Giovanni Battista Bugatti & Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
MEMORIES
The day Camardella was hung
I had just received my confirmation.
I recall as if it had happened today that my godfather
Bought me a top, and a doughnut.
My father then took out the chaise
But first he wanted to enjoy the hanging:
So he held me high above
Saying: Look how nice, the scaffold!
At the same time, mastro Titta
Kicked the convict in the rump, and dad
Slapped me on the right cheek.
Take this, he told me, and remember well
That the same fate is to come
For a thousand others who are better than you.
September 29th, 1830
PONTE'S ROOKIE
Here they come: careful: the ceremony is quick.
With a bare and tottering neck
Here comes the main character, the patient,
The ace of spades, the guest of honour.
And here comes the professor who offers his service
Acting as a surgeon to the people
For three pence, and kindly
Cures everybody from their headache.
No, not on the left: the other one on the right.
The one coming in second place is the helper.
It's mastro Titta who takes the precedence.
Do you want to teach me who does the head?
I never miss one: I'm a frequent caller;
And I can tell the executioner as much as I can tell the Pope.
August 29th, 1835
the above written by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
the below written by an unreal entity named Risk.
enjoy the day, Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli.
you aren't so rare today G.G.
you deserve to be remembered.
and maybe reviled.
why won't you be honest to us?
you were the voice of the people.
you are my voice when i can't speak.
perhaps mastro titta was a joke.
low cut shoes and an elastic cloak on him.
you wonder who was living a lie.
the axe of god or the common poet?
is there a difference between you?
should we run back to the blood soaked days?
G.G. i hope you hear me now
when i say, "hold the head up high."
such fear makes men tremble
and children obey.
put the paint away, Giovanni Battista Bugatti.
today you must put on the hood.
cross the bridge.
it's chopping day.
people will smile at you.
because you smile first.
their smile says "good work, man."
your smile says, "forgive the stains,
to wash out blood is so difficult."
gather round. gather round.
think of the kindness of god,
as i offer a bit of snuff to my paitent.
let justice be served how it may.
mallet or blade. rope or horse.
i won't allow savonarola a moment's rest.
light a candle for justice.
and remember the hand of god can reach even you.
could you paint decorative umbrellas for a living?
could you execute a criminal for only three pence?
could you dress elegantly on your way to axe a man?
could you watch a man hold a severed head up?
could you write a humorous poem about watching a man die?
could you deny the truth and accept things as they appear?
did bobby frost kill poetry?
*
The day Camardella was hung
I had just received my confirmation.
I recall as if it had happened today that my godfather
Bought me a top, and a doughnut.
My father then took out the chaise
But first he wanted to enjoy the hanging:
So he held me high above
Saying: Look how nice, the scaffold!
At the same time, mastro Titta
Kicked the convict in the rump, and dad
Slapped me on the right cheek.
Take this, he told me, and remember well
That the same fate is to come
For a thousand others who are better than you.
September 29th, 1830
PONTE'S ROOKIE
Here they come: careful: the ceremony is quick.
With a bare and tottering neck
Here comes the main character, the patient,
The ace of spades, the guest of honour.
And here comes the professor who offers his service
Acting as a surgeon to the people
For three pence, and kindly
Cures everybody from their headache.
No, not on the left: the other one on the right.
The one coming in second place is the helper.
It's mastro Titta who takes the precedence.
Do you want to teach me who does the head?
I never miss one: I'm a frequent caller;
And I can tell the executioner as much as I can tell the Pope.
August 29th, 1835
the above written by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
the below written by an unreal entity named Risk.
enjoy the day, Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli.
you aren't so rare today G.G.
you deserve to be remembered.
and maybe reviled.
why won't you be honest to us?
you were the voice of the people.
you are my voice when i can't speak.
perhaps mastro titta was a joke.
low cut shoes and an elastic cloak on him.
you wonder who was living a lie.
the axe of god or the common poet?
is there a difference between you?
should we run back to the blood soaked days?
G.G. i hope you hear me now
when i say, "hold the head up high."
such fear makes men tremble
and children obey.
put the paint away, Giovanni Battista Bugatti.
today you must put on the hood.
cross the bridge.
it's chopping day.
people will smile at you.
because you smile first.
their smile says "good work, man."
your smile says, "forgive the stains,
to wash out blood is so difficult."
gather round. gather round.
think of the kindness of god,
as i offer a bit of snuff to my paitent.
let justice be served how it may.
mallet or blade. rope or horse.
i won't allow savonarola a moment's rest.
light a candle for justice.
and remember the hand of god can reach even you.
could you paint decorative umbrellas for a living?
could you execute a criminal for only three pence?
could you dress elegantly on your way to axe a man?
could you watch a man hold a severed head up?
could you write a humorous poem about watching a man die?
could you deny the truth and accept things as they appear?
did bobby frost kill poetry?
*