Omar Longo.
Every time I write about Trieste Bora blows. The pen is shaken by the winds, waves on the sheet spreading that the city whispers. Along the banks of the disc amaranth sun disappears behind Venice. The street lights are already turned on for almost an hour along the boulevards. The cars whizzing zigzagging to avoid the wind and the pedestrians who hands in his pockets, curved neck, move quickly numbed by the cold.
corners of the sheet flutter, the paper vibrates.
Hundreds, thousands of street lights everywhere sentinels of the day and night to steal space that besieged the city. Clusters of light from the pole bent, as weary from the weight.
And the city streets, each street lamp to illuminate in the dark suit, a Oberdan hanged. Hundreds, thousands of Oberdan everywhere. The authorities have decided that we should not forget the sacrifice of his son. In any public place have raised the profile of the hero leaning painted green, white and red. With the wind, have flown to many Oberdan shoes. Some have flown in full, finished somewhere, maybe caught between the branches of the pine forest of Barcola. Cases are rare: the government always makes sure to provide durable ropes. On the yards and halberds, even on the roof of the bus, waving the flag body to renew the memory of the martyrdom day. The man who says that hangs in many died so that this land belonged to Italy, says that we should be proud of being Italian. The authorities let him say, even force him to talk. To no avail the protests of parents concerned that the Committee prorpio children to take too seriously the example of the hero. In the trendy some of the bankers have begun to take stricter ties facing up. Oberdan trend. Squares, streets, schools take his name.
I look at him hanging from the lamp, the light to illuminate the hugging profile, short bushy beard, the shoulder line. The wind moves it in such a way that seems to walk in the air: a step, the second, third, and then back again one, two, three. Is dancing. A mid-air, suspended above the entrances of shops Course Italy, the Oberdan dissolve in a danse macabre. Why do the authorities insist on them relentlessly sapping dance young breaths? Italy, land of art and culture, has a lot more remains to be exhumed and put on display. Why not hoist a Dante, a Leonardo or a Giordano Bruno? The mayor has already expressed its support for more Oberdan practical to hang, but can not be just that. Why then? Oberdan Why is the union of two cultures that have characterized Trieste: the Italian and Slovenian, too often divided and united in him. A politician seems false even if breathing. Italy is the mother of Oberdan and must celebrate her son.
If anything is the father, a father of Venetian origin who abandoned him, while her mother, she who gave his surname, and Slovenia. Olympus of Italians in Trieste, the Italian-Slovenian Oberdan demigod had to die like a hero to rise to the level of the father, and they did. According to Elio Apih, Trieste remember two moments in the history of irredentism: The first period covers the years between 1878 and 1882, until the death of Oberdan and the signing of the Triple Alliance, the second time is later, typically antislavo. But the champion of the union of two cultures died as Oberdan, not as Oberdank. He has denied his name or as they say it has voluntarily Italianate, thirsty for conformity, to feel accepted in a land that was weighing its origins. Hanging him on many lampposts around the city authorities wanted to give the good example of the Slav who voluntarily italianized forgetting who he is.
Now that I look at it more carefully I recognize in him the martyr hanged, but the plant uprooted, roots air to dry out voluntarily. The Bora felling trees give up the roots.
Oberdan ascended to Olympus Italian, with cervical, lame, but still a hero.
Every time I write about Trieste Bora blows. The pen is shaken by the winds, waves on the sheet spreading that the city whispers. Along the banks of the disc amaranth sun disappears behind Venice. The street lights are already turned on for almost an hour along the boulevards. The cars whizzing zigzagging to avoid the wind and the pedestrians who hands in his pockets, curved neck, move quickly numbed by the cold.
corners of the sheet flutter, the paper vibrates.
Hundreds, thousands of street lights everywhere sentinels of the day and night to steal space that besieged the city. Clusters of light from the pole bent, as weary from the weight.
And the city streets, each street lamp to illuminate in the dark suit, a Oberdan hanged. Hundreds, thousands of Oberdan everywhere. The authorities have decided that we should not forget the sacrifice of his son. In any public place have raised the profile of the hero leaning painted green, white and red. With the wind, have flown to many Oberdan shoes. Some have flown in full, finished somewhere, maybe caught between the branches of the pine forest of Barcola. Cases are rare: the government always makes sure to provide durable ropes. On the yards and halberds, even on the roof of the bus, waving the flag body to renew the memory of the martyrdom day. The man who says that hangs in many died so that this land belonged to Italy, says that we should be proud of being Italian. The authorities let him say, even force him to talk. To no avail the protests of parents concerned that the Committee prorpio children to take too seriously the example of the hero. In the trendy some of the bankers have begun to take stricter ties facing up. Oberdan trend. Squares, streets, schools take his name.
I look at him hanging from the lamp, the light to illuminate the hugging profile, short bushy beard, the shoulder line. The wind moves it in such a way that seems to walk in the air: a step, the second, third, and then back again one, two, three. Is dancing. A mid-air, suspended above the entrances of shops Course Italy, the Oberdan dissolve in a danse macabre. Why do the authorities insist on them relentlessly sapping dance young breaths? Italy, land of art and culture, has a lot more remains to be exhumed and put on display. Why not hoist a Dante, a Leonardo or a Giordano Bruno? The mayor has already expressed its support for more Oberdan practical to hang, but can not be just that. Why then? Oberdan Why is the union of two cultures that have characterized Trieste: the Italian and Slovenian, too often divided and united in him. A politician seems false even if breathing. Italy is the mother of Oberdan and must celebrate her son.
If anything is the father, a father of Venetian origin who abandoned him, while her mother, she who gave his surname, and Slovenia. Olympus of Italians in Trieste, the Italian-Slovenian Oberdan demigod had to die like a hero to rise to the level of the father, and they did. According to Elio Apih, Trieste remember two moments in the history of irredentism: The first period covers the years between 1878 and 1882, until the death of Oberdan and the signing of the Triple Alliance, the second time is later, typically antislavo. But the champion of the union of two cultures died as Oberdan, not as Oberdank. He has denied his name or as they say it has voluntarily Italianate, thirsty for conformity, to feel accepted in a land that was weighing its origins. Hanging him on many lampposts around the city authorities wanted to give the good example of the Slav who voluntarily italianized forgetting who he is.
Now that I look at it more carefully I recognize in him the martyr hanged, but the plant uprooted, roots air to dry out voluntarily. The Bora felling trees give up the roots.
Oberdan ascended to Olympus Italian, with cervical, lame, but still a hero.
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