Thursday, August 23, 2007

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snow shoes and communism.

That winter of '64 was particularly harsh in his city.
Anna had only a pair of shoes with heels. She was seventeen and wanted put on their heels. A spool as were used then. The only
heels of Anna was summer.
Sunday all her friends went to church in the center, in the Cathedral, and she with them. Outside the
expected the boys, who did not enter the church. The expectations for her home, smoking cigarettes bought at five to five, in packets of tissue paper. Almost a ritual these meetings, which was unthinkable to miss. Then there was the afternoon to go around, some dancing in the suburbs or to some party in a friend's house.

Anna attended a school for the rich, but she was not rich.
His father was a skilled worker, but still the workers in state railways and his mother, like all mothers at the time, was at home.
The friends had furs and designer clothes. His tailoring was his mother, very good at turning the wool coats and put together by the fabric of the masterpieces by which Anna did not deface anything.
But the shoes ... the shoes were a problem.
Its unique high-heeled shoes were summer. Then Anna told everyone that she was cold and he used those green shoes, open at the sides, because they were in tune with the loden that her mother had done and that was really special, admired by all. She sometimes said that the author was not his mother, a seamstress, but special, which did not say the name, and that he was in another city.
But the shoes were summer. And she was cold ... so cold. Often there was snow and the road to get to and walk was long.
When he got home he felt almost as feet, fingers became purple and did everything to keep warm without the chilblains were.
had to be ready for the afternoon, to go dancing, and shoes were always just the same. That
dignified poverty had accompanied her throughout high school, then, the last year, had started to do some work, but then, in the province, for a girl who was studying, it was impossible to find work. O
work or studies. If you can not afford the studies go to work.
had worked so hard, her mother and her for pick up a bit 'of money for a really nice pair of shoes, high heels.
Anna did not want any shoes, wanted shoes like those of her friends, otherwise it would continue with those summer.
And so at last he had conquered her high-heeled shoes, winter, black patent leather. But that was only the first small battle that Anna would have fought to live with pride in his poverty.

The collapse or growth depending on how you look around, had been fifth in the fifth. All
, most, all but three out of thirty-five, went on a school trip. A Capri. By bus. She did not.
Again there was no money and this time Anna could not understand. He could not get over it. A
nothing were served endless tears, prayers, promises. No it was not and had been. And so she, along with two other boys had stayed at home. Those days it was not even going to school because they would have parked in other classes where they would certainly place because ... one thousand and something she could answer .. that was poor? ... That his father had no money ... ? and perhaps more than anyone would have sympathy.
NO! no commiseration.
In those days he had thought that school was never one in which not everyone could do the same things, not everyone could access the same opportunities.
began to read everything that happened at hand on the social differences.
A bit 'at a time he realized that this school, this company would not do. Indeed it was a mess! He understood that the rules were used only for the poor and that the doctor's son had more chance with her. He understood that machine, clothes and travel were ostentatious symbols of a prosperity which she could not access. She also began to wonder if you could access it that way: to be the daughter, foolish, pretty, which make out at a party, not to mention, only football, if it happened ..
No, he found himself in that way of being. She had a head. They called
already contesting the pain in the ass because he always said his class. More than a few
boy was courting, but then gets scared that she wanted to know and discuss. It is frightening that they are not stupid in front of the usual beautiful doll, and so he walked away.
He had different stories but one true love. He skied, he did not think of anything but to win races. She had no money to go skiing. But he, unlike others, did not weigh anything, not even her always wanting to know. He was one of few words, saying the bare minimum, but smiled sweetly and took it as it was.
With the passing of months and a backlog of pages and pages read books furiously swept up in the town library, Anna could see more and more that he did not know there was a world in which the heels counted for little, where one could apply to his thoughts.
The almost insurmountable difficulty, in that world then, was her being a woman. The women who discuss, read, criticize and suggest scared and were not accepted.
But Anna knew that he did not want to live in a world as crazy as that in which was moving forward, he understood he had to do absolutely anything and that his woman would not be slowed.

Anna was eighteen.
from tears to anger and then moved to revolt and then to the conscious awareness delighted that another world was possible, a world in which everyone would have been possible, have the same opportunities, not to compete for everything and anything ...... . be short, mates.
And that was how Anna became a Communist.

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May 1, 1997
A flag of peace with the wrong colors

sewn by women right,
brought by women proud.
Ten yards of cloth waving in the wind for a thousand
desires and a stubborn hope. A flag of peace

lying on the ground, in Piazza Grande, with over
supported the future.
A flag that has passed through the streets of Italy
for twenty years to seek peace, which is not coming.
now ended up in the hands of the future.
must still fight a lot,
as mothers who have sewn
but will not be alone.

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then and today's world a log




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Three days you do not breathe, my Trieste


Three days look at the windows steamed up, wrapped in your cloak of ice and snow.

Bella, unapproachable, fascinating.


You were over the glass but did not want to leave me alone.

And then your Bora and 'crept between the window frames,

swinging the curtains and carrying gusts that smelled of earth hardened.

you beat my windows with grains of ice,

but when I tried to open your door you have exaggerated your mighty wind

and the windows were closed.


Tu la, I here,

be watching from the misted glass sparkle in the trees, streets,

in a silence broken only by the cries of the wind.


Stop time you repeat an ancient dance which sometimes calls for humans to court.

But no one knows more about the ancient dance that scares them.


Then you have taken the habit of always

have slowed down your frenetic pirouettes, you've stripped the white coat,

're back to every day.

I opened the windows, I have walked your streets I breathed again.


I still regret not having been able to dance with you,

into your icy roads in the arms of your mighty wind,

the ancient dance of the winter of Trieste.

Monday, August 20, 2007

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My city will look

Not yet a woman, I have met with scratches crystal
sown in your bora.
I have intimidated and amazed, but she
curious you tried.
And so I found it: a sleepy cat, curled around a
arrogant sea of \u200b\u200ba thousand blues,
eye half-open to the roaring of red sumac,
ears strained to pick up the noises coming from the boundaries of time.
Your old haughty,
your little children,
your furred ladies,
shining sun your lord, your freedom
ambiguous
I have conquered.
I slipped into old coffee, studying
between chess masters and lost in foggy memories.
I grew, I became a woman
and I did not leave.