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TOMORROW FIFTY YEARS AGO.

Reggio Emilia July 7, 1960

Lauro Ferioli, Ovid Franchi, Emilio Reverberi, Marino Serri, Afro Tondelli

HERE version of Six Flocks

I'm reading these days Renata Viganò's novel "L'Agnese va a morire" important book, beautiful and moving, but I knew that I will now read for the first time. It 's a chance that I have in my hands right now, but I think a nice coincidence, as appropriate. A book just to find out the origins of what happened 15 years later, in July of fifty years ago, also in Emilia Romagna.

here a little 'history if you want to read

Pier Paolo Pasolini writes poetry about the following:

The roots of July

In this poem, I wanted to put, well clear and detailed, the date - April 1960, something that usually never do: because my poems are in the lab so long, that in reality & # 224; end up being written and rewritten several times, and the date usually covers a year or two of work. [...] In this case, the date I put it in plain sight just to give poetry a political justification: that is, I wanted to remind the reader that April is not July, the formation of the government Tambroni is not the ouster of the government Tambroni, and that the arrogance of the neo-fascists is not the defeat of the neo-fascists. The indignation policy contained in these verses may seem a little pessimistic and painful, but I believe it! Nothing, in that moment when I wrote them - in April - are authorized to have a specific: hope of immediate relief from the least ashamed of "revival" fascist. If rewrite hours on the same topic I could not ignore, of course, the meaning of this summer's policy: that is the fact that that my indignation, I thought restricted to a few memories, it is instead shared by a large majority Italians, most notably, young people: those of Genoa, in Reggio, those of Rome, those of Palermo. This does not mean that I can indulge in facile optimism: this ever. Nor do I believe in me I could never erase the impression that what they did the Fascists and the Nazis in the world was so inhuman, to be presented as a wound healing is not easy in the body of the entire humanity & # 224;. [...] "New Ways

, October 29, 1960

The swastika

On many nights, every night,
step in this temple, later,

silent air of the Tiber, between the broken ruins.
There no longer around, the south wind that blows and falls
, dim between the stones
perhaps a woman, there, and behind the bar
Ponte Garibaldi, two three
poor thieves, try to sleep somewhere.

But here, anyone lick,
broken by anxiety and love all night: I have nothing

in the heart and I no longer look in the eye.
Yet this picture, with the passing of the nights,
is getting bigger, The nearest edge
here, liberty, against the blue expanse of the Tiber
and behold
the police that guarded the temple, stocky and absorbed.
I see them soon, with their drab coats
against a dead tree,
against the views of the darkest ghetto
and I take a brief light in his eyes
humiliated by their sleep awkward young men: a blinded
fatigue that sees enemies
in each, an ancient poison of pain, hatred
of servants are back,
just as the south wind that swirls between the stones.

A shame, as sad as the night
reigning over Rome rules the world.
The heart can not resist you: Answers & # 160;
with a tear, which now ringhiotte.
Too many tears, not even plants, fighting, humiliating
over these fifteen years, oblivious
within our souls: ;
the pain is too similar to the resentment, even
its purity comforts us.

Too many tears to those who will
the world, for a long time
shame this will dry your heart.
April 1960