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"Then it would be good if you stop. At least for a while." 

Due to this I had gone up to Pocol with my heart in my mouth: in the opinion of Pier Antonio Quarantotti Gambini, moreover annoyed because I had disturbed his work, my destiny lay.

It was the first time anyone had read my poems, someone who was a stranger. It was like undressing. Embarrassing. I had made Papa read some of them, but with him it was different, it was like family; and then we were partners, the two of us. But I had never seen this Pier Antonio Quarantotti Gambini. I only knew that he was as large as his name.

The appointment was in front of his hotel. At exactly 11 I saw a man who towered above everyone, I went towards him and as soon as he saw me he too came towards me and we found ourselves facing each other. "Good morning, you are Adriana Ivancich, I suppose," he said, looking down. "Congratulations. And poetry."

And poetry. These two short words changed everything. Not only could I deal freely with my poems but now I also had a man of letters, a critic at my disposal. In fact, Quarantotti Gambini, having decided they were worthy pushed for publication, had offered to select the best poems and, returning to Venice, came to me a couple of times a week to read, choose, and since in the meantime my mood had been refreshed and invigorated, each time new poems were added and each time he had to revise my choice, until at a certain point he decided to close and leave the other poems for a second volume.

I was sorry to interrupt our meetings: I was fond of that giant with a good smile, patient, very polite, always impeccable and, as my mother said, very precise in that he told me about Istria, his homeland, of Trieste, his city of adoption, of his friends,...