It helps to look at your bookcases occasionally, especially in rooms one doesn't ordinarily read in where the flotsam ends up. And so I am happily reunited with my childhood copy of The Divine Comedy, the one with the Doré engravings. (Well, not actually *mine*- it was my parents'. But the one I read in childhood, yes.)
I don't know how good the translation is, but I've bounced off both the Ciardi and the Pinsky, both in verse form, so a nice unrhymed version might work better.
And aside from that, if it's so bleeding cold, why are there still mosquitoes in my house and why are they still biting me?,
