Dove siete, partigia di tutte le valli,

Tarzan, Riccio, Sparviero, Saetta, Ulisse?

Molti dormono in tombe decorose,

quelli che restano hanno i capelli bianchi

e raccontano ai figli dei figli

come, al tempo remoto delle certezze,

hanno rotto l'assedio dei tedeschi

là dove adesso sale la seggiovia.

Alcuni comprano e vendono terreni,

altri rosicchiano la pensione dell'Inps

o si raggrinzano negli enti locali.

In piedi, vecchi: per noi non c'e' congedo.

Ritroviamoci. Ritorniamo in montagna,

lenti, ansanti, con le ginocchia legate,

con molti inverni nel filo della schiena.

Il pendio del sentiero ci sarà duro,

ci sarà duro il giaciglio, duro il pane.

Ci guarderemo senza riconoscerci,

diffidenti l'uno dell'altro, queruli, ombrosi.

Come allora, staremo di sentinella

perché nell'alba non ci sorprenda il nemico.

Quale nemico? Ognuno e' nemico di ognuno,

spaccato ognuno dalla sua propria frontiera,

la mano destra nemica della sinistra.

In piedi, vecchi, nemici di voi stessi:

La nostra guerra non e' mai finita.

...Stessa sorte subisce un ragazzino residente a Reggio Calabria il 30 giugno del 2006 per mezzo dell'esplosione di un residuato bellico, dell'ultima guerra...

...Nel 2008 i morti a causa dei residuati bellici sono due, ad Asiago e San Lazzaro di Savena (Bo)...

...Questa estate e più precisamente il 17 luglio a Latina tre Vigili del Fuoco, intenti a spegnere un incendio in campagna, sono investiti da una tremenda onda d'urto; le fiamme, la temperatura del rogo, producono l'esplosione di un residuato bellico...
...Il 29 luglio a Torbole una località molto vicina a Malcesine tre sub, (Vigili del Fuoco di Peschiera), notano una bomba da mortaio, emanare fumo. Capiscono che il residuato e caricato con Fosforo. Immediatamente i sub, chiedono, l'intervento di una squadra di colleghi, che evitano all'ordigno di portare a termine, anche se post-datata, la propria missione...

 Quesito

Diventa indispensabile chiedersi le ragioni che spingono le emittenti televisive nazionali, ad ignorare le disgrazie causate dai residuati bellici. Probabilmente è un silenzio figlio del nobile: "Non procuriamo allarmi".

Esatto, ma non del tutto. In fatti oggi un gran numero d'imprese, investono in sicurezza sul lavoro. Le fonti d'informazione trasmettono servizi televisivi capaci di far capire anche ad un bambino, quanto è utile possedere: "Estintori, caschi di sicurezza, guanti, imbracature, ecc...".

Ma il pericolo residuati bellici è completamente ignorato, infatti, a Cisterna di Latina in località Franceschetti il 13 febbraio del 2007, alcuni operai, intenti a scaricare un camion carico di pozzolana, all'improvviso vedono rotolare verso terra una bomba d'aereo, ovviamente risalente la seconda guerra mondiale...

Ora non penso di procurare allarmismi inutili, se scrivo che le leggi sulla sicurezza non possono prescindere da una giusta informazione sul pericolo "residuati bellici", in Italia. Desidero aggiungere ancora un esempio:

"Cosenza 19 giugno 2007, Via Popilia, un gruppo di operai, opera poco distante da una macchina idraulica, impegnata in operazioni di carotaggio. L'escavatore, deve raggiungere una quota di meno tre metri. Sono le 10:05 all'improvviso un boato è la parziale l'esplosione di una bomba da 500lb...

Anche in questa circostanza, si evince una gravissima mancanza d'informazione dedicata al pericolo "residuati bellici".

Intervista

Spiega il Sovrintendente, Rocco Oreste appartenente al 5° Reparto Genio Infrastrutture di Padova:

- Nell'estate del 2005 ad Ostiglia provincia di Mantova esplodeva una bomba da 1000 lb, che danneggiava contemporaneamente sia una villetta quanto una cascina, posta quasi a 200 metri dalla Stazione dei Carabinieri.

A Bagnolo, nel 1979, ricordo, fui chiamato per confermare l'esplosione di una bomba d'aereo. Non solo, nel mezzo della successiva fase di bonifica bellica, rinvenivamo altre otto bombe d'aereo. Ma ricordo, che durante la seconda scossa di terremoto, del 1976, patita nell'area friulana, poco fuori Pordenone, in prossimità del fiume Meduna, esplodeva una bomba d'aereo ad azione differita -.

...Un Mondo Più Quadrato...

"...Cara Italia, impreziosita da spese pazze, girotondi ed ecomostri, perché evitare di prendere atto di ciò che le guerre del secolo passato hanno occultato e continuare a perseguire le proverbiali orme, d'Epimeteo. Per quale motivo, ci tocca rischiare, che una macchina escavatrice, possa incocciare un residuato bellico..."

"...Dolce, bella e grande Italia, cosa ti spinge a stendere vivaci locuzioni indirizzate nei confronti dell'importanza di un casco da cantiere ed evitare di chiarire ad agricoltori, imprese edili e non solo, i rischi che s'affrontano in presenza, d'ordigni bellici..."

"...Monumentale Italia da tempo priva di memoria, desidero ricordarti che mai alcuna guerra potrà terminare tra sorrisi e strette di mano televisive. Ordigni inesplosi giacciono celati sotto qualche centimetro o metro di terra. Pronti in futuro, a portare a termine il proprio compito. In pratica: "Guerre senza fine". Eduardo De Filippo nella Sua commedia: Il Sindaco Del Rione Sanità, mentre è in fin di vita, confessa al suo amico medico, di augurarsi per i propri figli, un mondo meno rotondo, ma più quadrato..."

"...Ricca ed umile Italia, colma di speranze e delusioni. Intellettuale, pragmatica, pigra e sportiva. Italia del festival di Sanremo. Della Scala di Milano, dell'Arena di Verona e dell'Euro. Di Ballarò ed Enigma. Italia di Santoro e Minoli. Del TG4, Matrix e tutto il calcio minuto per minuto. Italia universale e personale, perché, non varchi la soglia dell'indifferenza. Rompi il tuo silenzio e non persegui il prezioso suggerimento del grande Maestro partenopeo !... "

"... Raffinata e colta Italia, tu che studi e tramandi le memorie delle guerre di ieri, non affannarti ad individuare ragioni dei vinti e colpe da attribuire ai vincitori o viceversa, ma analizza come l'odio ha saputo mutare in quei tempi, la buona e saggia Europa".

"Oggi amata Italia, spera e divulga nel mondo, un semplice segno di Pace". (di Giovanni Lafirenze)

"Tutti coloro che dimenticano il loro passato sono condannati a riviverlo" (Primo Levi)

Rubrica Storia "Speciale Grande Guerra" a cura dello storico "Giovanni Lafirenze" di Foggia

Pubblicato da red. prov. "Alto Casertano-Matesino & d"

Notte del 6 Agosto 1945. Perché non si dimentichi... (di Giovanni Lafirenze)

Ore 2,45 ...Il colonnello Paul Tibberts appartenente all'aviazione americana accarezza con il proprio sguardo il suo B-29, ribattezzato in onore della madre Enola Gay.

Tinian, piccola isola nel Pacifico, è dotata di più piste di decollo. I bombardieri le ne utilizzano tre

Ore 8,15 ...Il cielo è limpido. L'equipaggio dell'unità speciale 509 è sulla verticale d'Hiroshima. L'ufficiale addetto allo sgancio inquadra il ponte d'Aioi e lascia precipitare da oltre diecimila metri, una bomba di quattro tonnellate. Curiosamente l'ordigno ancora oggi è identificato dal nomignolo: "Little Boy".Questo nasconde al suo interno, un cuore d'Uranio puro ( 235 U ).

...Ma come previsto a 580 metri dal suolo esplode. La reazione nucleare crea una serie infinita di fissioni neutroniche. Tempeste radioattive si estendono su una città, che già non esiste più.

Speciale "Grande Guerra" a cura dello storico di Bari: "Giovanni Lafirenze"

"Tutti coloro che dimenticano il loro passato sono condannati a riviverlo" (Primo Levi)

Vedi anche (clicca quì): "Hiroshima e Nagasaki perché non si dimentichi"

Pubblicato da red. prov. "Alto Casertano-Matesino & d"

"The Reawakening", by Primo Levi, is Levi's sequel to Survival in Auschwitz. It is a deeply powerful, compelling and affecting memoir, written from the perspective of having been liberated, in January 1945, from Auschwitz.

"The Reawakening" follows the events that occurred from the moment Levi was liberated, and his bizarre journey back home to Turin, Italy. Along the way he meets other liberated prisoners, traveling back to their homeland, along with country peasants, Russian soldiers and a mix of others. The blend of individuals Levi encounters, and writes about, is almost like a reading a story composed of mainly manic characters, from moments of extreme euphoria to the downside, with moments of depression. There is almost a carnival atmosphere. There are the deceivers, the rogues, the con-artists, whether prisoner or soldier, peasant or otherwise, all are sewn into the tapestry of Levi's long journey home. Some of their manic personalities and moods are like riding an elevator.

One minute they are up, the next minute they are down.

Levi manages to describe what he witnesses in these individuals with exacting details, as he journeys home. His mind's eye is extremely insightful. He isn't judgmental, but writes more like a journalist, in an almost indifferent manner. He leaves us to decipher our thoughts and emotions, as to what is right or wrong, good or bad, positive or negative. Levi leaves the judgment, or not, up to the reader.

Levi's journey home took him through several countries, from Russia to Hungary, and Romania before reaching home. His perspective of the rural countryside, villages and cities are filled with vivid and colorful description, from bombed homes and buildings, to death and destruction, to the harsh Russian steppes in the landscape, to the bartering markets, word-paintings flourish throughout "The Reawakening".

As we journey with Levi, we gain insight into the human condition, the difficulty that the Jews encountered when trying to return home, trying to repatriate themselves. It wasn't as simple as boarding a train and returning home to family and friends, and to familiar landscape. There were many roadblocks and adversities one had to overcome before setting foot on their homeland. It was not a one or two day journey. I gained a lot of historical information, and learned a lot about the daily interactions and dynamics of the Jewish individuals involved in the process of returning home. It was a difficult endeavor, and one that required extreme emotional and physical strength.

Levi's "The Reawakening" is a masterpiece, and a brilliantly written memoir of brutal and bare truths, hope and inspiration, during a time period that is covered with barren landscape and displaced persons. His ability to write without judgment, as both a catharsis and as a way of bearing witness, is incredible. His ability to face the journey ahead of him without hatred, but with desire, is a testament to his strength and character. Levi has given us much to ponder in "The Reawakening", and has brought us little-known facts of the difficulties of life immediately following liberation, and of repatriation. Primo Levi's journey was his reawakening, his emotional development and yearning to return to life. I will not soon forget the compelling and intense journey, that is a must read for everyone.

I personally own and have read this book.
~~~~~~
Jew Wishes...Peace to you all.
© Copyright 2007 - All Rights Reserved - No permission is given or allowed to reuse my photography, book reviews, writings, or my poetry in any form/format without my expresss written consent/permission.

CANILE DI LECCO: INDAGATA MICHELA VITTORIA BRAMBILLA

 DI Wildgreta

Certo, dovrà fare ancora molta strada per raggiungere le vette del suo pigmalione Berlusconi, ma se va avanti di questo passo, non dovrebbe metterci poi così tanto. Per ora è indagata per un canile a Lecco, ma chissà, col tempo, potrebbe avere più fortuna. Certamente, sono lontani i tempi in cui faceva la presentatrice televisiva con scarso successo e girava i locali notturni travestita da dark lady. Oggi è una donna di governo, e la sua carriera dimostra, una volta di più, che l'Italia è il paese dove tutto è possibile. Smettiamola di considerare  un modello il cosiddetto "Sogno Americano", noi abbiamo il "Sogno Italiano", molto più a portata di mano: veline che diventano ministri,  ex presentatrici che diventano sottosegretari, avvisi di garanzia che benedicono la politica come una manna dal cielo e, soprattutto, la granitica certezza di farla franca grazie a leggi approvate a tempo di record. Questo non è un paese in crisi, è un paradiso terrestre, dove la Confindustria può persino dichiarare che è "d'accordo con l'emendamento che annulla l'obbligo di assunzione per i precari perchè semplifica le cose" e i giornali lo pubblicano pure. Chiudo con un pensiero di Primo Levi e, di seguito, troverete l'articolo sulla Brambilla e il canile.

"Ogni tempo ha il suo fascismo. A questo si arriva in molti modi, non necessariamente col terrore dell'intimidazione poliziesca, ma anche negando e distorcendo l'informazione, inquinando la giustizia, paralizzando la scuola, diffondendo in molti sottili modi la nostalgia per un mondo in cui regnava sovrano l'ordine. Primo Levi"

Canile di Lecco, indagata la Brambilla. Ora si controlli tutto.

"Sono soddisfatta del fatto che qualcuno, i NOE, abbia deciso finalmente di controllare la struttura e la gestione del canile di Lecco".
A dichiararlo è Susanna Chiesa, Presidente dell'Associazione FRECCIA45 per la protezione e la difesa animale.
La Presidente dell'Associazione animalista nata dagli ex volontari del canile di Lecco esprime così ampia soddisfazione in merito alla notizia pubblicata oggi dal settimanale "La Gazzetta di Lecco" secondo cui Michela Vittoria Brambilla, il Sindaco del Comune di Lecco, Dott.ssa Faggi, ed il Responsabile dell'ASL, Dott. Galbiati, sono indagati per scarichi non autorizzati relativamente al Canile municipale.
Nell'esposto presentato un anno fa negli Uffici del Comune di Lecco, i volontari del canile (poi estromessi dalla Brambilla) avevano sollevato, tra le numerose problematiche, anche la questione scarichi (con produzione di servizio fotografico).
"Nessuno sembrava preoccuparsi della questione igienica ed addirittura l'ASL certificava un Canile a 5 stelle - prosegue Susanna Chiesa -. Ora mi auguro che si vada a fondo nelle indagini a salvaguardia innanzitutto del benessere degli animali".
Il caso era finito anche sui banchi del Consiglio Regionale e del Parlamento grazie alle numerose interrogazioni presentate dal Consigliere dei Verdi Marcello Saponaro e dall'On. Bruno Mellano.

The i Tetralogy by Mathias B. Freese

I remember very well the first time I learned about Hitler and what happened to the Jewish people under the rule of Nazi Germany. My teacher taught us that Hitler wanted to create a pure race and to me at that time, Aryan meant blond haired and blue eyed. I was very relieved when he said that. I was certain that me and my family would have been safe from the tortuous concentration camps. Reading The i Tetralogy brought those thoughts back to the surface. I had never considered what it might have meant to be one of Hitler's chosen. As a child I only felt better knowing that we wouldn't have been tortured. I never gave any thought to what it would have been like to look the other way or, perhaps worse, to become the torturer.

The i Tetralogy is a fictional account of the Holocaust and its impact from four points of view: a nameless Jewish man enslaved in a concentration camp (seems to be Auschwitz), from Gunther, one of the lead "untersturmfuhrer" of the same concentration camp, from Gunther living in the United States at the end of his life, and finally from Conrad, Gunther's son born after WWII ended. It is a vicious web that allows no one to escape unscathed.

In graduate school I took a Literature of the Holocaust class and it was one of the most profound of my life. The work covered in that class was mainly autobiographical and focused on such works as The Drowned and the Saved by Primo Levi, Night by Elie Wiesel, and This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentleman by Tadeusz Borowski. We also read Maus and Maus II by Art Spiegelman. For me, Primo Levi's work was the most difficult, emotionally painful, yet precious to read (if this makes sense). The i Tetralogy reminded me of that experience and amplified it. In it Freese said those things that were left unsaid by the survivors.

Freese, as I discovered while reading Down to a Sunless Sea, is a talented writer. The passion he poured into this novel is clear. It was a difficult book for me to finish. Over the week it took me to read this novel, my anxiety level rose steadily. My jaws would be so sore when I woke up in the morning and I found them clenching for no reason throughout the day. My physical reaction is a testament to the power of the experience. The i Tetralogy would not have worked if it were written by a lesser author.

*************

To buy this book, click here.

Treballar i no aprendre res no produeix cap satisfacció.

Versamina, Primo Levi

In februari 1944 werden de chemicus Primo Levi en de arts Leonardo De Benedetti samen met 650 andere joden naar Auschwitz gedeporteerd. Ze overleefden de strenge selectie en werden tewerkgesteld in het kamp Buna-Monowitz, een op zeven kilometer van Auschwitz gelegen fabriek die voor IG-Farben synthetisch rubber produceerde. Toen het Rode Leger in 1945 met rasse schreden naderde, werden de inmiddels ziek geworden De Benedetti en Levi door hun Duitse bewakers in het kamp achtergelaten. Na een korte herstelperiode in het lazaret van Auschwitz kwamen beide heren in een Russisch doorgangskamp in het Poolse Katowice terecht, waar ze op verzoek van de kampcommandant een ‘rapport over de organisatie van de gezondheidszorg in het concentratiekamp voor joden Monowitz (Auschwitz - Opper-Silizië)' schreven. Hun rapport verscheen een jaar later in een medisch tijdschrift, waarna het jarenlang in de anonimiteit verdween en pas in 1993 weer opdook in Levi's verzameld werk. Pas nu, zo'n 63 jaar na datum, verschijnt het bewuste rapport als ‘Auschwitz-rapportage' ook in een Nederlandse vertaling.

Zoals de oorspronkelijke, uitgebreide titel van het rapport al duidelijk maakt, hebben we hier te maken met een medisch rapport waarin beide auteurs het onder meer hebben over de hygiëne, de ziektes en de medische ingrepen in het kamp van Monowitz. Zoals een rapport dat vereist is de toon neutraal en zakelijk, wat soms nogal sinistere uitspraken tot gevolg heeft. Wanneer De Benedetti en Levi het bijvoorbeeld hebben over gevangenen die in de gaskamers van Birkenau werden geëlimineerd omdat ze aan syfilis, tuberculose of malaria leden, noopt hen dat tot de eufemistische uitspraak: ‘Het valt niet te ontkennen dat dit een zeer radicale en profylactische maatregel was!' Een ander nadeel van de rapportstijl is dat de tekst nogal snel vervalt in een opsomming van feiten, waardoor er van leesplezier weinig of geen sprake is als je deze tekst onder ogen krijgt. De feiten reveleren bovendien ook niets nieuws meer, vermits de aangehaalde gebeurtenissen al meermaals aan bod zijn gekomen in de uitgebreide kampliteratuur en in de reportages over de Tweede Wereldoorlog waarmee Canvas ons maar blijft bestoken.

De vlag ‘Auschwitz-rapportage' dekt dan weer niet volledig de lading van dit boek, vermits De Benedetti en Levi zich alleen maar tijdens de laatste oorlogsmaanden in een satellietkamp van Auschwitz bevonden. Als dan ook nog eens blijkt dat beide rapporteurs alleen maar als patiënten en dus niet als dokters in de ziekenbarakken aanwezig zijn geweest, waardoor ze al zeker geen blik achter de schermen hebben kunnen werpen, kun je niet anders dan een heel kritische houding tegenover de gerapporteerde wetenswaardigheden aannemen.

Ondanks alle tegenstrijdigheden heeft deze ‘Auschwitz-rapportage' zeker ook zijn waarde. De feiten uit dit document vormen immers zowat de oertekst van bij de keel grijpende boeken als ‘Het periodiek systeem', ‘Het respijt' en vooral ‘Is dit nu een mens?' die Primo Levi later zou schrijven. Het hoofdstuk 'KB' (Krankenbau of ziekenboeg) uit ‘Is dit een mens?' zou er bijvoorbeeld nooit gekomen zijn zonder de lugubere feiten die in het rapport beschreven worden. Dit boek vormt dus een ideale aanvulling bij de andere kampliteratuur van Primo Levi en is een absolute must voor liefhebbers van zijn belangrijk werk. Boeken zoals die van Primo Levi zorgen er namelijk voor dat de herinnering aan een donkere periode uit onze geschiedenis levend blijft. Wie het verleden vergeet, is immers gedoemd om het later opnieuw te beleven.

Oorspronkelijk gepubliceerd op CuttingEdge.be op 23 juni 2008

boekcover © Meulenhoff

Multimedia:

Primo Levi keert terug naar Auschwitz:

I el personatge del conte em fa enveja, de la bona. Poder obrir un potet, respirar i omplir-te d'una olor perduda, i amb ella, els records...

Ii rog pe cei care citesc acest post sa-si gaseasca timp pentru a citi cartea lui Primo Levi “Mai este oare acesta un om?”.

Dante, it seems, did not know Greek; but he had Virgil at his side.

The Mantuan had conscientiously and studiously designed his own Aeneid as a sequel to the Iliad and would have been chagrined to realise that his own, but not Homer’s, epic was available to Dante in the land of their birth. But in conjecturing a fitting end for Ulysses, Dante drew on the imagery of James’s letter in the New Testament.

According to David H Higgins, whose detailed notes accompany CH Sisson’s excellent translation of the Divine Comedy,[1] Dante knew the texts of the Iliad and Odyssey only

fragmentarily in quotation or glosses in Latin authors. Dante knew no Greek, and no MSS of the epics were known in the West early in the fourteenth century. Dante’s esteem of Homer is based solely on his reputation as reported in later classical authors. (p. 509)

As sometimes happens with translation, the spirit and nobility of a work leap across a chasm, not only of language, but of an absent text. This particular torch is important to the relay that is often observed to be central to the progressive character of European literature. Thus Homer is complemented and extended by Virgil, who – virtuous pagan – is adopted by Dante in early Renaissance Italy as a guide, psychopomp and emblem of human reason.

That Christian rationalism has seldom been so beset as in the Nazi era of Auschwitz. And no cry more piteous has been heard than in Primo Levi’s account, in chapter 11 of If This Is A Man,[2] of his reconstruction from memory of the ending of Inferno Canto XXVI for the benefit of Jean (or Pikolo), his twenty-four year old Alsatian companion, who

although he continued his secret individual struggle against death … did not neglect his human relationships […] (p. 137)

In the context of a first lesson in Italian, commenced immediately because

the important thing is not to lose time, not to waste this hour (p. 139)

‘Primo’ (as he is known in the camp) begins with the Canto on Ulysses! Pikolo shows his mettle (he is a survivor) by continuing to listen attentively, to wait, to suggest words, even when Levi struggles to tell him

about the Middle Ages, about the so human and so necessary and yet unexpected anachronism, but still more, something gigantic that I myself have only just seen, in a flash of intuition, perhaps the reason for our fate, for our being here today … (p. 143)

The soup queue, which they must enter to bring back a 100 pound canister of cabbage and turnip soup supported on two poles for their colleagues in the Kommando, is forgotten:

It is vitally necessary and urgent that he listen, that he understand this … before it is too late; tomorrow he or I might be dead, or we might never see each other again […] (p. 142)

Here the injured and perjured spirit of Europe cries, and is heard, through the medium of fastidious care for a text, the details of which, though many elude the memory of this man, a chemist who never thought of himself as a writer before he entered Auschwitz, come to seem, in the moment of telling, enormously significant:

“I set forth” [misi me] is not je me mis [Levi is trying both to remember Dante’s old Italian and to convey it in modern French to Pikolo], it is much stronger and more audacious, it is a chain which has been broken, it is throwing oneself on the other side of a barrier, we know the impulse well. (p. 140)

And as with every textual detail recounted, the meaning’s relevance to their situation explodes with the force of revelation.

2.

This textual force arises from a tradition, a channel of living inspiration, a world of ideal exemplars – of veracity, of clarity, even of mission, the task of the writer being to bear witness, to fulfil a national or divine purpose of the highest kind (the founding of Rome, the dispensing of eternal justice, of surviving the death camp in order to convey faithfully the intrinsic detail of the experience).

In addition to the vicissitudes of memory, which seem fatally to imperil the reconstruction of the Canto in the brief window of opportunity, as Primo and the Pikolo are

swept by the fierce rhythm of the Lager (p. 138 )

there is, for us as well as for Pikolo, the problem of linguistic access. Medieval Italian seems a special study, possibly requiring a lifetime; in this case, is there any English version which may be preferred?

Laurence Binyon (1933-43) and Dorothy Sayers (1949-62) have both ventured verse translations into English, which are highly regarded, but to which I do not have access. There are others, too, by John Sinclair (1939-46), John Ciardi (1954), Allen Mandelbaum (1980-82) and Mark Musa (1971), also unknown to me.

The internet provides[3] a verse translation by Henry F. Cary[4] (1892) which we may examine, choosing as specimen a pleasing extended simile (lines 27-35 or thereabouts) which compares the poet’s coming upon the eighth chasm of the eighth circle to a countryman’s view, at dusk, of glow-worms below in the valley where he has been working. Cary has this:

As in that season, when the sun least veils       

His face that lightens all, what time the fly        

Gives way to the shrill gnat, the peasant then,   

Upon some cliff reclined, beneath him sees

Fire-flies innumerous spangling o’er the vale,     

Vineyard or tilth, where his day-labor lies;         

With flames so numberless throughout its space           

Shone the eighth chasm, apparent, when the depth       

Was to my view exposed.

This is Miltonic – contrived with the mechanical model of Latin quantitative verse in mind – but, unlike Milton, relatively inert, even pedantic:

what time … [and] then

resolutely compacted to the metre, just as ‘innumerous’ must be devised to avoid the extra syllable of ‘innumerable’. This is the fabric of Wardour Street English, inkhorn words, even fustian. ‘Spangling’ carries peculiarly the wrong association – of decorative artificiality. Moreover

when the sun least veils 

His face that lightens all

requires some decoding, possibly recourse to a note (which is not supplied).

Another verse translation, undertaken with a “poetic rather than pedantic” approach, shows that even faithful versifying can be readable, that is, can flow:

The view

Beneath us was an empty depth, wherethrough

Lights moved, abundant as the fireflies are

At even, when the gnats succeed the flies.

A myriad gleams the labourer sees who lies

Above them, resting, while the vale below

Already darkens to the night, - he toiled

From dawn to store the ripened grapes, or till

The roots around, and on the shadowing hill

Reclines and gazes down the vale.[5]

This succeeds, though, at the cost of suppressing the elaborate reference to summer.

The greatness of Dante having been lost by straining through Cary’s sieve, we turn to the contemporary Sisson:

As the countryman, who is resting on a hill,

At the season when he who lights up the world

Hides his face from us for the shortest time,

When flies give way to gnats, sees in the valley

Thousands of glow-worms, perhaps in the very place

Where he has worked at harvest or at plough;

There were as many flames there glittering

In the eighth cleft, which I perceived,

As soon as I arrived where I could see the bottom.[6]

It is clear, now, that Dante’s nested parentheses (“at the season when … he who”) are going to cause difficulty to any translator and reader, but

At the season when he who lights up the world

Hides his face from us for the shortest time,

is graced by a note:

i.e. during the summer, when the days are longer than the nights. (p. 543)

This hurdle over, we find the agreeable colloquialism of the last line, and metrical overflow of

Thousands of glow-worms, perhaps in the very place

(devices both of which make for readability over the course of many pages), more than matched by a return of classical brio in:

There were as many flames there glittering

The contemporary fashion in verse translation for rough carpentry may be accepted in the present case, but it is a delicate balance. In passing, it may be noted that Seamus Heaney, who has acknowledged the soaring figure of Dante in his own inspiration, even writing ‘Station Island’[7] within the “big acoustic” of the Divine Comedy, has twice included his translations of sections of the ‘Inferno’ in his own books.[8] The later of these, a version of Canto III, lines 82-129, ends

And they are eager to go across the river

Because Divine Justice goads them with its spur

So that their fear is turned into desire.

No good spirits ever pass this way

And therefore, if Charon objects to you,

You should understand well what his words imply […] (p. 113)

- thus confirming, in spite of serious urgency, some sense that, as regards any main verse line, the departures rather outnumber the returns.

Sisson, then, bridges the considerable gap between verse probity and prose readability, a modern achievement that may make him a preferred contemporary Dante.

Less modern, but with its own vivacity, is the Carlyle-Okey-Wicksteed version,[9] so-called because three pairs of hands translated the three parts of the Comedy. With the ‘Inferno’ we are concerned with the work of John Aitken Carlyle. The same passage is given as:

As many fireflies as the peasant who is resting on the hill – at the time when he who lightens the world hides his face from us,[10]

when the fly yields to the gnat – sees down along the valley there perchance where he gathers grapes and tills:

with flames thus numerous the eighth chasm was all gleaming, as I perceived, so soon as I came to where the bottom showed itself. (p. 139)

Here the syntax of the argument is stretched further, necessitating the “thus numerous” to pick up the thread of the fireflies, introduced early. But we may admire the immediacy of “where the bottom shows itself” and “where he [the peasant] gathers grapes and tills”. This cheerful pithiness of diction is sustained, agreeably to the modern reader: Ulysses and his companions, swathed in fire, soon appear moving “along the gullet of the fosse”.

If the modern trend in verse translation is to eschew manicured lines and forms imposed from a tradition alien to the Divine Comedy, then this kind of springy and mineral-rich prose is likely to hold the frail attention of the interested, but fatigable, contemporary reader, in all probability a student.

There is finally, an older version long held in special regard by connoisseurs, the prose translation by Charles Eliot Norton.[11] This was reviewed in the early 1920s in the following terms:

[…] a prose translation, and, needless to say, a faithful one. Compared with a prose masterpiece like Andrew Lang’s version of Theocritus, it seems rather dry, and wanting in such rhythmic beauty as is well within the reach of prose. Here the austerity of Dante seems to have fused with the austerity of the Norton stock to produce something more austere than either. Norton’s version holds its own, however, with other prose versions of Dante.[12]

But Norton was writing somewhat in the shadow of Longfellow’s own verse translation of Dante and perhaps in a spirit of quiet dissidence. Let us make the same comparison:

As many as the fireflies which, in the season when he that brightens the world keeps his face least hidden from us, the rustic, who is resting on the hillside what time the fly yields to the gnat, sees down in the valley, perhaps there where he makes his vintage and ploughs ― with so many flames all the eighth pit was gleaming, as I perceived so soon as I was there where the bottom became apparent. [13]

Here the laws of elegant prose, rather than of regular verse, are being observed. Once again the quantitative figure (“As many … with so many”) has to be picked up after an interval occasioned by those nesting parentheses, but by now we may attribute this equally to the elaborateness of Dante and the fidelity of the translator. Otherwise the version is faultless and might well satisfy even the eagle-eyed Robert Graves, pitiless exposer of unclear prose.[14]

3.

The criterion, then, for a translation of Dante in any age – because each new failure reveals unfamiliar faces of a turning planet – is: does it enable the trembling entry of the new reader into the world of Dante? The new reader, like Pikolo, needs to understand unmistakably the meaning of this work, the concern with salvation and judgement, with cosmos and order, in an older language; with valid living and existential truth, in a newer one.

History is the motor of culture, as tradition is of literature. In an age of relativism and officially sponsored amnesia, there is always denial of this obvious truth. But against all the odds, new questioners are born who wish to possess the cultural world they find themselves in – and wish to possess themselves.

In Europe, this sequence of defining epics – masterworks – begins perhaps with the lyric sweep of Homer, is crystallised further in the noble polity of Virgil and flowers through Christianity and the judicious passions of Dante, her greatest poet. Thus we look, as if down a telescope, from Levi to Dante, to Virgil and finally to Homer. The segments cohere, they obey an invisible sequence, they subdue the gulfs of time and interpret the inner values of a civilisation.

At its weakest this tradition gathers dust like a geranium in a museum, slumbering on the sill of yawning scholarship; but it is not its weakest that concerns us. Like a resilient nervous system, whose power is revealed only in extremity, the European tradition throws off fleshly veils of aestheticism when survival itself is threatened, when the succession becomes Homer, Virgil, Dante … and Primo Levi.

Dante leads Ulysses and his crew through the Pillars of Hercules and out towards Atlantis where, after a further five months of voyaging past the forbidden limits, they reach the imposingly dark mountain isle of Purgatory. Here, in a storm, the ship with all lives is lost, as “it pleased another [i.e. God] it should [be]”. This is an invented, but fitting, death for Ulysses, one of the

corrupt advisers, guilty of misapplying their intellectual powers, [who] are similarly guilty of the abuse of eloquence.[15]

Levi writes:

[…] the sun is already high, midday is near. I am in a hurry, a terrible hurry […] (p. 141)

He continues:

As if I also was hearing it for the first time: like the blast of a trumpet, like the voice of God. For a moment I forget who I am and where I am. (p. 141)

Has all this urgency to communicate and remember, to recover, through exact text, the fountain of European spirituality in the most unpropitious circumstances imaginable, been in vain? Perhaps, says Levi,

perhaps, despite the wan translation and the pedestrian, rushed commentary, he [Pikolo] has received the message, he has felt that it has to do with him, that it has to do with all men who toil, and with us in particular; and that it has to do with us two, who dare to reason of these things with the poles for the soup on our shoulders. (pp. 141-2)

Thus are Dante’s words, variably translated, given a meaning and urgency that might have surprised Dante or Virgil, but would not have surprised those sinners writhing eternally in their fires in the eighth circle of that other hell.

30^th August 2003

The sea’s only gifts are harsh blows, and occasionally, the chance to feel strong. Now, i don’t know much about the sea, but i do know that that’s the way it is here, and i also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong, but to feel strong. To measure yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions, facing the blind, deaf stone alone, nothing to help you but your hands and your own head.

Alexender Supertramp

Sottoscrivo pienamente.

Oggi le parole le faccio dire agli altri.

Io nel mentre mi affaccio sul balcone, e ripensando a questa frase, alzando lo sguardo verso il buio come i bambini mangio bocconi di pioggia battente.

I have had a few posts already quoting from Levi -- here, here and here. In this one too, I want to draw attention to a few more of the passages that I enjoyed a lot.

Here is Levi, for example, as to why God did not patent polythene:

Now, at that time, there did not exist polyethylene, which would have suited me perfectly since it is flexible, light and splendidly impermeable: but it is also a bit too incorruptible, and not by chance God Almighty himself, although he is a master of polymerization, abstained from patenting it: He does not like incorruptible things.

While the utterances of physicists like Einstein and mathematicians like Hardy and Erdos about God and his characteristics are part of common lore, this (and others like this) from a chemist, I think, also needs a bit of popularisation.

While the attempts of Levi and his wife to collect chicken shit and python shit (to obtain alloxan from them) is as hilarious as informative (as the following excerpts show),

I returned home that evening, told my very recent wife the story of the alloxan and uric acid, and informed her that the next day I would leave on a business trip: that is, I would get  on my bike and make a tour of the farms on the outskirts of town (at that time they were still there) in search of chicken shit. She did not hesitate; she liked the countryside, and a wife should follow her husband; she would come along with me. It was kind of supplement to our honeymoon trip, which for reasons of economy had been frugal and hurried. But she warned me not to have too many illusions: finding chicken shit in its pure state would not be so easy.

...

The director and the various workers attached to the exhibition received me with stupefied scorn. Where were my credentials? Where did I come from? Who did I think I was showing up just like that, as if it were the most natural thing, asking for python shit? Out of the question, not even a gram; pythons are frugal, they eat twice a month and vice versa; especially when they did not get much excercise. Their very scanty shit is worth its weight in gold; besides, they -- and all exhibitors and owners of snakes -- have permanent and exclusive contracts with big pharmaceutical companies. So get out and stop wasting our time.

his description of how industrial effluents, at very small quantities, can wreak havoc on some of the chemical processes and industries is a cautionary tale of ecological balance/imbalance (though, I am not sure if it had been recognised as such in the seventies when the book was published):

... when all was said and done, it became obvious that a few thousand molecules of polyphenol absorbed by the fibers of the overalls during the wash and carried by an invisible piece of lint from the overall to the paper was enough to produce the spots.

Finally, while the piece of vanadium is a moving tale about people and their failings (and successes), the last chapter on Carbon is an epic piece worthy of being the last piece in such a book. I think is it Nietzsche who said that there is a bit of star in everybody and Levi shows how there is also a bit of limestone in everybody!

As I noted in one of my earlier pieces, reading Levi, I had the feeling that he is the Sheila Dhar of Chemistry; and hence, when I saw this description by Levi himself of Periodic Table, though I was not surprised, I did feel a bit awed as to how successful Levi had been in achieving the goal he has set for himself:

I told him that I was in search of events, mine and those of others, which I wanted to put on display in a book, to see if I could convey to the layman the strong and bitter flavour of our trade, which is only a particular instance, a more strnuous version of the business of living. I told him that it did not seem fair to me that the world should know everything about how the doctor, prostitute, sailor, assassin, countess, ancient Roman, conspirator, and Polynesian livves and nothing about how we transformers of matter live: but that in this book I would deliberately neglect the grand chemistry, the triumphant chemistry of colossal plants and dizzying output, because this is collective work and therefore anonymous. I was more interested in the stories of the solitary chemistry, unarmed and on foor, at the measure of man, which with a few exceptions has been mine: but it has also been the chemistry of the founders, who did not work in teams but alone, surrounded by the indifference of their time, generally without profit, and who confronted matter wihtout aids, with their brains and hands, reason and imagination.

So, locate The Periodic Table today and have some non-stop fun for five or six hours!

Prometheus had been foolish to bestow fire on men instead of selling it to them; he would have made money, placated Jove, and avoided all that trouble with the vulture.

That is the latest installment of Primo Levi; by the way, I also loved the story of how

... ammonium chloride, ...completely useless and probably a bit harmful,

got to be

religiously ground into the chromate anti-rust paint, ..., and nobody knows why anymore.

The more I read Levi, the more I get the feeling that he is the Shiela Dhar of Chemistry!

... to do work in which one does not believe is a great affliction.

Here is another about a routine chore in the lab that Levi enjoyed:

Distilling is beautiful. First of all, because it is slow, philosophic, and silent occupation, which keeps you busy but gives you time to think of other things, somewhat like riding a bike. Then, because it involves a metamorphosis from liquid to vapor (invisible), and from this once again to liquid; but in this double journey, up and down, purity is attained, an ambiguous and fascinating condition. which starts with chemistry and goes very far. And finally, when you set about distilling, you acquire the consciousness of repeating a ritual consecrated by the centuries, almost a religious act, in which from imperfect material you obtain the essence, the usia, the spirit, and in the first place alcohol, which gladdens the spirit and warms the heart.

Poetic, don't you think?

Here is a section from the chapter on Zinc, for example:

Zinc, Zinck, zinco: they make tubs out of it for laundry, it is not an element which says much to the imagination, it is gray and its salts are colorless, it is not toxic, nor does it produce striking chromatic reactions; in short, it is a boring metal. It has been known to humanity for two or three centuries, so it is not a veteran covered with glory like copper, nor even one of those newly minted elementes which are surrounded with the glamour of their discovery.

Of course, that part about humanity knowing zinc only for a few centuries is not correct; as Wikipedia puts it, while it was known only from the 16th century in the West, Indians knew about it from ancient times -- at least for a few thousand years -- and so, at least for me, zinc is anything but boring. But then, I do not know if this fact was well known in the West when Levi wrote his book in 1975.

If you can excuse that factual error in Levi's piece, that paragraph is one of the most intimate ones on the topic of elements that I have read in a long while -- the other such accounts I have read being Uncle Tungsten of Oliver Sacks and an essay titled Lavender by Andre Aciman. In any case, as the following paragraphs reveal, declaring zinc boring does not stop Levi from philosophizing about it:

The course notes contained a detail which at first reading had escaped me, namely, that the so tender and delicate zinc, so yielding to acid which gulps it down in a single mouthful behaves, however, in a very different fashion when it is very pure: then it obstinately resists attack. One could draw from this two conflicting philosophical conclusions: the praise of purity, which protects from evil like a coat of mail; the praise of impurity, which gives rise to changes, in other words, to life. I discarded the first, disgustingly moralistic, and I lingered on the second, which I found more congenial.

This philosophizing tone suddenly turns personal and nostalgic (which is not surprising given the fact that the book, so strangely titled, is in fact a memoir):

Never mind: actually, it's ground for debate. It could even become an essential and fundamental discussion, because I too am Jewish, and she is not: I am the impurity that makes the zinc react, ...

And, the story has a tender ending too:

... asked Rita to let me walk her home. It was dark, and her home was not close by. The goal that I had set myself was objectively modest, but it seemed to me incomparably audacious: I hesitated half of the way and felt on burning coals, and intoxicated myself and her with disjointed, breathless talk. Finally, trembling with emotion, I slipped my arm under hers. Rita did not pull away, nor did she return the pressure: but I fell  into step with her, and felt exhilarated and victorious.

This mix of the personal, science, nostalgia and philosophizing is what I found to my liking in Levi's book. I will write more about it when I finish reading it. In the meanwhile, if you can get a copy, don't pass the opportunity.

Vedere un cinema riempirsi nel pomeriggio caldo della periferia napoletana? Con la rassegna "Ottobre piovono i libri: Primo Levi a Ponticelli", si può.

E non è che in programma c'era il solito film per teenagers degli ultimi tempi, ma un film sul tema delicato della deportazione dei prigionieri nei campi di concentramento nella Germania nazista.

Questo è successo giovedì 8 Maggio al cinema Pierrot di Ponticelli ed il film in questione è "La tregua" tratto dall'omonimo romanzo di Primo Levi, girato dal Maestro del cinema italiano Francesco Rosi, un arzillo ottantaseienne napoletano, che ha incontrato i giovani universitari (e non solo...) alla presenza dei professori Pasquale Iaccio, professore di Storia del cinema dell' Università di Napoli Federico II, Valerio Caprara, professore di Storia e critica del cinema dell' Istituto Universitario Orientale, Michele Fatica, professore di Storia moderna e contemporanea dell' Istituto Universitario Orientale.

Molte le generazioni a confronto nell'incontro con il regista seguito alla proiezione del film nato da domande dirette della gente, anche semplici curiosità, rivolte al regista.

Se non è sete di conoscenza questa...

E dunque brava l'associazione "Arci Movie" che opera sul territorio da anni e lo dimostra riempiendo cinema ed arene,  brava la Biblioteca Universitaria di Napoli che ha dato vita a questa interessante manifestazione in un quartiere difficile, bravo Rosi che ha saputo portare in alto il nostro cinema italiano (non dimentichiamo che gli è stato assegnato l'Orso d'Oro alla carriera al Festival di Berlino) e brava soprattutto la gente di Ponticelli che risponde sempre positivamente in queste occasioni.

R. Z.

PS. Domenica 18 Maggio i nostri sondaggi verranno chiusi per essere analizzati in vista del Social Fest di Ponticelli. Vi preghiamo quindi di continuare a votare!!!

Si esto es un hombre es el libro que inaugura la triología que Levi dedicó a los campos de exterminio. Estos fueron concebidos como una necesidad, la necesidad de contar lo que había sucedido.

La única poesía que he sido capaz de aprenderme es suya, de este libro:

Los que vivís seguros

en vuestras casas caldeadas.

Los que os encontráis, al volver por la tarde,

la comida caliente y los rostros amigos:

Considerar si es un hombre

quien trabaja en el fango

quien no conoce la paz

quien lucha por la mitad de un panecillo

quien muere por un sí o por un no.

Considerad si es una mujer

quien no tiene cabellos ni nombre

ni fuerzas para recordarlo

vacía la mirada y frío el regazo

como una rana invernal.

Pensad que esto ha sucedido:

Os encomiendo estas palabras.

Grabadlas en vuestros corazones

al estar en casa, al ir por la calle,

al acostaros, al levantaros;

repetídselas a vuestros hijos.

O que vuestra casa se derrumbe,

la enfermedad os imposibilite,

vuestros descendientes os vuelvan el rostro.

En Si esto es un hombre hay relatos espeluznates sobre lo qué es capaz de hacer el hombre, pero hay uno que me marcó profundamente. Un hombre iba a ser horcado publicamente, delante de todos los recluidos en el campo, por haber tomado parte en una revuelta; uno de los crematorios de Birkenau había sido hecho saltar por los aires.

Pero todos oyeron el grito del moribundo, éste traspasó las gruesas y antiguas barreras de la inercia y de sumisión, golpeó el centro vivo del hombre en cada uno de nosotros:

- Kamaraden, ich bin der Letze! (¡Compañeros, yo soy el último!)

Me gustaría poder contar que entre nosotros, rebaño abyecto, se hubiese levantado una voz, un murmullo, un sigo de asentimiento. Pero no sucedió nada. Hemos continuado en pie, encorvados y grises, con la cabeza inclinada, y no nos hemos descubierto la cabeza más que cuando el alemán nos lo ha ordenado. (...)

Al pie de la horca, los SS nos veían pasar con miradas indiferentes: su obra estaba realizada y bien realizada. Los rusos pueden venir ya: ya no quedan hombres fuertes entre nosotros, el último pende ahora sobre nuestras cabezas, y para los demás, pocos cabestros nos han bastado. Pueden venir los rusos: no nos encontrarán más que a los domados, a nosotros los acabados, dignos ahora de la muerte inerme que nos espera.

El 11 de abril de 1987 la portera descubrió el cuerpo de Primo Levi que yacía en un rellano. La policía supuso que el superviviente de Auschwitz se había suicidado arrojándose por las escaleras

Estos días me han sorprendido las reacciones de la gente ante el “monstruo austriaco”. Esta forma de llamarlo pretende subrayar su inhumanidad, alejarlo de nosotros, hacérnoslo ajeno. Sin embargo, yo me niego a verlo como algo tan diferente de los pequeños horrores que vivimos cada día: los maltratos en la pareja, a los hijos, a los ancianos… La gente se pregunta cómo podían no ver los que estaban cerca, culpan a otra víctima: la madre, la eterna culpable: cómo pudo no ver, repiten. No se dan cuenta que, probablemente, esa mujer vivía como podía su infierno compartido, probablemente prefería también no ver, como prefieren no ver y no entender los periodistas que han apodado a ese hombre el “monstruo austriaco”, como prefieren no ver y no entender todos los que quieren alejar el horror de sus vidas, decir que no existe, tomarlo por imposible.

Es difícil enfrentarse a la propia vida y ver sus pequeños o grandes horrores; preferimos, a menudo, no ver, no pensar, no entender, no sufrir, hacemos ver que eso no está pasando.

La historia del “monstruo austriaco” nos puede sorprender por grado, pero no por su materia. Pues cada día convivimos con esa materia y muchas veces le decimos a la víctima: aguanta un poco más o no es para tanto.

Don Renato D'Aronco, parroco di Castelnuovo del Friuli (PN) rifiuta le ultime volontà del partigiano Egidio Cozzi, che voleva che il suo funerale si svolgesse in chiesa e che fossero eseguite canzoni partigiane. Neanche lui 'Bella ciao' la vuole sentire.
Finisce che i familiari di Egidio decidono solamente di far svolgere il rito civile, pur di poter far suonare tutte le canzoni patriottiche care al vecchio combattente.
Il parroco dichiara: 'mi sono limitato ad applicare le dirett