| O Ce Biel |
| From the Friulan song "O Ce Biel Cjiscjel a Udin" |
| Memories of 1970s Friuli |
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Poems |
These poems are the work of Charles Thompson, who arrived in Udine in the autumn of 1975. We shared two years there before he returned to England and I moved to the Veneto. He has lived and taught English in Bristol for many years, not far from my home in Gloucestershire, so we still meet up. He's now heavily involved in theatre, cabaret and poetry. The first poem addresses the Friulan earthquake in May 1976. My account is in the "Terremoto" section.
Who called to God
This next poem is a big change of mood, altogether more cheerful. One way to supplement the Oxford School's meagre pay was to give private lessons. Chris had a personal student who was an Udine "avvocato" or lawyer. A rotund, gruff, larger-than-life man. This is Charles's tribute.
Who called to God that May evening under the grey mountains? The priest, his whole house crumbled into bits and pieces scattered about his papers and books? Startled, the Friulan men and women in the tent-fields their bodies alive and their souls too Though no prayer alive held back the boulders as the earth shook - they were alive Grandmothers spooning the giant pasta pot children sparkling here and there like lizards Babies and toddlers glimpsed behind the tent walls Friulan mothers too The priest tasted the red wine the bread too as did the working men How the sorrow yearned through the work and how could joy grow again? Such unexpected events The rumble of the earth god the collapse of secret mystic churches the sudden mortality in the midst of May abundance And now the rain bundling incessantly lavishly onto the fields and tents and there Friulani resilient alive Avvocato And so, dear friends, L'Avvocato As plump he is as an avocado A roister-rooster 'Al Bar Marinaio' Whose crow is gruff Whose laugh is rough A wit unforced Rich, well-resourced, Adapted, agile, Oh no not fragile A temper, balanced, Just, on the razzle, A man who handles local crooks For crimes I would say mostly petty and handles too his wife's spaghetti. Sleep, eat, drink, law all uncomplicate To live, laugh and intimidate For an encore this grizzly bear Intones with feeling 'My sweet-coloured pear When I see you I feel brave'1 The simple lines the bright folk crave Volcanic earthy a rumbling yarn Round the rapt crowd the lyric Friulan. 1 Piruç myò doç inculurit quant yò chi viot, dut stoi ardi't from the oldest Friulan poem August 2021 Once upon a time in Italy Once upon a time in Italy the game was bumpeting to the end of the bus line no. 17 per scoprire qualcosa di buono or playing swag cricket with a ping pong ball and a cardboard poster holder Che cos'è questo cricket? È pazzo? Che cos'è questo wicket? Per l'amor di Dio? Spiego tutto. Allora ... or laying trails - amici tutti - through Venezia - la bella - or translating Italian menus into English - per far ridere - the owner wouldn't pay - hiccough hiccough salad - per esempio - Was this fun or something else? In your twenties Italy the heat the gaudiness the electric charge! O youth bizarre have fun along the dark lightsome travel of your Mediterranean We got up to no end of "japes" in the mid-1970s. Somewhat embarrassing now - but it was fun, entirely unmalicious, an exuberant expression of youthful energy - or so I like to think. I have documented the Venetian "laying trails" episode elsewhere in this memoir (see the Venice section👉). The indoor cardboard-tube and ping-pong-ball cricket session took place in the small hours at Charles's flat after returning from Bar da Brando. The neighbour from the flat below called the police, justifiably given the sharp noise we were making on the uncarpeted floor. Two 'poliziotti' duly arrived. We had just met them at the bar! They had crept in under the half-lowered security shutter for a late shift drink. We were reprimanded very gently for our misdemeanour. October 2021 O youth O youth forwards and arcing into the air your arrows which settle far off like rain your spontaneous quick moments like those of wood pigeons or larks like fledglings of a hawk like Mercury quicksilver in Italy those years past those moments I snapped fast as they happened and engage me now Friuli a golden eagle with red claws Friuli of fields and woods level out stretching far far to those sharp white mountains Friuli of green rivers rocking turbulent from those steepling mountains friends startling like swifts thus to my life and thus one such - with the open quickness of a gazelle practical as all Friulians - those carpenters - youthful as a football swearing about an officer in the caserma - a soldier - for a moment - in front of an officer without his hat - shirt unbuttoned 'I thought we were an army not a group of bandits' says the captain 'grounded in barracks for two days' swearing again One such she took me to the discoteca her Italian quickened itself like a stickleback darts or a flute jaunts sweetly so far so far so far from Farra d'Isonzo - thus her village green Isonzo - once in ceaseless turmoil seething prophesying war to the east Gorizia to the east the border to the north and east - war twelve times - mountain war but now no more how a flame quickens all youth as if they were the sons and daughters of Jupiter |