Italian American Rosaria has written on Facebook today:
“To our veterans:
You were willing to pay the ultimate price to defend the principles your country stands on. We are glad you came back to your home and friends. We are glad your life was spared, so that we can hear your story, of combat, of living away from the familiar, of worrying each minute of each day if you, or your comrades were going to make it out alive, if the war was worth all the pain and resources and damages it caused.
It is that story of courage and fear and …”
I had replied in my usual dialectic-moronic way:
[paraprased, since I can’t find the original words in Facebook, MoR]:
“Stai parlando dello sbarco in Normandia, oggi, credo. Anche io come italiano sono contento di quello sbarco anche se noi eravamo i nemici. In realtà gli italiani capirono molto prima dei tedeschi che Mussolini era diventato lo schiavo di un pazzo e fu per questo che se ne liberarono. Molti criticarono l’Italia per aver lasciato l’alleato germanico. Ma chi fu più etico, i tedeschi che obbedirono al male fino alle fine, o gli italiani, che rifiutarono il male?
Forse è un dilemma etico insolubile …[e poi un antico romano avrebbe fatto la stessa cosa dei tedeschi, ndr]”
“Only one thing, Rosaria Williams, since the Romans are stubborn. I’ll speak in your maternal language.
“This post brings a new perspective to the problem of 9/11″
What is so new (I raise my voice for the sake of a discussion that will not occur, I shoot too many posts) dear Italian American woman?
For heaven’s sake, is it THAT hard to see things placing ourselves into the others’ boots?
Gli Americani pensano ai loro caduti, ok, ma perché non ai caduti (to name just a few) inglesi, canadesi, indiani, tedeschi, marocchini ecc. ? E RUSSI? The Russians? 20 milioni di morti! Non saranno loro, forse, ad aver sconfitto Hitler, mi domando? PLus, why don’t Americans care too about the deaths of the losers? (Italians, most of the French, the Germans, the Japanese?) Because, as protestants, the losers are in hell? [changing the text altogether, MoR]
Speaking of Italy, my country was accepted this year in Normandy for the first time.
Category Archives: Canada
French, Italian, and American Great Songs. Lucio Dalla’s Caruso (plus Lara Fabian’s English-subtitled version). 2
“Ma sì, è la vita che finisce
ma lui non ci pensò poi tanto,
anzi si sentiva felice
e ricominciò il suo canto… “
Dalla’s best song possibly, and a tribute, from a Man of North Italy, to Neapolitan songs considered by him the best in this country
[See below another version of Caruso with English subtitles.
PS. American readers are kindly requested for advice about ‘A great American Song’ due in the next post of the series ;-) ]
Qui dove il mare luccica e tira forte il vento
su una vecchia terrazza davanti al golfo di Surriento
un uomo abbraccia una ragazza dopo che aveva pianto
poi si schiarisce la voce e ricomincia il canto.
Te voglio bene assaje
ma tanto, tanto bene sai
è una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint’e vene sai.
Vide le luci in mezzo al mare
pensò alle notti là in America
ma erano solo le lampare e la bianca scia di un’elica
sentì il dolore nella musica, si alzò dal pianoforte
ma quando vide la luna uscire da una nuvola
gli sembrò più dolce anche la morte
guardò negli occhi la ragazza, quegli occhi verdi come il mare
poi all’improvviso uscì una lacrima e lui credette di affogare.
Te voglio bene assaje
ma tanto tanto bene sai
è una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint’e vene sai.
Potenza della lirica dove ogni dramma è un falso
che con un po’ di trucco e con la mimica puoi diventare un altro
ma due occhi che ti guardano, così vicini e veri
ti fan scordare le parole, confondono i pensieri
così diventa tutto piccolo, anche le notti là in America
ti volti e vedi la tua vita come la scia di un’elica
ma sì, è la vita che finisce ma lui non ci pensò poi tanto
anzi si sentiva già felice e ricominciò il suo canto.
Te voglio bene assaje
ma tanto tanto bene sai
è una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint’e vene sai
French-speaking Belgian-Canadian Lara Fabian‘s (1970) Caruso version sung in Italian with English subtitles.
Dutch-Sicilian-French mother tongue, Lara Crokaert (Fabian) can sing in French, Italian, English, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, Hebrew, Greek and German.
Brava, Hats off.
She became famous touring in Quebec with her breakthrough 1994 album ‘Carpe diem’.
Here is another set of pictures from our trip to Quebec. They are not the best I have since I had problems arranging them today.
Below you can see the refined French Canadian stairs you find a bit everywhere in Quebec. An example of how, in my opinion, the Quebecois – a common Latin trait I believe – may prefer beauty to practicalness (imagine a postman or an old person climbing up and down these stairs during the long and icy Canadian winters.)
This is Paul’s beautiful grand daughter. After which you have Paul taking us around Montreal with his car.
Another picture of Quebec city. Lovely French architecture, isn’t it.
Here is Queen Victoria’s statue at the entrance of the McGill University, Montreal.
Here is MoR enjoying the Canadian beautiful nature.
Allow me to finish with Caffé Italia in Montreal, an iconic café of Montreal’s Little Italy according to the Commentator.
Our Canadian vacation has been memorable. We’ll definitely return to this country and to Quebec!
We plunged into nature at La Mauricie National Park (see images above and below.)
I finally met Paul Costopoulos and the Commentator face to face, and I met Devinder Singh for the second time (he had already visited us in Rome: read his post on our first encounter). They all live in Montreal.
Here is Paul and his wife Therèse on the Mont Royal, where they took us by car. Mont Royal is the mountain that gave its name to the city of Montreal.
And here is the Commentator and myself at La Petite Italie, the Italian district of Montreal. Commentator took us to the places of his childhood.
I am sorry I don’t have good pictures of Devinder. He took us a couple of times to Down-town Montreal, where he lives. This is though Devinder in Rome.
This is Flavia and I in front of Notre-Dame-des-Victoires, Quebec City, possibly the oldest church in North America. Flavia, whose face I have blurred, I now realise looks like an alien.
And here some pictures at Paul’s, where he and his wife offered us a great lunch and great company.
More pictures to come in the next days. Ciao
Well, not only of war since (to the Romans only) such god was also an agricultural guardian.
March (Italian Marzo, Latin Martius) is the month named after Mars. Festivities in honour of Mars began in fact in such a year period in Ancient Rome and inaugurated the military (and agricultural) season.
They were then held again in October which ended the military campaigns and the farming activities – well, more or less since olive oil (called by Homer “liquid gold”) had still to be made because olives matured through the winter.
This is not though a post about war, farming or about Caesar.
Except for war we care about the said things. But a lot more we care about Paul Costopoulos, our Canadian sage.
Of both Greek and French descent (a potent mix) everybody likes Paul. He is endowed with wisdom, concrete knowledge of life and that emotional intelligence – as Dafna put it – that has made discussions wherever he goes interesting, humorous (and warm.)
Paul is 80 today.
Happy birthday friend.
I today – 2012-4-19 – learn that Pauline Belviso-O’Connor, the subject of this post, is ‘in full health’ and teaching piano at the University of Western Australia (see this thread). Mine was a huge mistake. I do ask for pardon Pauline!
We were blabbering over at Zeus is watching – with the blog owner and with Paul Costopoulos – about music and a supposed relationship between its rationality and a rationality of the universe. Big deal theme, I know, but crystal-clear Domenico Scarlatti’s music proposed by Zeus was much to the point.
In any case Zeus said:
“Perhaps this is where the Pythagoreans went off the rails, but the Existentialists could help us a little. […]
I replied something and then Paul le Canadien observed:
“The video does enhance the complexity of the music. However the very slow motion of the tempo somewhat offsets the brisk musical tempo. A bit unsettling, I dare say.”
I agreed and said:
“You are very right Paul. And, Zeus, Paul, since in music I much prefer a real soul to any philology [I was about to propose a piano performance, but in Scarlatti’s time there were no pianos, or very few], this to me is the perfect Scarlatti:
“[Marta] Argerich, and a young Argerich at that, what a marvelous and sensitive pianist.”
At that moment, I don’t know, I made like a mistake, not sensingwhat was about to happen – mind, this post risks being pathetic, but let me go through with it.
“Paul, Zeus, yes, she was, and still is, one of the Latin goddesses of piano.
Her way of playing reminds me of another goddess, my beloved piano teacher, not at all inferior to her, oh no, though not as beautiful.
Pauline O’Connor was an Irish Australian, a bit graceless maybe especially when compared to very attractive Argerich – O’Connor was a giant by the way – but more powerful, more refined and definitely majestic, only less spontaneous at times due to Benedetti Michelangeli’s too premeditated art.”
[Argerich had instead Vincenzo Scaramuzza as a piano teacher, an Italian Argentine pianist who justly “stressed to her the importance of lyricism and feeling,” born in Calabrian Crotone – Κρότων, the city of Pythagoras, it’s like this ancient sage’s ghost is stalking me …]
She in any case ‘corrected’ Michelangeli’s extreme classicism with her Celtic passion (see this post on Michelangeli, on Italian classicism – and on her in a comment.) She lived close to Michelangeli for a long time, in Arezzo [where I met her], and, after ending up marrying a Sicilian, a certain Belviso, she went back to Perth.
Her leaving Italy for good depressed me quite a lot. I had lost a great mentor, a big treasure, and, at 18, I guess I was in love with her a bit too.
When I finally found a trace of her 1 month ago here, now that I’m pasting the link, much to my affliction I realise she’s no more.”
What a moron, I’m so absent-minded that I had saved the link to the Australian web page on her but hadn’t read it well. A bit of a blow to me, I will admit.
So, remembering that – in my effort to get back to the guitar a bit – and having found on Youtube a piece of music that in some way is her, or a part of her, I mumbled:
So this is a tribute to her. A totally different music, yes, but it strongly (and weirdly, music is weird) reminds me so much of this Celtic passion side of her, and, ok, not at all of her Michelangelian supreme refinement, but passion, isn’t it often better than refinement? Well, I’d say, the 2 things should be often well intermarried for most rich results, as they certainly were in wonderful, unique, fantastic Pauline.
[And these darn Australians, they make you pay for everything! I’ll get those paper clips … and put her picture at the head of this post, damn!]
[I was wronging the Aussies, registration to the National Library of Australia is free, but you got to be Australian to do it :-( ]
[a writing dedicated to Pauline O’Connor’s great piano teacher Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli. A comment on it tells fragments of Pauline’s story.]
I’ve always found Giovanni Boccaccio‘s Decameron philosophically inspiring. Incidentally, this masterpiece works also as a signal, possibly, that at the end of the Middle Ages some freer sexual mores were surfacing back from antiquity.
Following this boccaccesca ispirazione I have given a sudden twist to a peaceful conversation with dear-to-me blog buds and made a ‘licentious’ story out of it (after asking them for permission.)
The original conversation is basically untouched.
Only from the ‘Amanda, Drinks and Bears’ section onward things get ehm weird a bit (due to MoR’s fancy only, not my buds’, please bear in mind.)
Licentious here means not lascivious but it refers to the original Latin meaning of licentia, ie ‘behaviour with some freedom’.
So here’s the story, at the end of which you will read an invitation from MoR.
[Minors are requested not to read any further]
In The Solitude of a Canadian Cottage …
Three blogger buds, Giulia, Paul and Giorgio (MoR,) finally decide to really meet (in their minds) and to spend their New Year’s eve in an unpretentious cottage in Canada. After placid conversation and toasting Amanda & a family of polar bears join the party.
It is to be said that it is exceptional, these kind of bears venturing South like that in desperate search for food. But let us not digress since after the bears arrive things get a bit out of hand.
The cottage is cosy and warm though isolated up North. It had been previously inhabited by Latin-Americans. The outside temperature is -20° C ( or -4 F). The three friends are conversing placidly in front of a fireplace.
Giulia. Yes Paul, Happy New Year to us. Thanks for a wonderful friendship.
Paul. Blogging is a strange thing. In a way it replaces the letter writing of yesteryears; however those letters were exchanged between two individuals, a blog is a wide open public thing. Yet on short order there develops a relationship between bloggers quite akin to genuine friendship, and international to boot.
When I began blogging last spring little did I figure that I would develop a link with a NYorker, a Roman and a Laval guy that I never met, and probably never will meet. Still I have the impression that I know them and can be quite close to them…despite some differences whether political, cultural or social.
Yes Giulia, it is wonderful.
Happy New Year.
Giorgio. Paul, Giulia, I’m back from Sicily, which literally blew my mind … [He stands up]
Happy New Year to the dear Canadian sage plus witty companion of so many discussions.
Happy New Year to our generous Giulia sharing her warmth and intelligence with so many of us.
And Happy New Year to the exuberant, unpredictable Commish, the dear Laval brat!
[They toast, also to absent Commish’s health]
Paul. MoR, Glad you enjoyed Sicily and escaped Etna’s wrath.
Retired Soldier to Retired Soldier
Giorgio. I heard in fact some tremblement de terre but had faith the Sicilian gods would spare the only person who basically hasn’t forgotten them (outside Sicily.)
Paul. I’m currently reading a book titled Le Christ Païen by Tom Harpur. It traces the parallels between Christian and Pagan beliefs. Astonishing.
Giorgio. I have checked in the French wiki. Donc, un prêtre anglican qui thinks l’existence de Jésus n’est pas evident. Merci. Could be useful. In Sicily I have visited Catania and most of all Siracusa. Toutes les deux, hanno la loro santa patrona, che è come una dea, like a goddess. The devotion people have for these two saints is beyond imagination. Catania has Sant’Agata, Syracuse Santa Lucia, deity of light also for the Northern Europeans, being so sun-starved and all. I have collected stuff for 20 posts but I’ll make 2 out of it, lest I lose all my readers.
Giulia, Paul, I’m getting at ease with my retirement, and also have to thank my blog for it, but most of all, the people I have met.
Paul. Retirement is a great period for doing all we always wanted to but never could do. It is not the end of our productive life, it’s the beginning of another kind of productivity and creativity, providing we do not let go.
Onward retired soldiers.
Giorgio. Ah ah ah. Yes Paul, onward, retired soldier to retired soldier. You made me laugh.
Paul. Laughing is excellent for one’s health.
Giulia. Good to see you are promoting laughter. Add a strong drink now and then, wonderful meals as often as one can, and life is as good as it can be when our wings are tired, our resources limited, and, our prospects for adventure, stuff we just dream about.
Good to see also that the weather is not getting you down, Paul.
Canadian Yearly Cycle
Paul. Weather wise we Canadians are tough hombres. You see it keeps our hoping capacity at it’s peak all year round. In winter we hope for spring’s balmy weather, then we wait for summer and it’s blissful farniente, while sweating away we hope for autumn foliage and it’s splendours followed by hoping winter will not be too harsh, and the cycle resumes.
Of course, in winter hot toddy and Rhum keep us happy, in summer a nice cold beer does it and all year round good wine and food are staples of a happy Canuck’s life.
It is said we are boring…and I am happy with that.
Giorgio. Weather wise Canadians: nice concept and depiction of the yearly psychological cycle, one of your gems, Paul. Canuck? You guys teach me so many words! And yes, I’d love more cold weather to be able to drink A LOT MORE than I can in Rome.
Amanda, Drinks and Bears
Amanda [suddenly knocking at the window from outside]. Yikes on all levels! Double yikes!
Paul. [He turns around and smiles at Amanda, but doesn’t notice the bears and especially Amanda being an object of curiosity to them.] Alcohol and cold do not mix well. You, briefly, feel a bit warmer after a stiff shot of Scotch or Gin, but it soon vanishes and you feel even colder…so another shot, when you have had one too many you feel sleepy…and you freeze to death if outside and alone.
Besides, cold slows your metabolism. Better stay in Rome, you’ll live longer.
Giorgio. I had heard about this alcohol thing [weird shrieks from outside. Nobody notices]. Paul, this conversation, it is so beautiful. It is good in this moment I’m about to change my life.
[They then pass to explore the differences between Scotch and Jamaican Rhum, with no objection to salt-rimmed margarita glasses. They sip this and that. Conversation quietly unfolds.]
Other shrieks (plus groans) finally catch the attention of the people within who, looking out the window, much to their surprise realise Amanda is now actually fighting against the bears. She is so brave that the two men feel inclined to go back to their alcohol experiments.
NO. They have to rise up (Giulia’s unwavering idea) and exit the cottage with guns and sleeping bullets in them (Paul’s idea) just to make the darn bears fall asleep a bit.
After the shooting occurs not without difficulty they are though afraid the poor bears would die in the cold so dead asleep and fluffy they are. They so drag them into the house and up to the fireplace (MoR’s idea, he’s so proud to say.)
Now the group is composed of Giulia, Amanda, Paul, Giorgio and the bears, who by the way wake up.
“They first wanted to eat us up – Paul and Giorgio later told the people in a pub close by (1200 mi.) – but then they realised we are good people, so they accepted our meat and, the all of us, we chanted, we talked and drank and we all had lovely conversation together.” The people in the pub were now staring at them.
“Oh we got high (we were already.) Oh we got soo high. And we made the ladies happy. And after the ladies the bears. And the bears made the ladies happy, and a big party began where much joy was exchanged during the entire night.”
The bears in the end were cheerful but also a bit surprised. They hadn’t thought about this new form of entertainment. So the voice spread among their population and a big migration southward began, not entirely unnoticed by satellites and TV.
The Canadians, both the men and the women, were starting to feel awkward.
Now the invitation.
MoR is inviting willing readers
to bring in a comment to this post
with his/her original ‘licentious’
story to share, for some innocent fun.
You can also contribute anonymously. The stories, also very short (1-2-3 liners) and not necessarily in the style of Boccaccio will be accepted (in English or French, Italian and German) only if compliant with the following rules:
No vulgarity, crudity of language or situation.
Humour is requested but not required
(although it makes things lighter.)
No ‘pleasure and sin’ morbidity.
Sunlit sex, pls, with a gentle touch, and
(on sweet ladies’ request)
Love, divine Tormentor,
Applies here too.
Friends of the Man of Roma! What the heck are you waiting for? :-)