Piero's War

"La Guerra di Piero" (Piero's War)by Fabrizio De Andre'

TRANSLATION OF THE LYRICS
(Please excuse the imperfect translation, I thought it would be more interesting to read a rush translation than the original Italian words!)


You sleep buried in a corn field
neither the rose or the tulip
watch over you from the shades of
the trenches,
but just a thousand red poppies.

“Along the banks of my stream
I want to see silver pikes swim
not the bodies of soldiers
carried down by the current.”

So you were saying and it was winter
and like the others you were marching
towards hell
you kept on going with the sadness of those who must go
whilst the wind was spitting snow onto your face.

Stop, Piero, stop now
let the wind surround you
let it bring you the voices of those who died in battle
and gave their lives in exchange for a cross.

But you didn't hear it, and time went by
And you kept marching through the seasons
until you finally crossed the border
on a beautiful spring day.

And while marching with the soul on your shoulders
you saw a man at the bottom of the valley,
who was in your very same mood
only his uniform had a different color.

Fire, Piero, shoot him now
and then one more time, shoot him again
until you'll see him lie there
on the ground covering his own blood.

“And if I shoot him in the head or the heart
he'll have only time to die
instead I'll have too much to watch,
to watch the eyes of a dying man.”

And while you are showing him this compassion
he turns, sees you, and he's afraid
and bracing his gun
he doesn't return the same courtesy.

You fell to the ground without a sound
and realized in that moment
that you wouldn’t even have the time
to ask for forgiveness for all your sins.

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

“My dear Ninetta, dying in May
needs so much, too much courage,
beautiful Ninetta, straight to hell
I would have preferred to go in the winter.”

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

You sleep buried in a corn field
neither the rose or the tulip
watch over you from the shades of the trenches,
but just a thousand red poppies.

Fabrizio De André (February 18, 1940 - January 11, 1999) was an Italian singer-songwriter and poet. In his works he often told stories of simple souls, marginalized and rebellious people. In Italy we consider him a poet because of the quality of his lyrics. His family was strongly anti-fascist and for this reason before and during WWII they had to flee their home town, Genova, and hide in the country-side. This song/poem is mainly against the war, any kind of war, in simple words he shows the futily of this huge loss of human lives, the crudeness of the hand-to-hand combats (especially during WWI) and the lonely deaths under an indifferent sun.

My way to remember

Although during WWI Italy did not declare war on Austria-Hungary until 23rd May 1915, by the end of the war in 1918, almost 700,000 Italians were dead, 950,000 were wounded and 250,000 were crippled for life.

Italy was rather unprepared for this massive venture. After the declaration of war the army was nowhere near being on the appropriate footing, and money for armaments was scarce. Nevertheless, the Italian armies marched into Austrian territory in the northeast of Italy, with some success against armed forces who had their hands full elsewhere. However, a prolonged stalemate quickly developed which was not broken until the end of 1917. Then the Austrians and Germans, freed from the burden of the Russian front, attacked, inflicting a humiliating defeat on the Italians at the Battle of Caporetto.

The Austro-German armies moved south to threaten the peninsula; Italy seemed to be in grave danger, and British and French troops were sent to the rescue. The Italians, however, responded to the challenge with great fortitude and spirit. Before the arrival of the Allied forces, the greatly outnumbered Italian army halted the Austro-German advance on the River Piave - a military feat which has gone down in nationalist folklore, and which was celebrated in the patriotic song 'Il Piave mormorò ... non passa lo straniero' (The Piave whispered ... the foreigner shall not pass). By the autumn of 1918 the Italian and Allied forces were driving the Austrians back towards the north.

My great-uncle, Mario, was only seventeen when he joined the Italian army in 1915. He was a young boy full of ideals and captured by the words and speeches of the nationalist poet Gabriele D'Annunzio who encouraged his countrymen to free the Italian territories under the Austrian oppression. He fought in the first Battle of Caporetto and then was sent further to fight in the trenches on the Italian-Austrian border. His trench was near Monte Grappa, in Veneto:

Life in the trenches was rough on soldiers. They had to worry about rats, catching diseases, shellfire, and body lice. Food was also in short supply towards the end of the war. If you were injured, it could take a while until you were treated. Some injuries were so bad that they had to be amputated. Mario was not injured by an enemy bullet or a shell. On the 23rd October 1918 he suffered a bad attack of appendicitis. No doctor and no transport to a field hospital were available so in the morning of the 24th he died of peritonitis after hours of agonizing pains. He was buried in a field nearby. Few hours later his fellow soldiers launched a final attach on the Austrian enemy lines and broke through. On the 4th November 1918 an armistice was signed between Italy and Austria. The war was over.

My great-uncle did not die as a war hero. He was not awarded any medal. My great-grandmother just received a short letter that informed that her son was dead. She never saw his body.

It is now possible to visit the “ruins” of the trench where my great-uncle Mario died. My granddad never wanted to visit it. Neither did my dad. Nor will I.

Vigil
Cima Quattro, December 23, 1915

An entire night
thrown down
beside a butchered
companion with his
grimacing
mouth
turned
to the full moon
with his congested hands
thrust
into my silence
I wrote
letters full of love

I have never held
so hard to life

(Giuseppe Ungaretti, Italian Poet, 1888-1970 – in translation)