Hermetic Poetry

I love translating poems I like on this blog, I really do. Translating is one of the most complicated jobs, because you have to help authors touch foreign readers the way they did with natives. Dealing with emotions is always challenging in itself. 

Italian hermeticism is obscure and difficult poetry, as of the Symbolist school, so it gets even more changeling because of the language and imagery that are subjective, and because the suggestive power of the sound of words is as important as their meaning. But Quasimodo is one of my favorites, I can't limit you with this joy to miss his little masterpieces of sophisticated style and abstruse symbolism.

So here I try ...

SUNKEN OBOE

Stingy pain, delay your gift
in this hour of mine
of whispered leave.

A cold oboe flutes
joy of perennal leaves,
not mine, and confuses;

It is evening in me:
the water goes down
on my grassy hands.

Wings oscillate in a dim sky,
labile: the heart migrates
and I feel rough,

and the days are a ruin.


IMITATION OF JOY

Where the trees still
make the nigh more abandoned,
the indolent last last step you took vanished
and it appears when the flower
limes and insists on its fate.

One reason for looking for affection,
experiencing silence in your life.

Another adventure reveals
this mirrored time. It mourns
like death, like beauty now
lightning in other faces.
I have lost every innocent thing,
even in this voice, surviving
to imitate joy.

ALLEY

Sometimes your voice calls me
and I forget that skies and waters
wake up in me:

a network of sunlight reflects
on your walls that were in the evening
a swing of lamps
late in the workshops
full of wind and sadness.

In another time: a frame pounding in backyard
and a cry was heard in the night
of puppies and children.

Alley: a cross of houses
that are called floor
and they do not know who is afraid
of being alone in the dark.

And then, my favorite: 

And then my favorite of all: 

MIRROR

And here on the trunk
the gems break:
a green newer than the grass
that rests the heart:
the trunk looked already dead,
folded on the ditch.
And everything sounds like miracle;
and I am that cloudy water
that reflects in bluer its piece of sky,
that green that breaks the zest
that even tonight was not there.

 

Long Nights

Tonight I can't sleep, so tonight you'll have to bear with me and my nocturnal soliloquies. Because when the mind can't rest multiple ideas cross it and don't leave you until you surrend.

Camomile and writing to battle insomnia

So, let me tell you that these days I've frequently thought what I could tell a priest. It's been so long since my last confession that my mind would go blind if I sat in front of him right now. The priest of my friend Lisa's local church in Northern London suggested parents to write a list of sins to make it easier for them, and for him. No need to waste time with ridiculous apologies. Reading is much better than telling. That old man is practical. 

A list. So how many papers should I use? It doesn't sound like the priest put any limit. The fact makes me smile a lot. Obviously, the world has gone by since I attended church as a teen and served as an Altar Girl. Is it ok if I blog about it? Maybe local church organizations should really consider social networks as a mean of public confessions. Who knows, maybe all those comments could work as a good deterrent. Public shame could work better than the usual quantity of assigned prayers for sure. I remember it's all we wanted to know about each other. 

Look, I'm lapsed now, but more Christian than some extremist I saw out there. Still, I get the looks if I send my daughter to mass with his dad only on Sundays. The moment the priest and all his assistants will make a difference with my baby, I'll take her out from catechism instantly. Be nice to me and I'll be nice to you too. That's all I know for now.

They already favour Religion too much in this country, if you ask me. They do 2 hours per week of it in public schools, which is okay to me, but then they only do 1 hour of Gym and 2 of English. And the silly Government supports the nosense, promoting useless projects in which they invest million of euros. Last year, for instance, they gave out boxes of fresh fruits two times per week, to incentivate its consumption. It ended up that the teaching was 'food mustn't be wasted' -but no worries, there's always some adult who eats not to throw in our family. 

Why didn't they educate parents instead? Italians eat better, we've a fierce tradition of millenarium healthy Mediterranean meals, kids only consume a little too much cakes nowadays, but whose kids doesn't like sweets worldwide? And mainly, why didn't they launch extra activities, especially for kids who can't afford them? Of course not. We must be equal to other more productive European countries. It doesn't matter if France offers 500 euros per month to housewives, bonuses for each extra child and free nursery. We must eat fresh fruits. Then ministers go home and cut off new schools. This coming September 4 institutes will be shut down in Trieste, with the dramatic consequence of migrations of students to other school and logical drop of quality in both teaching and organization. 

I remember my father's disapointment when I told him whom I voted for. For the two previous elections I had lied to him, but then all of a sudden I told the truth over dinner on a hot Spring night. He didn't say a word (not that he normally said many anyway) but he lost his usual voracious appetite that night. Another milestone in our estranged relationship. But I needed to scream out loud my beliefs. The way I'm writing them down now. 

{I just went and watched The Iron Lady, now I'm back. It's ouf of this world, the skill Meryl has. That woman knows no limits. I'll blog about her (again) soon.} 

I also found another stupid blog of mothers who insist behaving like their lives are still the same after a baby. Hell, it isn't, and if you don't try to adapt your world to your child's needs you shouldn't have had babies in the first place. That maid in The Help was so right. I mean, you can travel the world with your baby as a backpack insisting he likes it, but he bloody does NOT. Babies get bored, they want to be with other babies and unless they don't ask you to be taken to a specific place, please leave them alone.

You hear preaches from someone who took her baby to Morocco at 5 and who is preparing to tour Turkey in boiling August, but that's different. Alice is a supernatural baby. Extremely adaptable and considerably curious. And, mainly, she has parents who boards on travels with her specific needs in mind. Always. We don't go to spas just to babypark her for 8 hours a day because we want to go snorkelling or make love all afternoon. Well, I'd like to make love for hours, yes :) but that's not the point. You play with your child, you tell him stories, you pick flowers with him and you even are ready to have fun for 2 hours and queue for the rest 12 in Disneyland. Because having fun and mostly spending time with YOU is his right.

My parents never took me everywhere but the 2 times they did they made sure to remind me for the rest of the time I spent with them. 'We took you to Switzerland!' 'We took you to the Eur Amusement Park in Rome.' Go figure. The fact they left me with a working grandmother was never mentioned instead. I was ordered to stay in a bed filled with toys and books, with the specific advice not to go to the loo neither. I was safe, there was my uncle who popped up every other hour to check on me. I was 4 and those were my mornings. Are you shocked? I was for a minute when I found it out a few years ago, but then the feeling of finally placing the missing piece of my life jigsaw prevailed. It all made sense, even if it doesn't for you. Today such family could end in the news.

Neddless to say, I was a pre-reader, though I still don't know if I wet that bed. I was never interested to ask further. Bah!

Long nights allow me to feel ...
I'm falling ... I am falling
The lights go out
Let me feel
I'm falling
I am falling safely to the ground
Ah ... 

PS: Cou cou! You may thing I finally fell asleep? I wish I could, you guys, but in a few hours I'll have to wake up anyway so I better watch a movie instead. I'll save more stories for that next insomnic night. That's a promise!

Spring, interrupted

I was in a state of catatonic torpor all week. I haven't stepped out once since we got back home on Monday, with the exception of a massive grocery shopping spree to stock up essentials and not being bothered anymore. I made the most of Alfie being off work. Being together during the day is such a rare event since he started with his new job. I loved being spoilt with a rich breakfast after he took Ali to school and jogged, then annoy him all day asking him the things he normally should do when he's here :) I felt at ease. Sometimes leaving the whole world outside is necessary. I also needed to regain my energies after wasting them so much at in-laws ha ha Naughty me. 

We tried to detox from all the cakes and extra food of Easter. Life has a whole new perspective with a flat stomach after a light supper. Who needs to go mundane when you've got all you need at home, new toys included?

Cold weather didn't inspire me to go out neither. The early debut of Spring we had is abruptly over, with drops of November temperature like. The green we are blessed to see from our balconies and windows looks so surreal, like that vivid, unexpected green of British country that always makes you wonder when you'll step out of the portrait. Luscious green like a punch in the eye with all that gray around. Radiant green as a sign of premonition, that Spring is still there, screaming to be liberated.

All this green also gives me hope that maybe things will finally change in this rotten, corrupted Italy of mine. Use of illicit funds scandal has involved one of the useless still major parties here, Lega Nord. Not too bad for a party whose ideology is based over a separation from dishonest Southerners due to notorious Northern transparence. The scandal led to resignation of his historic leader Umberto Bossi and his moronic retard  favorite son Renzo. I'm too happy to even wonder how such people governed us for so long. That would mean meditation and I'm not in the mood for it.

Maybe my daghter will live in a different Italy, saner and more coherent. If things truly change maybe we can even abandon the idea to be permanent expatriates in the future. Everything is possible and it's what I want to believe in today. Whilst waiting for a better climate, like a typical Italian obsessed with weather. Because, okay, I confess it, I wondered wether Ali should wear a hat yesterday. Despite all my endeavors, this is something I still have to learn to control. And in case the above mentioned articles made you curious, I 'only' have 7 umbrellas at home!)

Battling Euphemisms

Guglielmo Oberdan was an Italian irredentist who attempted to kill Austrian Emperor Francis Joseph on his visit to Trieste for the 500th anniversary of the city under the Habsburg kingdom. He failed, but two innocents died, thus he was executed in the central square that carries his name. Just before the execution he cried 'Viva l'Italia!' (Long Live Italy!) and became a martyr of Italian Unification.

Pino Robusti wasn't a partisan but he was killed all the same, arrested and later burnt in the crematory facility down under. He was 22 and was waiting for his girlfriend Laura in Oberdan Square on a sunny Spring day of 1945. They never met because the moment the girl stepped off the streetcar, police arrested the guy. He wasn't working and the fact seemed strange, even if he legally was on a day off from forced slavery work at Todt Organisation. He had to be working and was killed because of that.  

Laura never saw him again. She only got a letter from him, one of the most innocent, powerful, true love letters ever written. 

"It feels weird that, while writing to you, in a few hours I'll be shoot to death. I feel calm, barely glad. The only thing that hurts is I couldn't enjoy you as I wanted to, the only and most desired reward of my youth years (...) Goodbye, my adored Laura, I'm going towards the unknown, the glory and the abyss. Be strong, generous, inflexible. Goodbye. Pino."
From his real letter exposed at the Risiera Museum. 

Cantico dei Cantici sculpture in Oberdan square

Marcello Mascherini probably had Pino and Laura in mind while creating this statue that was placed in the infamous square. It stands there, covered by Spring blooming trees, utterly slim and utterly tall, to commemorate the horrible events. You need to have a good eye to catch it, it easily camouflages with the pompuous renaissance style of the other buildings. And it's so so different from the usual sontuous dead people monuments 

You know, Trieste is a city that never ceases to fascinate me, because every building hides a fact, every statue means a legend and in every corner or street something happened. Its story is so complex and so full of obscure and obliterated chapters, that maybe it's a reason why people are so eager to populate bars and enjoy life. Because their past is full of tragic and complicated aspects.

Since I live here I can't separate the beauty of this place with its intricate history, so I had to visit THE place where Pino was killed. It takes you a long corridor to arrive, where footsteps echo makes the place even more sinister. Its walls are so high that even the blindest light fail to illuminate the way. It's the entrance to a national museum, which gives honour and respect to many victims today, but that was a gateway to hell for many people. It takes to the only death camp Nazi had in Italy.

Built in 1913 as a rice-husking facility (hence the former name that hides the shame, Risiera di San Sabba), during the Nazi occupation it became an efficient prison where to keep political dissidents of the regime and Jewish people, who were sorted out to be deported to Auschwitz. The premise also had crematory facilities. It's where Pino was imprisoned and burnt. It's the peculiar killing camp of ideas, not necessarily tied to the madness of Nazi racial doctrine.

The only photo I dared to take, from the cells room.

There never were official statistics about the number of people exterminated here (though it's calculated around 5000 victims). Germans were efficient in destroying records and Post-War Italy did very little to aknowledge and even commemorate the events. The Risiera was declared National Monument only in 1965 and still today, complicity of the locals make it difficult for tourists to reach and even know about the place for those who are unaware. It's like they're doing their best to avoid involvment in the holocaust.

Which isn't true, because we had our part in the horrors instead. I hate recalling this, but we were a puppet state of Nazi Germany. Benito Mussolini was largely dependant on them to maintain control, especially in areas like Friuli Venezia Giulia were partisans were very active and Slovene irredentism was causing trouble since the brutal italinisation of Istria started when fascism started to spread.

The dependance became even more inevitable when German Army liberated Mussolini, an action which helped him to build The Salo Republic. And as a sign of gratitude, territories that once belonged to Austria were given to Germany, so Trieste, Udine and Fiume, with their hinterlands, were abandoned to their destiny. And while Marshall Badoglio secretly began negotiations with the Alley to let Italy capitulate, we persecuted Jews and repressed partisans. And once these large portions of land were under the Nazi control, they immediately started up a detention and death camp, using an abandoned rice facility here in Trieste.

I was silent and watchful while I visited THE place. I felt like I could be caught any moment. When I arrived near the perimeter where the furnace was, I was attracted by the contrast that the red brick of the structure creates with the cobalt sky. I kept looking up, thinking of those swalloed bodies, people on their back who watched the sky for their very last time. I wanted to scream. I turned instinctively to the 'death chamber' instead. It's spacious and wide. There was enough room to cry.

Next, one after the other, the tiny cells with uncomfortable wooden bunk beds. Reluctantly, I forced myself to go. There are bars on the window. I snapped the only picture of my visit, an overview of the courtyard from behind the bars, the view that prisoners enjoyed during the one hour of exercise per day granted to them. I did not know what else to photograph to document the terror. The writings on the humid walls are enough to testify the shame. There's something horrible in these personal effigy's tombstones.

When I realized there was nothing more for me to witness, I took out my notebook and started to take note of all the possible sentences to document. The exhibit hall includes documents, letters, drawings, photos but, most of all, includes the smell of death. That's where I copied extracts of Pino's letter to Laura. I was alone and I felt the exact shivering terror of when I'm alone in empty churches. The documents distracted me. The thought of what to witness and then write about my visit kept me sane. 

"Goodbye Mom! Goodbye sisters! I'll be shoot tomorrow." Chilling like that. 


Roberto Benigni did a fantastic job in presenting a vision of the Italian humanity during the Holocaust experience, away from the violence perpetrated by others. His film Life is Beautiful perpetuated a stereotype of good Italians compared to violece used by others, and this costed him the claim to compromise historical horror, giving a feeling of Italian extraneity to the fact. To many it sounded like his sentimental optimism protects us, just like the Risiera signs. With all my respect and admiration for Benigni, I find it difficult to understand why he should chose such a theme for his humour. The holocaust was a tragedy without equals and I'm with those who find not nice at all the way how Guido was trying to protect his child from such atrocities.

All you need is a visit to the Risiera and you'll realize how we had our dose of racism too. There were anti-semitic laws in Italy, promulgated in 1938. We had our 'No dogs or Jewes allowed' discriminatory signs and Mussolini was guilty of crimes. The fact many Italian Jews survived the Holocaust helped us  avoid censure for involvment in the persecutions, yet fascist policies and attitudes had a devastating effect on Jews community here. In the case of Trieste, by May 1945 only 10% of the city's prewar Jewish population remained there.

The euphemism of the Risiera isn't the only tragic event we tried to obliterate. When Italy surrended, Tito was doing his best to anticipate the alleys and take possess of the territory. New Zealanders arrived and couldn't help much. Yugoslavs took revenge on Fascists, who had largely imposed brutal italianisation of Yugoslav population in the new territories annexed to Italy after the Absburgic end of kingdom, starting a massacre through foibes and then repressing and humiliating Italians in Istria and Dalmatia, one of the most terrible events of our history.

In those 60 days of Yugoslav occupation it's calculated that many people died, buried still alive and still we obliterated the facts. No single history book mentions about it. We had to wait for 60 years and a brave politician who was trying to run for prime minter to finally commemorate the victims. Isn't this a shame? Primo Levi said that "if we die silently like our enemies want, the world will never know what the man was and is still capable of is capable of." So why being silent?


The least I can do is being firm in my principles and scream the truth from this blog. So, when you come to Trieste, plan a visit to the lager in San Sabba. And remember, it's called Risiera (rice-facility). Ask locals once in the area, because signs don't help. Good luck.

PS:
I started this article a few months ago but found a way to finish it only a few days ago, inspired by the statue i photographed in Piazza Oberdan. Then I waited until today to post it, because Pino was killed on April 5 and I wanted to pay a tribute to him. I hope you appreciate.

E' bbelle l'Abruzze me! *

Spring exploded everywhere but it's even more fantastic in Abruzzo, my native region. I can perfectly figure out the contrasts of the blue water with the crystal sea and the green vegetation with the background of the mountains with still snow on top.

Please view this pics while listening to this tune. You'll appreciate them even more. 

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This year I won't go, not even a weekend is planned. I try not to care. It's part of my destiny and I embraced it. It means that I'll apreciate the visit to its fullest when I finally go with a free spirit, able to enjoy everything without disgraceful memories. I keep faith over here, like any stubborn Capricorn. My time will come, too. 

In the meanwhile I indoctrinate Alice about my roots and culture. One of the most vivid is music indeed. Folklore is so alive and innerly present. It doesn't matter if Ikea had to send a letter to local politicians to ask them to stop sending letters of recommendations for hiring in the new branch opening near Pescara. They received over 3000 resumes out of 220 vacancies available, which shows how dramatic the unemplyment situation in central Italy. That's not what interests me. I want my daughter to know only the finest values​​ and we have plenty of them. 

Today I showed her this video. We danced and sang together. I'm sharing it with you too. Look how beautiful costumes are, how vivid people are, what lovely places, what yummy food. And, above all, listen to the sounds of the bells at the end. They characterized both my childhood/adolescence and early adulthood. When I heard this out of the blue I was moved. I got lost in a whirlwind of memories. if I close my eyes I see everything again. I remember everything perfectly and I can even smell strong odors.

"Dalla muntagne alla marine si cant e poi si beve lu vine, dalla marine alla muntagne si fa l'amore e poi si magne!" ("From mountains to sea it's all about singing and drinking, from sea to mountains it's all about making love and eating afterwards instead!")

I can still hear my grandfather's voice singing and playing his instrument, laughing and teaching and living. He was so alive. His world was so colorful even from his wheelchair. I miss you so, Nonno Nicola. I wonder what you think of this whole mess over here since you left ...

I know what matters most is what I feel in my heart, something that goes beyond the merely visual. I know one day I will return and when I do, I'm going to enjoy the visit without false expectations or too many regrets. And finally I know that when I come back it's because I can really be in Abruzzo. Because the sun always comes out in the end. 

* My Abruzzo is beautiful!

Belle Epoque

According to the famous Travel Guides Lonely Planet, Trieste is the top city in their  "10 unsung places to visit in the world" list.  It's great that finally someone popular is making justice to this city, so different from the rest of Italy. There's so much to see here, from Roman remains to churches of great spiritual and artistic values, as well as a peculiar liberty style, but the famous Guide got it right: it is the elegiac sense of the past and Haspburg splendour what makes of this city a true jewel worth a visit. 

After two centuries of oppression under the Republic of Venice, in 1382 the citizens of Trieste petitioned Leopold of Austria to become part of his domain. The city remained under the Austro-Hungarian protection until 1918, when it returned to Italians, which brought a decline to its degree of autonomy and prosperity. During those five centuries, Trieste became a city of cultural and commercial importance. After it was declared a free port in 1717, Empress Maria Theresa ordered the bonification of the salt pans area, where she wanted a canal to be built in order to allow the ships to load and unload goods in the heart of the city. 

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The buildings that reflected on those waters where warehouses that hosted additional flors for both servants and owners. The area that was built around it, known as Borgo Teresiano, was very elegant and full of neoclassical splendour, thanks to the Empress who designed this makeover.  I found great pics of that Belle Epoque on this site for your joy. I am a sucker for these types of images, you know.

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And I did more. For some of them, the ones of the most sensational buildings, I even took pics of their current aspect today, so that you can easily see the little difference they have undergone.

During her 40 years of wealthy gorvernment, though, Maria Theresa never ever paid a visit to Trieste. Maybe that's why there's no statue in her honour in the city and the only plaque that pays her homage was placed in 1992.  

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Visiting the Borgo Teresiano really brings you back in time, I recommend to start your tour of Trieste from here when you visit.

Lyrical Theater

Wall square

And when your eyes need some rest after so much beauty around, you can stop at Caffe Tommaseo, one of the historic ones. They will surely delight you in the uncountable ways they're unique for. Happy planning then! 

Under the bridge

It was terrifcally sunny yesterday, still very cold. I had a stroll downtown and got back home very happy. Well, I did lots of shopping in between, that was therapeutic, but I enjoyed these last days of winter immensely. This city has an inner charm, it spreads around you and it's contagious. All noises are muffled to me, it's like walking in a dream. Barely stunning.  

Historical streetcar

Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner
Sometimes I feel like my only friend
its the city I live in, the city of angels
Lonely as I am, together we cry 

I thought about our life here a lot whilst walking. It's the place where we have lived for longer so far. I'm building nice, solid friendships and it's here that I'm nurturing my great passion for photography. Our home looks as cozy as it never did and I'm starting to feel at home.

I drive on her streets cause she's my companion
I walk through her hills and she knows who I am
She sees my good deeds and she kisses me windy
I never worry, now that is a lie

Still, there's that vague feeling of not belonging that never leaves me. I wonder if it'll ever disappear. Or maybe if it won't, I don't care, because I deal with this empty state of things pretty well. I had to learn how to. And sometimes I think it makes me very strong on a bizarre way.

It's hard to believe that there's nobody out there
It's hard to believe that I'm all alone
At least I have her love the city, she loves me
Lonely as I am, together we cry

Amen to that. 

Yeah ye-yeah
Oh no no
I said yea ye-yea
I’ll stay

About poems

I've always admired Carlo Betocchi's poetry. His personal struggle with faith and loneliness, that marked the last years of his life, talks to all our senses. I always reconcile with calm and simple values of life when I read his works, maybe effect of his universal acclaimed "Franciscan vision of a natural world sleeped in the divine." (credits)

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I've also always admired the way he was able to express himself away from the civil engineering field that was his daily job. It's so flourishing that, whilst building canals, roads and bridges, he had so much to say in art at the same time.

Please be delighted by his personal mix of realism and visionary power. I translated two of his favorite poems of mine for you to enjoy. You welcome!

To himself

Sleep, what sleep was, returns
to stalk you and denies you the light,
terminates where you are, advances where
you are not, your denial
your presence climb upon
the plant of the existence,
the silence of sleep, that word
word that did not dare to call
and that was lying in you, will lie, will
be your natural essence, life like death,
death like life, embraced to the eternal.

I have no more than the difficulty of a life
that is passing, and that by losing its flower
puts up thorns and not leaves, and barely
breathes. Yet, without bitterness.
There's that love hidden in me,
the more miserably modest,
that hint of earth, which resists,
like in the bare fields: a wealth
created, not mine, unquenchable.
Not even the most cultivated, perhaps, but true
existence; as it seems lost
in the cosmos, with its gravity, its laws,
its dying magnetism, not forgotten
by the Soul, but it is actually numbered.
Do not blame me, I am old,
but in my stony silence listen to
how love trills, how fierce it is.

About loneliness

I do not need anything
but you, loneliness;
high, solemn, immortal,
where nothing is but a dream.

In this desert
I wait for the the relentless
coming of a living water
to certainly make me.
 
If the sun
or the unmoved moon triumph
their lumen flows 
like my heart wishes.
 
And I enjoy the brown
land, and the indestructible
certainty of its stuff
already in the greenhouse of my heart:

and I understand that life
is this, deep
light shining in heaven
full of infinite pity.

Snowy February

A polar wave is affecting Italy these days, causing delays on transportations, if not cancellations, power cuts, paralyzed traffic, isolated villages and all typical damages that snowfalls record. Snow is a rare event in Rome, we say that there it snows 'once in a Pope's death', once in a blue moon, so the city was more unprepared than others. People didn't go to work, schools closed and the Lord Mayor of the city was photographed shoveling a ridiculous amount of snow, armed with helmet too.

This video gives you an idea of what's going on in our capital. Better making fun of it, honestly. Let me just make fun of it for once all rather than critizing what speaks by itself!

My native Abruzzo was the region more effected but it's dealing with it right. Snow makes it even more beautiful and picturesque this time of the year. Look a the lovely collages I edited with pics taken from the usual Paesaggi d'Abruzzo group on Facebook and tell me if I'm not right!

Brrrrr, right? Though I recognize wintertime beauty, I don't like cold temperatures at all. So I prefer watching these images from my warm and cozy flat here. We're still dealing with Bora. Damn! Can I go somewhere exotic for the tiem being, please? Pleeeeeease!

The Same Old Story

Weeks of silence on my blog and I sign in again only to document the shit that is going on around here. Excuse me, it's stronger than me. I live in a Banana Republic that tries to be like everyone else and illudes itself to be like someone else just because, after years of bunga bunga in its upper court, today it's ruled by a technical government. 

- Central heating down on the coldest day of all. Maintenance technicians are nowhere to be found. Since we expect temperatures go below zero we contact the administrator, who calls the Firemen because he can't contact the staff neither. After 12 hours, someone is forced to solve the problem. It's in days like these that I feel blessed to feel somehow protected by authorities. Even if it's more expensive. Italian disservices part 1.

- Taxi drivers strike against the liberalization. If the new law passes, everyone could set up his business easily, so that current owners can't sell their licences at outrageous prices. Why those licences are given very rarely, every body knows now. How great, now everybody knows what's going on and why they want to keep their utter privileges. But do you think it couts? Italians have morals part 1.

-You promise me the cheapest fares available on the mobile market. You also assure me that, if I choose you as my provider, you sell me your smartest Smartphone for the ridiculous price of 1 euro. Then your goodies arrive but they don't wok. Assistance itself advices it's ridiculous to pay for a mobile that, if all goes well, will be given back to me in 3 weeks at least. So I cancel your contract. I don't care if it's at my expenses and if I have to battle a terrible Bora to walk to the Post Office, where I can't get my number for queing because your machines don't work. And I end up fighting with all the people around for a right. You won't win with me in this. I'll give your bloody Smartphone back. Smart my ass. Sorry. Italian disservices part 2.

- Doctors who own or work in a drugstore strike because the new liberalization allows anyone with a degree to open a pharmacy. Who cares if me, as a citizen, will be the only one benefiting from this? If I don't have to pay this world to get a product they never have when I need it or walk miles before finding a shop? They won't take home the same income, and that's all that counts. OhyesItalybelongstoG20 part 1.

- 27 minutes waiting on the phone to sort a stellar (wrong) bill for water consume at home. When my turn is close, the line disconnects. Italian disservices part 3.

- The Post rises the price of stamps but doesn't print any new one. They also sell Christmas stamps at Easter. OhyesItalybelongstoG20 part 2.

I hate Italy, I truly do. It's really hard to find reasons to stay, these days more than ever. It's hard to find reasons to be proud of. And I say it with a broken heart, because it's not ll about that jazz. There're lovely, decent people too. But we're not enough. If you don't see starlets in parliament anymore doesn't mean they're gone away!

Involuntary Heroes

This is the news that became famous all over the world and that marked our so far terrible 2012, the year of Titanic's 100th anniversary for a weird coincidence.

We're all shocked, I myself can't stop watching videos and listening to superstites' tales, trying to figure out how it could be on board on thoise dramatic moments after the ship collided. I would have probably panicked too, but one thing I know. I would have killed to go up deck 9 and rescue my baby. During our last Costa cruise last year, it's there, at their Mini Club, where Alice used to stay while Alfie and I relaxed in our cabins.

Like everyone, I have problems in understanding the reasons why the skipper abandoned his ship,  rather than remaining there like his duties first and human virtues later require. I'm stupefied by his total lack of competence in coordinating the evacuation procedures. He's young (52) and not a beginner. Sometimes careers aren't mirrors of who we truly are, and one can do everything to take home a stellar salary. So I wonder who put him there in the first place.

Someone is comparing this tragedy to the crisis Italy is collapsing in. We're on the verge of a terrible social, cultural and not least economical disaster, with normal people foced to be heroes in an unprotected environment and rats. I'm afraid this comparison is unfair, but true. I only hope someone will come and rescue us as the way they'll do with Costa Concordia now. ANd that no toher rats will abandon us. Some of us just don't deserve this!

PS: To understand messy Italy better, please read this article.

The Blogging Experience

I never fit in the New Year euphoria to make resolutions, try to change your life or attempt things that most of the time remain in the list. Not that I'm totally immune. In the past I made lists too but always staying away from balances. I believe we're here on this world trying to live at our best possible conditions, no matter what. I'm personally always here wearing my armor and battling life and that is sufficient to me. Because at the end of the day what counts more for me is being able to stand up on my own without fearing to look anyone in the face. Dignity is my priority. And I say this with a rotten heart since it's my dad's best teaching I got but in the worst lesson ever. He's a chronic liar and a compulsive gambler. I'm sure these two faults are strongly related, but well, you get the picture.

My little resolutions revolve around my hobbies. I want to finally end those photobooks, attempt to create my own portfolio different from the one in Flickr, translate my book in English. This is a huge task because it means lots of editing and cuts but I feel it must be done. I also want to (maintain my current weight and) take better photos. It's all up to me. I've got objective, realist goals. I can make it without stressing.

And of course I want this blog to go on. Last December, while organizing a rubrics section, I realized how it matured a lot through the months but it always concentrates on a few favorite subjects of mines. I'll leave it like that and maybe add a Digital Photography page as long as my skills will improve with the course I'm about to enroll in. The most important aspect of this blogging experience is that it helps me discover new people and facts. It's my personal way to nurture and improve my own culture.

I came across two important personalities last year, while researching here and there for my posts,  each of them unique in their own brilliant way and concentrated on helping peope during their memorable lives: George Whitman and Simon Wiesenthal. Whitman gave special privileges to writers. Proprietor of the legendary bookstore Shakespeare and Co. in Paris, he always put people, culture and books before money in what he defines his 'bussines of life'. Wiesenthal spent his life hunting nazi criminals instead, and gave justice to million of victims of the Holocaust. 

2012 started with another great discovery, the ritual of pignarul, a propitiatory bonfire set up in Northern East Italy villages on the night of January 5, before Epiphany day (January 6). It's the ancient tradition  of burning the old year away.

The main one is in Tarcento. Here people walk up Coja hill where a huge bonfire, Pignarûl Grant, or Great Bonfire, made of branches of pine, sheaves of corn, is lighted up by The Venerable Old Man (Vecchio Venerando) and is the signal for all the other minor bonfires around the area to be lit as well. 

While the fire burns people sing folk songs and try to figure out which way will the smoke go, a way to predict the fortunes of the region in the coming year: smoke blowing east predicts a year of abundance while smoke blowing west is a bad omen for the crops.

"Se il fum al va a soreli a mont, cjape il sac e va pal mont, se il fum invezit al va de bande di soreli jevât, cjape il sac e va al marcjât." Old saying in Friulan language that means "If the smoke goes west, take your bag and go for the world [emigrate in search of work], but if the smoke goes east, take your sack and go to the market.

We never knew which direction the wind went because it was far too windy and the bonfire lit was postponed for preventing to burn people and cause accidents. Too bad. But the visit to Tarcento was an occasion to watch the medieval parade and events that usually accompany the Pignarul moment, find out local crafts and enjoy some more cool markets and late Christmas atmosphere, before Epiphany arrives and takes all feasts away (it's on January 6 that we usually take down Christmas decorations.)

It was particularly lovely to admire the different dolls of our peculiar Befana. I loved this day and worried over many nights wondering if I'd find coal in my sock. Yes, because a limp of coal is what you got from our old lady if you'd been naughty. My sock was always filled with chocolates and candies instead, and a toy.  

Befana, fine and wise old crone,

Bless the doorway of my home, 

Watch as winter passes by, 

Come as maid when spring is nigh.

My daughter excitedly awaits the arrival of La Befana too.

After these years in the depth of this blogging process of mine, I'm still enthusiast about its growing prospects. I aim to produce higher quality posts and keep growing as a writer. And I hope you'll keep following me in this path. I'ts important to me because your views discipline me and push me to think.

A huge thank you again to my regular readers, then; a warm welcome to my new ones and many happy returns to the occasional folks out there. Thanks for being my daily thrill!

English men

In desperate need of blogging and in desperate lack of time for it. Grrrrrr! In the meanwhile, since I can't post as much as I want, please enjoy this accurate video of two Englishmen coming to Italy. LOL! It's so true! Have fun ...