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Arts and Culture / Aldo Tambellini: The Eternal Rebel

Suddenly the Painting Reprodution (2006)

Aldo Tambellini (October 1, 2007)
La madre del partigiano (Lucca) Early work

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“Let my body rest in the mountains                    This is the blossom of those that died here                            
Bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao          Bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Let my body rest in the mountains                     This is the blossom of those that died here
in the shadow of my flower                                  for land and liberty”
Bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao         Song of the Partigiani
 
suddenly
the painting reproduction of the deserted Italian piazza
appears
 
is the embalmed white dove still
trying to find the nourishing seeds
that Dante’s shadow used to scatter
over worn-out marble steps
 
before entering the majestic Saint Michael’s Church
my aging fingers touch with tenderness the Romanesque patina
up above
the archangel protecting the city
the spear slaughtering the satanic dragon
under his feet
 
the mind is on random search mode /
another time/ frames /  fragments / another zone
nostalgia sleeps by the neighborhood bombed-out fountain
                                    fresh drinking water from the aqueduct
                                    flows from distant mountains
                                    freedom-fighter partigiani hide somewhere there
                       
they have painted the gas tanks with abstract patterns
camouflaging  the surface
close by
the locomotive never departed from the station
dark dense smoke fills the atmosphere
the air strike is blowing up the rails
 
                        was there ever a mutilated monument
commemorating the hero who lost the battle & the horse?
 
plaster-casts of endangered antiquity remain silently frozen
inside the art school galleria
this evening an elongated young girl’s shadow is running
playing with a hoop over the bare evacuated space
                                    have all the people gone inside the shelter?
mystery & melancholia of a street
 
once a restless boy was riding a rocking horse
at the edge of the approaching  dangerous unknown
censored war news interrupted the Florentine songs
playing everyday before  noon on the radio
I hear fierce battles over imaginary deserts
Tobruk / El Alamein / Benghazi
 
age testing memories
propaganda & lies
flying through a wind tunnel
I walk on streets with white facades
huge black painted handwriting
CREDERE - OBBEDIRE - COMBATTERE
(believe - obey - fight)
signed with the ever-present bigm– Mussolini
 
they’re marching singing war songs
trucks pass by each home
collecting iron bedposts for guns
copper pans for shells
wool for soldiers’ uniforms
women line up to melt gold wedding bands
paying for the war effort
coming back wearing  stainless steel rings
 
                                    has a time capsule faded away with
                                    that obscure menacing sky?
 
                        the time we all embraced each other
                                   in the street shouting:
                                        the war Is over
                                     it’s over / it’s over
                        not knowing we were embracing
                                    a deceitful illusion
                        just before destructive reality arrived
 
                        we were soon to be trapped inside
                        the powerful German Gothic Line war-machine
                        cutting across Tuscany stretching sea to sea
                        ghosts of guerrilla partigiani
                        throughout villages & mountains mysteriously sabotaging
                        risking their lives & ours
 
                        new laundered clouds float with sunlight
                        empty rooms resonating silence live here now
                        somewhere is hidden the enigma of a day
 
on a wall the precious black & white lithograph
Garibaldi with courageous Anita dying by his side
she is shooting the last bullet for the old country’s liberation
                                    a Brazilian chorino turns 78 rpm on the antique victrola
 
 
 
 
 
 
among grammar school memory pages of my 1st language
I find the deserted piazza by De Chiricho
I hear the piercing repetitive air-raid sirens
amplifying day to day
the alarm echoing outside the piazza
bouncing outside the defensive walls
embracing the historic city of Lucca
bouncing to the working class neighborhood to my street
roaring motors fly between anti-aircraft shells during the day
search lights illuminate the night sky
flares & guns redefine the constellations
                                                fear of the uncertain moment
                                                fear of the uncertain future
 
every Sunday diffused in the air
you hear a clarinet playing the aria “e lucevan le stelle” from Tosca
Verdi/top hat & white scarf/quietly listening from inside the oval frame
facing the factory the B-23 bomber planes pass by almost every day
 
                                    on that Epiphany Day they unload the explosive cargo
                                    leaving only the tallest chimney as an archeological relic
                                    witnessing the human collateral damage
                                    my body & bike lying on the street – alive
 
the shocking sight
 
the neighborhood of youth crushed in 1 eternal moment
has disappeared
the monumental hand-forged iron cross still standing
over street ruins
which friends died / who was wounded / who survived /
     who is still breathing under the rubble?
 
                     the damaged home is abandoned after the air-strike
                                    fear of the uncertain moment
                                    fear of the uncertain future
 
mysterious words on the airwaves
coded messages from the partigiani?
listening to forbidden shortwave news from London
is risking arrest & interrogation
heavy fighting continues in Cassino
 
whispering voices are saying:
a young priest who believed in freedom
was executed under the city walls
given a shovel / forced to dig his own grave
 
 
 
 
 
the SS proclamation:
whoever knows where the partigiani are
& does not report the information
                                                will be shot
whoever gives shelter or food to partigiani
                                                will be shot
any house hiding a partigiano
                                                will be blown up
 
they say that the day after the night of the shooting stars
few miles from Lucca
there was the BIG MASSACRE
well over 550 mostly women & children
from random population
were burned or executed
in the village church piazza
            a Nazi retaliation against the partigiani
 
days of oppression follow
days under fascist martial law terror
days of silent resistance
days of surveillance & paranoia
who’s to be trusted?
days when the Nazis raid the homes
& people disappear never returning
days when life is between battling crossfire
days waiting for the Americans then the liberators
coming from the remote land where my father is & I was born
 
DAYS ALL COMING BACK
 
the new surveillance / censored news /
updated techno-war brutally flashing over TV cold screen /
savage surgical strikes /
cluster-bombs killing the trapped expendable population /
civilian corpses rotting under the rubbles /
Triumph of the Mighty Will ruling through domination & fear /
fear of the uncertain future
echoing consumed days over this old man’s eyes /
a survivor of World War II’s endangered population /
reliving the shock & awe coming of age /
                                                       still
there is no end in sight over the horizon
 
 
 
 
                                                           
                                                                                    August 31, 2006
6:50 PM

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