This is an interesting poem by Yao Lu that refers to competitive commercial space travel but has deeper meaning. It is a difficult poem to translate and I added some footnotes for clarification. I hope that you will enjoy it.
The distant moon up there, behind the clouds (if you look carefully, you may be able to see the pit made by the space traveler in the back side of the moon: good luck!) – Photo by F. Marincola; Brandenburg, Germany, April 18, 2024.
降落
月亮啊，蒙着面紗的月亮啊！
请让我降落在凹凸不平的表面。
夜晚点火发射，照亮漆黑场景，
开工已无回头箭，我的故乡是地球，
穿着厚重的宇航服，大口呼吸氧气，
在银色飞船里，窗外漂浮的太空垃圾，
远处那顆木星的光环也会化作尘埃吗？
看似漫长的旅行，距离不到1光年，
整体脱离空间站时，莫问我的归期。
据说月亮上有个男人在砍桂树，
如果我能加速飞行去探索真相，
请让我软着陆在广阔的风暴洋，
不小心……撞击在背部，留下深坑。
Landed
Moon, veiled moon!
Please let me land on the uneven surface.
Ignite[1] and emit at night, illuminating the pitch black scene,
There is no turning back arrow after we start. My hometown is Earth,
Wearing heavy spacesuits, breathing oxygen in large gulps,
In the silver spaceship while space debris float outside the window,
Will the halo of Jupiter in the distance also turn into dust?
A seemingly long journey, less than a light year away,
Everything was removed from the space station, don’t ask me about my return date.
It is said that there is a man on the moon chopping a laurel tree[2],
If I could accelerate my flight to explore the truth,
Please let me make a soft landing in the vast Oceanus Procellarum,
Accidentally… hit the back, leaving a deep pit.[3]
[1] Ignite refers to the space craft that is launched at night.
[2] A Chinese myth related to the Mid-Autumn Festival about a woodman condemned by the Gods to chop a self-healing laurel tree day by day on the moon, a Chinese version of Sisyphus.
[3] The front and back of the moon are different, with more craters on the far than on the front side. The literary meaning is to satirize those who use other people’s blind spots to make profits.
This is a short story inspired by the last verse of Yao Lu’s beautiful poem: “Disappeared” written at the times of COVID and by the memory of many friends lost during those times and of those who barely survived. I wondered so many time what might have passed through the mind of those who spent so much time in the twilight of life.
Sunset over the Santa Catalina mountains – Photo by F. Marincola, Tucson, AZ, January 4, 2024
Citizen of the past
With an introductory poem by Yao Lu
Disappeared by Yao Peck Lu
I disappeared, forever.
don’t know why I disappeared forever.
They said a disease took me away.
Before I disappeared, it seemed that my ADHD was cured.
Before I disappeared, I drove the car in intimate contact with an unobtrusive roadside tree.
Before I disappeared, I had a successful orthopedic operation after a failed walk,
Before I disappeared, I realized that I forgot the name of an old friend,
Before I disappeared, I occasionally thought of my young lover,
Before I disappeared, I accepted that I was an ordinary adult,
Before I disappeared, my hair started to disappear,
My old friend’s hair also started to disappear.
Invisible and evil forces attacked me,
Anyway, I disappeared,
…like an extinguished lamp.
Relight me,
Hang me in the night sky of the big world,
Always shining among bright stars,
…so, I can watch you gradually forget me.
***
我已消失
我已消失，永远地。
我不知道我为什么永远地消失了，
他们说一场疾病带走了我。
在消失之前，
我的多动症痊愈了，
我开着汽车与不醒目的路边树亲密接触，
我迈着失败的步伐进行了一场成功的骨科手术，
忘记一个老朋友的姓名，
我偶尔回想起年少时的恋人，
如今，
我接受自己是个平凡的大人。
在我消失之前，
我的头发在消失，
老友的头发也在消失。
邪恶势力在攻击我，
谁丢下了自保武器和防御铠甲？
总之我已消失，
如同一盏熄灭的灯。
重新点亮我，
将我挂在大世界的夜空中，
长明如星光，
凝望着你慢慢忘记我。
***
Citizen of the past
…What am I doing here?
Wasn’t I supposed to be dead?
Last I remember …I drew the gun from the drawer, and pointing it to the temple, I pulled the trigger.
So, what is this awareness? Wasn’t everything supposed to be black afterwards?
Did I miss the target?
I don’t think so.
Let me check the pulse.
No detectable pulse, in fact, no pulse at all.
Yet, I am here.
The hotel room is empty and clean, the bed made and immaculate as if I was never there.
Let me go to the bathroom and check at the mirror.
…nobody there.
Indeed, I am dead.
But then, why am I here? Is this what being dead is about?
Then what was the point of the suicide?
Sure, I was tired. My life had been fulfilling but also too complicated and overwhelming. Powerful and disjoint, even conflicting memories accumulated with time, haunting me. Perhaps a simpler life would have been easier to endure. As one ages, memories dominate and can’t be dismissed, like ghosts they take control of one’s brain.
So many attempts I made to restructure the course of lifetime events into a sequential logic; a controlled fiction meant to create a bedtime story that I could recite each evening before falling asleep. A story that could make sense of what happened and that I could bear and accept. All I was trying to achieve was to stay alive till the time I would die.
For too many years I carried the baggage of depression, not much to look forward, only problems that with age grow bigger and unpractical, …and regrets and anguish, …and irrelevance! Nobody needs or cares for an old carcass. As my grandpa used to say: “Who would be concerned about an old guy whose main purpose in life is to waste its time flossing dentures instead of throwing them into the dishwasher?”
All I wished was to get over once and for all.
But instead, …still here? What was the point then? And what’s next?
Maybe there is an afterlife in the end?
Am I in Limbo waiting for the final judgment? And how does it work? Do I need to fill out an application?
Let me Google it:
No such thing. My phone is gone, no internet in the afterlife.
…Wait a minute, here is my passport, or something that looks like it.
It spells my name correctly:
John Desire
followed by:
“Citizen of the past.”
No birthplace, no birthdate, no address.
Only instruction:
Good for visiting Earth’s past and present.
Issued on Earth’s calendar: October 23, 2023.
Issued by: Mr. Satan.
Place of issuance: Hell.
Expiration: Never.
So, this is what Hell is all about? Infinite time to regurgitate and ruminate the past?
…At least no more future! No more deadlines, impertinent alarm clocks, scheduled payments, license renewals, smog tests, etc.
That’s why I killed myself! The future was really getting on my nerves!
And…, …of course, no future after death!!! There is no future, just as much as there is no past or present in the stillness of eternity. Periods are only a terrestrial proposition, a succession of causes and effects that bestow the illusion of the passing of time. But motion belongs only to the living matter, spirits cannot built causality, the past is frozen and only memories persist; how the soul deals with recollections determines its place in hell or haven.
…Expiration: never!!!
Wow, easy to get tenure in Hell! I guess!
So, what am I supposed to do now?
A stale eternity ahead!
Is there anybody to talk to? Dead or alive?
If I still had a head, I would scratch it!
Obviously, the infernal damnation is to get bored to death,
…I guess what I meant to say: bored to “after death”, …I guess!
In truth, I am not bored.
It is sort of interesting instead.
All anxieties …gone!
And even the knee pain is gone …together with the knee.
So, what happened to my home, my belongings?
I see it now. It’s empty!! A for sale sign in front.
Everything is at the mercy of my daughter and my companion.
What a mess! I forgot to write a will before shooting myself.
Therapists should have a policy before accepting a patient:
“Write your will; …just in case!”
Too late now! Besides, who cares? It is all out of my hands!
But why is Mary selling the house? Can’t she live there? It is a beautiful home!
Maybe she found already a companion and she is moving in with him?
That would not surprise me. How could I blame her?
I was just a menace, let’s be honest.
Do you think I did not noticed how she looked at me before coming to bed?
It was just contempt. I don’t think that she hated me. She just tolerated my idiosyncrasies.
But why didn’t she ever say anything?
At least I did some good by departing. She can live a better life now without having to tolerate a lunatic.
I am sort of curious though about how she took the news of my death.
***
Wait! I see her! She is answering the phone.
“Mam? Are you Ms. Mary Dust?”
“Yes?”
“Are you Mr. John Desire’s companion? He had you down as the emergency contact.”
“Yes, I am, why?”
“I am sorry Mam; Mr. Desire is dead.”
“What?!”
She is sobbing loud, her chest is shaking, she seats on the floor.
“What happened, he was fine before he left for the business trip!”
“I am sorry mam; he was declared dead at the scene. He shot himself in the hotel room.”
“Where is he now?”
“It’s here at the coroner’s office. We have to perform the autopsy. Did he have family?”
Mary sobs, lays on the floor, curls up into a fetal position. She cannot answer: her words are undecipherable.
I feel bad for her. I am surprised that she cares that much.
Maybe …just women you know? Drama queens! She will get over soon.
“It is all my fault.” She cries.
“it is my fault. I did not listen to him, how many times did he tell me that he was tired? That he could not bear to live anymore. I thought that it was making a mountain out of a molehill, never took him seriously.”
“Mam? Sorry for interrupting, did Mr. Desire have a family?”
“A daughter, just a daughter. I can call her.”
Maria’s hands are shaking; she dials:
“Katie, Katie, your dad is dead. It’s all my fault. I did not listen to him. He was a good man, I loved him so much! But I am not good at expressing myself. I loved him!”
“What happened?”
I can hear Katie sobbing on the other side, in fact I can see her.
This must be a magic passport to the past, when I think of something, I see it!
Now the two women are crying without speaking a word.
It breaks my heart!
What is the big deal? Suicide is just like turning the light switch off before going to sleep at night. Can you imagine going through this pantomime every night?
In any case, I thought that they would be happy! Maybe “happy” isn’t the best word, … “relieved”, that’s it! They would be relieved for not having to deal with me anymore.
…They could share my inheritance, while dealing with life without having to tolerate my eccentricities!
…It is just women; emotional! But they will get over soon. They will just move on and forget about me.
***
Just wonder what happened to my body. Just out of curiosity. Cremated I guess. Much more affordable. Why waste money on a loser?
But wait a minute, what is that fresh mound overseeing the Pacific Ocean? My name is engraved on the slate. That’s me, buried there! Quite fancy piece of real-estate for a dud.
And all those flowers? Wreath after wreath; from family, friends, colleagues, professional societies! They must have been so happy to get rid of me that they had to celebrate with flowers!
Look at that one:
“To our John, love forever. Your students, past and present.”
“We will miss you John, the University Faculty.”
What is this? Are they doing this to make me feel guilty?
If I could only talk:
“First of all.” I would say. “First of all, I do not deserve any of this. You know it better than anyone else. Second, you did not do much for me when I was alive, why would you care now that I am gone?”
But I cannot talk. I should have left a note. Tell everyone not to worry; all is fine. Nothing to commiserate about. Just a win/win for everyone.
Now Michael takes the stand.
“John, I am sorry, we are all sorry. You were the best friend and mentor to all of us. A little eccentric sometimes, but caring and gentle; the office door always open to anyone; always, no matter how busy you were.
I remember our chats about science, about people, gossiping and laughing, looking at the photos of your past disciples on the wall of your office, with their grateful notes. I remember the one from Jessica:
“Thank you, John. I am proud that I survived Professor Desire’s lab!”
I wish you could say the same of yourself. I wish you could have survived yourself.
Perhaps, I was your closest friend, I wish I was there when you needed me.”
I look around, I see Mary. She is crying profusely. Not a word said. My daughter instead is frozen, not a tear. I see her shaking hands as people leave, one at the time. Murmuring mechanically:
“Thank you for coming.”
Her husband and the grandchildren are not present.
I “go” to her house. The grandchildren are sleeping, not sure where her husband is. I “walk” around, no pictures of me; none, not stuck on the refrigerator door, none on the walls, desks, counters, anywhere. I guess I am already forgotten. That’s good. Let’s all move on.
The doorbell rings.
It’s Mary.
“Thanks Katie for letting me visit. I cannot bear it anymore to be alone, I cannot be in that home, I see him everywhere. Every corner has a memory, so fresh and sweet. I cannot tell you how I wish that I could see him just once again. Thank him for all he did for me, for being my loyal companion for all these years, for listening to me, patiently when I was upset, for encouraging me. He was so quiet. I remember how he looked at me lately, as if he was yearning for something, asking for something that he did not have the courage to ask for. It haunts me that I did not ask him. Simply ask:
“is anything bothering you?”
Perhaps just hug him.
I took him for granted. I barely said bye when he left for the trip.
And now, he will never know how much I loved him. How much I love him!
I am not the kind of person that is, …I can’t find the word, …extroverted? Outgoing? Talkative? That the way I was raised. Keep emotions for myself. No need for words. Just actions. I was always at his side, I cared for him, I took care of him. But I wish that I was more affectionate. I recognize his looks now. I know; he was just asking for a hug, a touch of the hand.
I wish I could see him just once more.”
And Mary bursts crying again.
I just cannot stand it anymore. I want to comfort her.
Yes, it is true, it would have been all I needed, a touch of the hand, a hug. Something to make me feel relevant. I do not know. Something to make me feel that my existence counted, it was not just a burden. But how can I blame her? It’s true, her actions overrode any need for words. It was me that did not know how to communicate. It was me, the introverted, the emotional porcupine.
Fortunately, Katie talks for me; she translates in human terms what I wanted to say:
“Don’t be upset with yourself Mary. I know how you feel, I am experiencing the same. I miss dad very much. So many memories of when I was a little girl, his teasing, his jokes, the encouragements. Do you know, I do not even remember him being upset with me once. I should have been closer to him, but family, work took my mind.
He always talked about you; he loved you very much, but he was afraid of being a burden. He told me a few times! I should have mentioned it to you.
And I miss him. I keep a picture of us at my graduation in the bedside drawer. I look at it in the morning and in the evening before going to bed. It was such a sparkly and beautiful day. And we were so happy. The future was brighter than the sun in the sky.
I took the photos of him from the walls. It would make the kids too sad. One day, I will show to them all the good memories. I will talk to them about grandpa. How sweet and caring he was and how much he loved them. But now, I do not know what to say.
I do not want to lie, and I do not want to say that he took his life. – Why? – they would ask. – Why did he do it, didn’t he love us? – They are too young and insecure, particularly considering the problems I have with my husband. They are very sensitive; they do not need more trauma.”
The two women keep crying and I am getting uneasy. Damn it! I wish I could speak. But then what would I say? That I am sorry? That I was selfish? That I loved them both, but could not bear to live in spite of them?
Frankly, I am not even sure about why I killed myself. Maybe it was just an impulse. Maybe I had too much to drink that night?
Yes, I remember now, I was upset about something at work, I cannot even remember what. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess. But it must have been trivial if I do not even remember what it was. Trivial but sufficient it was.
Anyhow, what am I to do now? This is my curse! This is my hell; I cannot do anything about anything. Nothing to amend, only regrets and remorse.
And what about my ex-wife? I can see her sitting in front of me, and I see myself. It was years ago.
“John, I am tired. What is wrong with us? We had such beautiful moments but now you barely talk. You barely answer when I address you. You do not care about relatives, mine, or yours, you do not even ask where I was if I come home late at night. What is going on, John? Why are you so disengaged?”
And I answer:
“I am fine, just tired, I need to sleep, tomorrow I have to get up early. Can we talk about it another time?”
Another time? How could I have said that? What other time? Wasn’t it obvious that there would be no other time?
Why did I go to the bar instead, poured a glassful of scotch, and go to bed?
When was the “another time” supposed to be?
And why didn’t she understand that the real reason I said nothing was that I had nothing to say. My mind was confused, I did not know what I wanted. A lifetime of paranoias made me imagine that she hated me. She had done nothing wrong. It was just me.
Then the accident.
***
But Mary, Mary, this is what truly hurts. I did love her, I still love her if ghosts are allowed to, but now, I can’t do anything about anything.
Let’s forget about it.
Yet, it’s so painful. I can’t stand it anymore.
This is true hell!
And she does not leave me alone. She keeps torturing me, rubbing salt into the wound.
Here she is at my grave:
“John, I miss you.” She says.
“I wish you could hear me.”
And she kneels towards the tomb. She is talking to a marble slate.
“I miss you John. I took our home off the market. I hate being there without you, but it is even worse to even think of leaving our place. At least there, I feel that you can come out of a room at any time, open the garage door and greet me. I see you cooking at the stove, cheering me up with a drink when I come home. You will still be there as long as I will be there. And the kitty seems to see you. She looks up at the sealing searching for you. Maybe she sees what I can’t see.”
And she digs a hole at the side of the tomb, she plants a little gardenia bush:
“Here, your favorite flowers! Can you smell them? I wish you could!”
And she comes everyday:
“Katie got a big promotion.”
“You should see your grandson! What a handsome boy he is!”
Years have passed in fact, lots of things have happened. I know all of them because Mary has been coming every day to report, just afterwork, she stops by, with fresh flowers, a broom to sweep the dry leaves and petals from the old plants, with a book to read something to me, with a story about my students, colleagues, and friends, some departed, some still there.
“Your grandson married! They had a baby, they called him John like you!”
“Katie is a tenured professor; she just became chairman of what used to be your department. She remarried, we talk of you always, she has your photo on the wall just in front of her desk in her office.”
I listen to all, and gradually I become used to the routine. I wait for her; I see her graying hair while she walks the steps up to my tomb.
I do not even miss her anymore. In fact, I feel closer to her now than when I was alive.
One day, waiting for her, for no good reason I look at my passport, only thing left from Earth (sort of), nothing else to do.
But wait a minute, look at this:
John Desire
“Citizen of the past.”
Good for visiting Earth’s past and present.
Issued on Earth’s calendar: October 23, 2023.
Issued by: GOD
Place of issuance: Paradise.
Expiration: never.
I guess I made it to paradise now! I feel happy in fact, I feel loved, I don’t feel as alone as when I was on Earth. I guess that’s what Paradise is all about. Carrying memories with no regrets.
***
“John! John!”
Mary is in the Intensive Care at John’s bedside.
“John, you’re awake! They just extubated you a few hours ago. You have been in a coma for a month! They took you off most life support two days ago to wean you, and you have been getting better. It was COVID! but now you are well, no need for life support, they took away all the sedation! But you have been tossing around delirious since.”
John opens his eyes; he sees Mary’s smile.
As much as strength allows John lifts his hand toward her, trying to touch her hair.
Mary squeezed his hand hard and holds it close to her heart. Tears come out of her eyes:
“I love you John; I thought that I was going to lose you.”
“I know.”
John replies with the movement of the lips as no sound comes out of the throat:
Thank you Yao Lu for your translation of “Where the day never ends” the preface to the upcoming new collection of short novels with the same title soon to be published by MeiGuiLu Publishing.
Basking in the sun at the berth – Photo by F. Marincola, Princeton by the Beach, California, Novermber 12 2023
…I have been to Africa, I have been to Asia, I have been to the Americas, and I travelled across Europe, almost all of it. I have watched the black rhino run free at Ngoro Ngoro, and the lion inhale the scent of freedom at the Serengeti. I caressed tigers at Chiang Mai, and I held my babies when they were born. I prayed to an unknown God at the Temple of Heaven in Beijing and to the Black Madonna at the Pilgrim Church of Monserrate hill. I kneeled at the mummy of San Carlo in the Crypt of the Duomo, and I kneeled at the bold eagle hovering above the Potomac. I visited strip clubs in California to escape the oppressing majesty of the Grand Canyon. I observed ugliness in beauty, and I searched beauty where there was ugliness. I went through one too many E-ZPasses up and down I-95 and along many other highways of life.
But here, in the land where the day never ends; where only the ultimate travels, here, I wonder:
“What is this abandoned beauty? Why this mute solitude? What’s all for?”
“Perhaps,” …I marvel, “here is the place where the souls of the rightful come, the longed paradise for the believers in a freshness that could not be found in ordinary life, for those who aspired for a beginning without end, for an unending cycle of purity. Maybe they are sitting on that bench, viewing a crepuscule harbinger of a beginning. Or perhaps, they are walking along the sandy beach, or across the green meadows. Perhaps they are turning, my departed parents among them, to stare at me wondering whether I will ever join…
It is my pleasure to introduce our new Publishing Company with Yao Lu as Chief Executive Officer, George Patriarca as Senior Publishing Consultant and myself as Executive Vice President.
Now, one may ask: “Why would someone start another publishing enterprise among so many?“
The answer is simple: “For no good reason except love for literature and our past experiences trying to find a home for good productions without being exploited by the self-publishing industry”
Yao Lu, is one of the most avid readers I have ever met, and it is natural to have her at the helm of this venture; you can be sure that she will read and study every word that you will want to share with her. In addition, Yao Lu and I are complementary, as I do not have any poetic skills as my main interest is prose, while she is interested in poetry of all kind while, in particular she can understand, appreciate a very special kind of poetry: Chinese poetry, which is an art all on its own.
The domain name MeiGuiLumeans in Mandarin: “Fragrance of the rose” and it was chosen to underline our belief that good literature is meant to elevate the spirit just as much fragrances do.
Besides, as Yao Lu puts it:
“I think MeiGuiLu is a good name
Because whether it’s Eastern culture or Western culture
Roses are the favorite flowers of writers and poets
If you Google Rose’s literature
You can find many great writers describing this plant
Meigui is a symbol of popular literature!“
***
George has been behind our efforts for a long time and he knows how to navigate efficiently the publishing world assuring as wide of a distribution of our books as possible at a very reasonable cost.
So, we are happy now to serve as consultant to potential novices and support seasoned writers to publish in any form or language.
Most importantly, we will not discriminate based on content save for basic ethical principles to whom all publisher should abide.
Here is some information while more details can be found in the website.
The information is presented in English and Mandarin since the large majority of our readers are familiar with at least one of them; however, we do not limit our publications to these idioms and any other option is open to the best of our ability to provide high quality editing services.
ABOUT US
Since its establishment in 2019, MeiGuiLu Publishing has been supporting authors from continental Europe, the United States and Asia. Over the years, our company has edited, published, printed, and distributed manuscripts entrusted to us by our authors.
As a non-traditional and independent, print on demand self-publishing company, MeiGuiLu Publishing has forged partnership with printers and distributors in five different countries to bring authors closer to their readers. By offering authors an integrated solution for publishing quality books, we have increased the diversity of titles in the book market through our international on-demand production and distribution through our global distribution partners.
With on-demand printing as our core expertise, publishers can bring their titles to market without risk, and always keep them available through print-on-demand technology.
There are many types of books that we publish. These include the most popular genres of books, both fiction and nonfiction: mystery novels, romance novels, memoirs and biographies, self-help, science fiction, fantasy, children’s books and scientific articles, and many more.
However, we do not publish books that are prohibited by law or to which free access is otherwise not possible, for example, due to plagiarism or copyright infringement. In addition, manuscripts that incite hatred and division, as well as those considered politically, legally, religiously, morally, or culturally offensive, will also not be published.
MeiGuiLu Publishing, therefore, reserves the right to refuse or call off publication as soon as such content is detected at any stage of publication.
Self-publishing and traditional publishing are two different approaches to getting your book to market.
Traditional publishing involves submitting your manuscript to a publishing house, which will review your work and decide whether to publish it. If they do, the publisher will cover the cost of editing, designing, printing, and promoting your book. However, you will have to give up a significant amount of creative control and a portion of your royalties.
On the other hand, self-publishing allows you to have complete control over the content, design, and distribution of your book. You will, however, have to cover the costs of editing, designing, printing, and marketing your book, although you will receive a larger share of the royalties.
In general, traditional publishing provides broader distribution and more credibility, while self-publishing offers more creative control and higher royalties. Ultimately, the choice between the two comes down to your goals, budget, and personal preference. However, if you are looking to take full control of your book and maximize royalties, then self-publishing is for you.
Another advantage of self-publishing is you get to decide on everything from editing services and cover designs right down to pricing strategies. Furthermore, self-publishing allows for faster turnaround times than traditional publishing methods. This means that once you’ve completed writing your masterpiece, it won’t be long before it’s available for purchase by readers worldwide! In conclusion: whether you’re an aspiring author or already established in the industry – there has never been a better time than now for authors who want total control over their work! Self-publishing offers unparalleled flexibility while still providing access to millions of potential readers around the world – so why wait? Take advantage today!
Yao Lu, a newcomer to the world of poetry, endeavoring the provision of services that puts more authors and their work very center of the publication. She is currently working in securities affairs at a pre-IPO company in the environmental protection industry in Hangzhou, China. She was previously a venture investor in the field of in vitro diagnosis. She also previously worked on the preparation of some enterprises and assumed flexible roles such as government affairs assistant and financial advisor. The total amount of transactions she was involved in reached RMB 700 million. Investment segments include gene sequencing, medical equipment, medical services, etc. In her spare time, she enjoys writing and the peace of being alone in her room.
Dr. Francesco Marincola (Executive Vice President)
Dr. Marincola is currently Chief Scientific Officer at Sonata Therapeutics, Boston, Massachusetts. He was previously Global Head of Research at Kite Pharma, Santa Monica, California, Chief Scientific Officer and President at Refuge Biotechnologies, Menlo Park, California, Distinguished Research Fellow at AbbVie Corporation, Redwood City, California; Chief Research Officer at Sidra Research, Qatar; and Tenured Investigator at the National Institutes of Health, Maryland.
Dr. Marincola graduated summa cum laude at the University of Milan, Italy, and subsequently trained in Surgery and in Immunology at Stanford University, California. Among his scientific achievements is the description of the Immunologic Constant of Rejection which leads to cancer and transplanted organ rejection by the immune system. Dr. Marincola founded the Journal of Translational Medicine in 2003 and serves as its Editor-in-Chief. He is also Editor-in-Chief of Translational Medicine Communications. He is past president of the Society for the Immunotherapy of Cancer (SITC) and the International Society for Translational Medicine. He edited several books including the SITC-affiliated “Cancer Immunotherapy Principles and Practice” Textbook. Outside of work, Dr. Marincola enjoys writing fictional novels. His creations include: “The wise men of Pizzo”,”The Leopard and other stories” and “Cat Behind the Window”.
George Patriarca (Senior Publishing Consultant)
Having worked with some of the biggest names in the traditional and self-publishing publishing industry for over 13 years, George offers new authors advice, help, and expertise in the publishing process.
Now working as a full-time Oncology nurse and an aspiring medical researcher, George still takes time to advise authors who want to share their manuscripts with the world through professional publication.
It came with a very simple note: “This poem is dedicated to Wordsworth, a poet I really like” but I want to believe that it was also at least partly inspired by the homonymous short story: “The swan song“.
In any case, I believe that it is one of her most beautiful.
I hope that you will enjoy
twilights in Lisbon – Photo by F. Marincola – Lisbon, July 28th 2023
Francesco Marincola 