Piero's War

Readers of this blog know what I think of violence in general, and of war in particular. This entry is a bit unusual, since it features the lyrics of a song by Italian songwriter Fabrizio De Andre`, who died in 2001. De Andre` has been a huge influence in my youth, and ever since. His songs are really poetry put to music, and they talk about the many aspects of the human condition, from love and relationships to social injustice and war. Below is the integral text of “La Guerra di Piero” (Piero's War), as – very approximately -- translated by yours truly. I was listening to it the other day, and I thought to share it as both my tribute to Fabrizio and one of the best ways I know to express all that is wrong with doing what so many countries are still doing right now on this planet.

Dormi sepolto in un campo di grano
non è la rosa non è il tulipano
che ti fan veglia dall'ombra dei fossi
ma son mille papaveri rossi.

(You sleep under a field of wheat
neither the rose nor the tulip
watch over you from the shadows nearby,
only a thousand red poppies.)

“Lungo le sponde del mio torrente
voglio che scendano i lucci argentati
non più i cadaveri dei soldati
portati in braccio dalla corrente.”

('Along the waters of my creek
I want to see silver pikes
not the bodies of soldiers
carried down by the currents.')

Così dicevi ed era inverno
e come gli altri verso l'inferno
te ne vai triste come chi deve
il vento ti sputa in faccia la neve.

(So you said and it was winter
and like the others toward hell
you go sad as those who must
and the wind is spitting snow on your face.)

Fermati Piero, fermati adesso
lascia che il vento ti passi un po' addosso
dei morti in battaglia ti porti la voce
chi diede la vita ebbe in cambio una croce.

(Stop, Piero, stop now
let the wind blow over you
let it bring the voices of those who died in battle
they gave their lives in exchange for a cross.)

Ma tu no lo udisti e il tempo passava
con le stagioni a passo di giava
ed arrivasti a varcar la frontiera
in un bel giorno di primavera.

(But you didn't hear, and time went by
you kept marching with the seasons
until you passed the border
on a beautiful spring day.)

E mentre marciavi con l'anima in spalle
vedesti un uomo in fondo alla valle
che aveva il tuo stesso identico umore
ma la divisa di un altro colore.

(And while you marched with the soul on your shoulders
you saw a man at the bottom of the valley,
he was in your very same mood
but his uniform was of a different color.)

Sparagli Piero, sparagli ora
e dopo un colpo sparagli ancora
fino a che tu non lo vedrai esangue
cadere in terra a coprire il suo sangue.

(Shoot him, Piero, shoot him now
and then one more time, shoot him again
until you'll see him lie there
until he falls to the ground covered by his blood.)

“E se gli sparo in fronte o nel cuore
soltanto il tempo avrà per morire
ma il tempo a me resterà per vedere
vedere gli occhi di un uomo che muore.”

('And if I shoot him in the head or the heart
he'll have only time to die
but I'll have plenty of time to see
to see the eyes of a dying man.')

E mentre gli usi questa premura
quello si volta, ti vede e ha paura
ed imbracciata l'artiglieria
non ti ricambia la cortesia.

(And while you were being so thoughtful
he turns, he sees you, and he's afraid
and bracing his artillery
he doesn't do you the same courtesy.)

Cadesti in terra senza un lamento
e ti accorgesti in un solo momento
che il tempo non ti sarebbe bastato
a chiedere perdono per ogni peccato.

(You fell to the ground without a sound
and realized in a moment
that you will not have time
to ask forgiveness for all your sins.)

Cadesti interra senza un lamento
e ti accorgesti in un solo momento
che la tua vita finiva quel giorno
e non ci sarebbe stato ritorno.

(You fell to the ground without a sound
and realized in a moment
that your life would end that day
that there will be no return.)

“Ninetta mia crepare di maggio
ci vuole tanto troppo coraggio,
Ninetta bella dritto all'inferno
avrei preferito andarci in inverno.”

('My dear Ninetta, to die in May
that takes way too much courage,
beautiful Ninetta, straight to hell
I would have preferred to go in the winter.')

E mentre il grano ti stava a sentire
dentro alle mani stringevi un fucile
dentro alla bocca stringevi parole
troppo gelate per sciogliersi al sole.

(And while the wheat was listening
you held tight to your rifle,
inside your mouth you held your words
too frozen already to melt in the sun.)

Dormi sepolto in un campo di grano
non è la rosa non è il tulipano
che ti fan veglia dall'ombra dei fossi
ma sono mille papaveri rossi.

(You sleep under a field of wheat
neither the rose nor the tulip
watch over you from the shadows nearby,
only a thousand red poppies.)