afterward ruling the city for almost two years. “Fiume or morte" translates as “Fiume or death".

Women like what they hear while men like what they see, it that true?

Others of his poems include:

In his youth D'Annunzio was a duelist and dandy and during World War I his feats in the Italian army, navy and air force became legendary. In his final years he lived as a recluse in a splendid villa on Lake Garda under the watchful eye of Fascists who in 1924 had made him Prince of Monteneviso.

It feels: the querulous sea-gulls skim it in crowds, similar, in the distance, ochre and black sails pass rocked in the great sun;

I want to have anal sex, but my wife refuses. What do I do?

The following is my prose translation of just one of his poems.

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Canto del sole (Song of the Sun)

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Thalatta! thalatta! let your short numbers fly, spring from the youthful heart, let them go spurting upwards, o divine Asclepiades!

Look, the green sea wakes fresh to freshest breezes; it feels in its lap the green loves of the seaweed.