ADDIO AL POETA DEL PONTE

I called my old friend the Modican poet Antonio Lonardo "my poet of the bridge" because he and his wife lived near the famous Guerrieri Bridge in Modica. Long-time readers of this blog may recall that I had the privilege of translating two of Antonio's collections, Il profumo del pensiero and Alla ricerca dell'Oreb and, working with him on these, got to know him well. Sadly, Antonio, who had been ill for some time, died, aged eighty, on Friday and his funeral is taking place in Modica's lovely Duomo di San Giorgio today. 

Antonio Lonardo was born in Taurasi, Avellino (Campania) in 1943. As a young man, he did several jobs in the countryside and then went to Milan, where he worked as a school secretary. He then studied at the University of Salerno and trained to be a teacher.

Antonio started writing poetry in 1977, finding solace in it following the death of his fiancée. He met his future wife Carla in Bergamo in 1981 and they were married after thirteen months. It was because of Carla that Antonio came to Modica. He wrote of the day he met her,

Nelle premesse
di un giorno,
con il sole
alle spalle,
l’orizzonte illuminato,
il domani s’attendeva radioso.

In the words
of a single day,
with the sun
on my back,
the horizon alight with hope,
a brilliant tomorrow was promised.

( Antonio Lonardo, Quel giorno)

The couple adopted their daughter, Lilli, from Romania in 1975. At thirteen, she was illiterate but Antonio and Carla slowly and patiently taught her to read. 

Antonio was for many years a teacher of Italian literature at the Istituto di istruzione superiore "Archimede" in Modica and generations of students will remember him with affection. One of his former colleagues told me that he would often present her, and others, with a newly written poem on Monday mornings and I have often imagined what a happy start to their week that must have been!

Antonio won many prizes and certificates for his poetry, among them the Silver Medal of the President of the Republic and The Medal of the Speaker of the Senate. These were all proudly on show in his home, in a room devoted to them. In 2009, Antonio was invited to receive a prize at the Premio Internazionale di Poesia "Coluccio Salutati" awards ceremony in Buggiano (Pistoia) and I was thrilled to accept an invitation to travel there with him. (Unknown to me before the ceremony, but known to Antonio, I was to be awarded a prize too, for my translation of Il profumo del pensiero.)

Migrants and others who were voiceless or without hope found a defender in Antonio Lonardo, as can be seen in the second collection I translated for him, Alla ricerca dell'Oreb. During that journey by train and ferry to Florence (whence we would travel onwards to Buggiano by car) a passenger whose views were abhorrent to both of us entered our carriage. I (with difficulty) kept out of the argument but Antonio skilfully and calmly demolished the gentleman's assertions and today I remain as impressed, recalling that discussion, as I was in 2009.

Antonio once told me that he was sad that young people did not seem to appreciate poetry, not understanding that it can explain this very puzzling world. To the young people of Modica, then, I would say, "Read! Read your poet!"

I will always be grateful to have had the opportunity to translate some of Antonio's work and he was delighted to know that people in other countries were reading it.  

When the poet and songwriter Charles Aznavour died, President Macron said,

"En France les poètes ne meurent jamais - In France, poets never die."

I am sure the same is true in Italy.

Ho scoperto l'orizzonte

dove spunta il sole:

è nei profondi occhi

di chi sorride alla vita.

....

Ho saziato la fame

dell'intellettuale curiosità:

è nel profondo intimo

di chi stimola lo spirito.

I have discovered the horizon

where the sun rises:

it is in the depths of the eyes

of those who smile at life.

....

I have satisfied the hunger

of intellectual curiosity:

it is in the innermost being

of those who move the spirit.

(Antonio Lonardo, Singolari Esperienze)

"SOME MORNING, UNAWARE"

 O, to be in England

Now that April 's there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

 ...

wrote Robert Browning in Home Thoughts, from Abroad and went on to list, in the poem, some of the things you might see and hear in the English countryside on an April morning. But you see them distractedly, "unaware" because you take them for granted; you are "there" and able to see them every day.

Many words have been written about the momentous events of this week, so, planning this post, I wondered what I could possibly add to what great and renowned writers have already said. I had written about the Queen on this blog only in June, when we were celebrating her Platinum Jubilee, yet that seems a decade ago now. I pondered, wondered again and considered not writing anything at all but then I thought that perhaps I could write about what it is like to be British and hear such news when you are not "there",  do not wake in England or one of the other nations of the United Kingdom, cannot totally gauge the atmosphere "there" but suddenly, although you hope you have become bicultural, feel more British than you have for years. And you reel from the impact of the news you have just heard.

On the morning of what began as an ordinary day, Thursday, 8th September, I was looking at the British newspapers online and following certain developments on Twitter when suddenly I read that Her Majesty the Queen had been advised to rest as her doctors were "concerned". Alarm bells did not immediately ring in my head as we had seen Her Majesty accepting the resignation of one Prime Minister only on Monday and she had appointed the new one on Tuesday. In the photos, she looked frail but happy. She had rallied before; surely she would rally again? But then serious journalists started tweeting that something strange was going on in Parliament; notes were being passed round and Members of Parliament were looking grim. The Speaker interrupted the session to convey the best wishes of the House to the Queen. It occurred to me that the very fact that the Palace had issued a statement meant that things were very bad and, when we were told that first the (then) Prince of Wales and later the Princess Royal had gone to Balmoral, we knew. As Brits we all knew, wherever we were in the world. In the afternoon the Queen's other children and Prince William arrived at Balmoral and the only further news for hours was that the Queen was "comfortable". Again, as Brits, we knew that this probably meant, "Nothing further can be done" but we perhaps did not expect the  news we dreaded to come so quickly. At home I switched on BBC World News and saw that their main royal news presenter was wearing a black tie. 

At seven o'clock in Italy, which is six o'clock in the UK,  I took my dog out and when I came back, I went into the kitchen for a moment with the television still on in the living room. I heard the words "King" and "Charles" and then I knew for certain. I watched the written announcement that was displayed on the screen and a piece of my heart - the fragment that had woken in England "unaware" and had taken the Queen for granted - dropped out of my body. The National Anthem was played and although I was alone I stood up. I thought, "Oh, goodness, I've got to sing God Save the King" (for the Crown passes immediately to the heir upon the death of the Sovereign).

I thought back to the Coronation, when I was three. I've written before on this blog about how, when it was over, I had asked my great aunt when the next one would be and she had replied, "When the Queen dies." I had cried, because I didn't want this lovely young woman with the dazzling smile to die but I didn't want to wait either. And here I was, seventy years later, and I was standing in a living room in Sicily crying my eyes out just like that little girl so long ago.

When you live in a foreign land, you begin to see your own country with new eyes, especially if you have had to explain its ways and traditions to others, which, as a teacher, I have had to do. I have spent a large part of my life criticising the monarchy but over the years, looking at it not from "there" but from "here", I have come to the conclusion that it has its merits. I think I began to soften towards the Queen in particular when I watched a documentary about her, filmed not long after Prince Philip's retirement from royal duties, in which she walked down what looked like the kitchen stairs of whatever palace she was in one grey, rainy morning, perfectly dressed in coat and matching hat as always, smiling and ready to leave for an engagement. It came into my mind that she must have felt very lonely, despite her entourage. Few would have criticised her if she had handed over to her heir at that time but she was her own woman: when she was twenty-one she had famously made a promise to the people of her nation and the Commonwealth to serve them all her life and she was going to keep it. And who will ever forget the photo that went round the world in 2021, in which she stood alone, because of Covid, on what must have been the worst day of her life - that of her husband's funeral? She may have been a Queen, but how she must have longed for a comforting human touch that day. As someone who spent Italy's first, long, very strict lockdown totally alone apart from my dog, I can tell you that her famous lockdown speech, containing the reference to the song We'll Meet Again which every British person understood, gave a seventy-year-old Welshwoman in Sicily the hope that she desperately needed.

Students often ask me if the royals are "snobs" and I always reply, "Absolutely not." On the contrary, they are trained to put people at ease and are supposed to be polite to everyone. (All right, one was gaffe-prone but we have forgiven him.)  It is often said that the Queen met "everyone" and today a photo of her shaking hands and talking to Kermit the frog of Muppet fame has emerged on social media. She is smiling and she would have been as courteous to Kermit the frog as she was to the Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Watching the documentaries shown during the BBC's coverage of the Queen's death, it has become much clearer to me that she did, indeed, meet "everyone" and how hard she worked. I am usually the first to say that it is not "work" as ordinary people know it but I do not think we can imagine what it takes to be constantly travelling (albeit in great comfort), make speeches which you may not agree with at the behest of a government which operates in your name but tells you what to do, to always smile, appear interested and, most skilfully, engage in conversation without really saying anything at all - to be the perfect "soft power" diplomat. It is because of her strictly kept political neutrality that the Queen was, and is, so respected around the world and it is also why the tributes - some of them from unexpected sources -  have poured in.

Of these tributes, two stand out for me, one from a head of state and the other from an elderly Sicilian gentleman whom I do not know but pass the time of day with in the street:

President Macron said,

For you, she was your Queen.

For us, she was The Queen.

She will be with all of us forever.

The Sicilian man said,

I am so sorry about the Queen. I was in love with her. For me it was as if she was Italian.

Her Majesty was, insofar as her job permitted it, her own woman but she was everybody's Queen.

I do not know when I will wake in England or Wales again, Your Majesty, but I do know that I will never wake "unaware" that you have gone.

For those of you who speak Italian, here is a link to a video in which I show and explain the Coronation Crown coin which I have kept for seventy years. (I'm about one second from the end of the clip and you will need some Sicilian pazienza to skip the ads!)

https://www.videomediterraneo.it/notizie/attualita/morte-elisabetta-ii-il-ricordo-dei-britannici-in-sicilia/

THANK YOU, MR FO

As a young Italian graduate, one of the voices that I felt spoke to my generation was that of Dario Fo - dramatist, theatre and film director, actor, writer, painter, political activist, Nobel Laureate [1997] and so much more - who died today at the age of 90.  I continued to read the work of Dario Fo and his wife, Franca Rame and it never failed to surprise me and make me think. As I've said before, the literature of the 20th century asked the questions but did not, usually, provide the answers and Dario Fo asked the questions that politicians, in particular, did not wish to hear.

A stationmaster's son from Sangiano [Varese, Lombardy], Dario Fo joined Mussolini's Repubblica Sociale Italiana army at 17, a fact that would haunt him in later life. When he did talk about it, he said that he had joined the only Italian army in which he could enlist so as not to be deported to Germany to work. There was also a theory that he joined to deflect suspicion from falling upon his family, who were partisans.

After studying at the Brera Academy in Milan, Dario Fo joined Rai as an actor and satirical scriptwriter. He and Franca Rame wrote sketches together but their material was so often criticised by the Italian equivalent of the British "establishment" that the couple abandoned television for the theatre, founding their own company. Fo's theatrical solo piece Mistero Buffo was famously declared blasphemous by the Vatican and became all the more renowned for that. Other internationally well-known pieces by Fo include Morte accidentale di un anarchico [Accidental Death of an Anarchist] and Non si paga! Non si paga! [Can't Pay, Won't Pay].

Two books by Dario Fo which I have enjoyed recently are La figlia del papa [a biography of Lucrezia Borgia] which I reviewed here and Dario e Dio, a long interview in which he expounds his ideas about God - or the lack of such a being.  I especially like a passage in which Fo says that the God of the Old Testament "demands tests of love that not even a Sicilian ... [would expect]."

To a man who never stopped fighting, questioning, campaigning, surprising and making us laugh, I would like to say, "Thank you".

Dario Fo died on the day it was announced that Bob Dylan is to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature. I think he would have approved.

In this Apple advertisement from 1997, Dario Fo narrates and Bob Dylan makes an appearance among the innovative thinkers of the last century:  

Video courtesy of La Stampa