A Jean Paul Sartre, who told me the story of Ali Blue-Eyed.
was a child in the world and one day he went in Calabria:
was summer, and the huts were empty
,
new, sugar-loaf,
from fairytale
color of the stool. Empty. How
styes without asking, without salad in the center of gardens, fields
without land, without water shores. Cultivate the moon, the campaigns. The corn grown for
mouths of skeletons. The wind from the Ionian
shaking black straw
as in prophetic dreams:
and the moon-colored stool
cultivated land
ever loved the summer.
And it was in the time of his son
that this love could begin, and did not start.
son had eyes
straw burned, eyes
without fear, and saw everything that was wrong
:
knew nothing of agriculture,
reforms, the fight
union, the Public Benefactors,
him. But he had those eyes. The tragic
full moon of the sun, was there to cultivate
those five, those
twenty thousand acres of scattered houses do
time television,
sties in pandizucchero for
dignity imitated by the world master.
But you can live there! Ah, how long the worker
Milan will fight with such greatness for his salary? The eyes of the burned child in
moon, between the tragic ha, see what he does not know the far northern
brother. It was the time when a new Christianity
reduced to the twilight world
capital: a history
ended in a twilight in which the facts
happening in the end, and at birth,
known and unknown. But the son was shaking with anger
days in its history: the time when the farmer
Calabrian
knew everything, chemical fertilizers,
of industrial action, jokes,
Bodies Benefactors of
Demagogy State and
Communist Party ..
... and so he abandoned his new little houses as
styes without asking, on clearings
color of feces,
under round mounds
prophetic in view of the Ionian Sea. Three millennia
vanished
not three centuries, three years and felt the air dinuovo malarial
the expectation of the Greek colonists. Ah, how long, a worker in Milan,
struggle just to pay the salary? I do not see how these people worship you?
Almost like a master.
takes you to their ancient region,
fruits and animals, their
obscure fetishes,
to place them with the pride of the small rooms in your rite
twentieth century,
between TV and refrigerator,
love your god, you
, councils, the CGIL
you, God ally
in the sunshine of the North. In their
different breeds of Earth, the moon grows
a campaign that you've procured the
unnecessarily. In
Beasts of the Earth
their families, the moon is
teacher anime you've modernized
unnecessarily. Ah, but the child knows the grace of knowledge
is a wind that changes course in the sky. Blows from Africa
and now perhaps you listen to what the grace to know flglio. (If he does not smile is because
hope for him was not light but rationality.
And the light of the feeling of Africa, which suddenly
sweep Calabria, is a sign
without meaning, valid for
times ahead!) Here:
you stop fighting for wages and
armerai
the hand of Calabresi.
Ali
one of the Blue Eyes many children as children,
come from Algiers on
ships sailing and rowing.
will be with him thousands of men with little bodies and eyes
of poor fathers
dogs on boats launched in the Kingdoms of Fame. With them will be children,
and bread and cheese, wrapped in the yellow Easter Monday.
them will be the grandmothers and the donkeys, the triremes stolen from the colonial ports.
land at Crotone or Palmi,
millions, clad in rags
Asian, and American shirts. Now i will say
Calabresi,
as brigand to another:
"Here are the old brothers, sons and
with bread and cheese!" From Crotone
or Palmi
rise in Naples, and da lì a Barcellona,
a Salonicco e a Marsiglia,
nelle Città della Malavita.
Anime e angeli, topi e pidocchi,
col germe della Storia Antica,
voleranno davanti alle willaye.
Essi sempre umili
essi sempre deboli
essi sempre timidi
essi sempre infimi
essi sempre colpevoli
essi sempre sudditi
essi sempre piccoli,
essi che non vollero mai sapere, essi che ebbero occhi solo per implorare,
essi che vissero come assassini sotto terra, essi che vissero come banditi
in fondo al mare, essi che vissero come pazzi in mezzo al cielo,
essi che si costruirono
leggi fuori dalla legge,
essi che si adattarono
a un mondo sotto il mondo
essi che credettero
in un Dio servo di Dio,
essi che cantarono
ai massacri dei re,
essi che ballarono
alle guerre borghesi,
essi che pregarono
alle lotte operaie…
…deponendo l’onestà
delle religioni contadine,
dimenticando l’onore
della malavita,
tradendo il candore
dei popoli barbari,
dietro ai loro Alì
dagli Occhi Azzurri – usciranno da sotto la terra per rapinare –
saliranno dal fondo del mare per uccidere, – scenderanno dall’alto del cielo
per espropriare – e per insegnare ai compagni operai la gioia della vita –
per insegnare ai bourgeois
the joy of freedom - to teach Christians
the joy of death - will destroy Rome and its ruins
will lay the seeds of ancient history.
Then with the Pope and every sacrament
will like gypsies
up to the West and North
with red flags in the wind ...
of Trotsky
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