On Friday afternoon in the courtyard of the Casa delle Letterature, in Rome’s historic center, an audience sat under the orange trees listening to poetry being read aloud in Italian and in English. A fountain contributed its own quiet music, as falling water caused the maidenhair fern to tremble; from time to time, gulls from the nearby Tiber laughed overhead; and church bells loudly called people to evening prayer. But for those who were listening, nothing really broke the spell of a beautiful May afternoon, and of poetry itself.