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inondée

Four in November 1966.

What happened that day in this city , more or less everyone should know. Or almost all, we live in the not beautiful.

Usually, it is known the famous documentary film with commentary by Richard Burton; art everywhere, a Christian of Cimabue, Uffizi, sculptures, Renaissance, cloisters and museums.

few days later, without anyone knowing, arrived in Florence a Swiss reporter: his name is Alain Tanner .

Alain Tanner in 2009.

Alain Tanner is not Richard Burton, though speaks Italian much better than the latter. It is a famous reporter only in western Switzerland, where he made services on the condition of immigrant workers (and this is who speaks good Italian), passing through a socialist left, and at a time when the Communist Party is still notice in the Swiss Confederation, it's practically equivalent.

Alain Tanner works for the TSR Television Suisse Romande, arrived in Florence with a crew of transmission Continents sans visa (visa-free continents ") and runs a report of twenty-four minutes, called Florence inondée . It is probably the best thing, vera, autentica e impressionante che sia stata girata sull'alluvione di Firenze. La TSR lo ha messo a disposizione sul suo sito; è in lingua francese, ma comprensibilissima e con numerosi interventi in italiano (cliccare sul link):

Florence Inondée, par Alain Tanner.

La TSR lo manda in onda il 1° dicembre 1966, con la voce del giornalista François Enderlin. Con immagini davvero mai viste prima, e che parecchi -anche tra quelli che "c'erano"- vedranno forse per la prima volta. Certo, si parla dell'arte, dei tesori, dei libri; ma viene data davvero voce ai fiorentini di 45 anni fa. Si sentono le loro parole, e si vedono le loro facce, giovani e vecchie. Si vede la morte del centro storico di Firenze: l'alluvione distrugge un intero tessuto sociale, e il centro viene reso libero per la progressiva disneylandizzazione.

Un documento da vedere, e da ascoltare bene. Sembra appena ieri.

Per questo vorrei dare la parola a un giovane attore che merita rispetto e considerazione. Si chiama Saverio Tommasi . Scrive qui :

44 anni fa, quattro novembre 1966, eravamo in piena alluvione. Lo siamo ancora, ma in un altro senso. Quel giorno c'era l'acqua alta cinque, sei metri, per le strade del centro storico di Firenze: via Cerretani, via Panzani; e poi a Brozzi, a San Donnino, in tutta la provincia pianeggiante di Firenze. Aveva straripato l'Arno, ma anche il Mugnone e gli altri fiumi e fiumiciattoli, rigagnoli d'estate, marea d'acqua quel giorno, 4 novembre '66. Morirono trentaquattro persone.
Migliaia di giovani arrivarono a Firenze per spalare fango, salvare superstiti, ripristinare le attività: gli angeli del fango. Con la lettera minuscola e il cuore grande.

Ieri sera ho introdotto la puntata "Inchieste" della giornalista Patrizia Menghini, su Rtv38, con un pezzo teatrale proprio su quell'alluvione, e ora voglio ricordare, attraverso le parole, alcune sensazioni e certi odori di quei giorni, che sento vicino anche se nel '66 mancavano tredici anni alla mia nascita. Le sento vicine perché profumano of that policy that I feel vibrating inside of that policy I want.
Provo Affection for thousands of young people arrived in Florence to shovel mud and shit, remove debris, rebuild a city. Among them, the angels of the mud, the lifeguards of Versilia, arrived with patina and dinghies.
feel Sharing circle arch for the decision of the country, which still houses in Tuscany call of the people, to open its first floor space to house rescued the cows of the farmers.
Provo Solidarity for many Florentines who were living on and near the the walled prison, and that day greeted the prisoners in their homes, after the guards opened the cells did not form because the "end of the mouse."
Provo Comunanza for the free spirit, but also aware of the owner of that restaurant devastated by the flood, which he displayed the sign: "Today, especially in wet".

I think these are the elements of "good policy": communication, solidarity, affection and sharing.
so I decided to commit myself to build something else, something better.

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The city breathes hidden in its folds

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MY FIRST CHRISTMAS.

This was not the very first Christmas.
Because I, in fact, I almost nine years. About
.
That is ...
I do not know exactly when they are born.
But we know for sure (why I have told my dad) I entered some time in the kennel in 2002 and are released at the end of 2010.
So I, for all that time, I did not know that there was such a thing as mica Christmas!

But this year everything was different and new!
We went with the whole family (mom, dad and sister quadruped) at the home of a human anzianissima that everyone calls "Grandma" .
There, with so many other people that made me carezzine continuously, we ate.
Everyone was happy and laughing. I
well.
Then, suddenly, someone put a lot of colored boxes on the table.
Beautiful!
Shining!
Scented cardboard. I watched the
but I had no idea what they were.
.... And just think ': one of those boxes was for me alone.
MY BOX!
have given to me, gently putting it down next to me.
I looked at her.
I smelled. I very
wag their tails as a sign of thanks.
I hope they understand my gratitude.
Although, to be honest, I did not know what it was mica ...

Then, when I was just sitting there proudly next to it, someone took it and did an incredible thing. The
dismissed.
Think a little 'inside ... there was even a surprise! A game of rubber
everything to me that if I play squash.
guys!
I was not more in the hair!
I can not play very well because the shelter when I was little, nobody taught me.

... BUT THAT WAS MY .... FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT!
not know what a thrill!
I just could not calm down.

I was so happy, just got back home, Dale tried too many emotions,
I collapsed on the mat and I wanted to see a mountain of toast.

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The cats of the merchant

Sometimes I remember to be part of the 'asocial network ", and so, tonight, with his friend and his Sussi' Εκβλόγγηθι Σεαυτόν I dedicate myself to another friend, the poet greek sailor Nikos Kavvadias . From cat, sailor and quite well, I could not remain indifferent to the thing that follows, and I would like to introduce the words of the translator, Gian Piero Head:

"The Biblical condemnation of the work fell on humans and animals also rubbed innocent: the poor donkeys, horses, cattle, dogs, camels, llamas and so on. One does not think, however, it has touched even the cats to work. Yet the ships were being recruited to reduce the stock colonies of mice. Once on board landed no more. In Venice there had to be by law, with punishment for the captain at fault. The merchant of iron cats contracted an occupational disease due to rusty dust, which is called in Greece Lamarina ; and "Lamarina" means "plate". The pain of the sheet, then. I do not know the equivalent in Italian and I'd like to know. The modern Greek poet Nikos Kavvadias (1910 - 1975), which ships spent most of his life, as a cabin boy, a sailor and radio operator, I dedicate this poem to his touching gatte dei mercantili. A un certo punto impazzivano e dovevano essere pietosamente gettate a mare. Un dei più grandi dolori per i marinai, che adoravano le gatte imbarcate in loro compagnia."

LE GATTE DEI MERCANTILI

I marinai dei mercantili sempre allevano una gatta
e la adorano, senza sapere il perché,
e lei, quando stanchi smontano di guardia,
superba correrà a strofinarsi alle loro gambe.

Le sere, quando il mare picchia forte sulle lamiere,
e, come fosse in guerra, vuol break the bow and bolts
reigns a heavy silence and torment,
for them she is a sweet company of a woman.

Always put them around his neck a collar of copper,
for amulet against the evil ugly sheet,
but they never manage, too bad!,
to preserve it in this way from the Black Death .

Because already his eyes were watery and thrilled
and so against his will attract them and the rusty iron,
crazy meowing and looking at a fixed point
and sailors who went dark and silent tears.

A little 'a sailor before he dies,
- that his life has seen the most terrible things -
caressing her looks into her eyes suddenly
and immediately throws it in' angry sea.

Then the sailors, which so often gives his heart
rimpiattano you forward and you squeeze the heart,
filled with a strange bitterness that will bite, as when they lose
a woman hot and expensive.

ΟΙ ΓΑΤΕΣ ΤΩΝ TRUCK

Sailors lorries always feed a cat,
who worship without knowing why,
her, as from the shift to school tired,
proud to run away would be sanded.

the evenings, when the sea hits the plate,
and strength to fight with broken nails,
Joined in Bow the heavy silence that tortures,
is for them like a sweet female companion.

She always have a neck bakirenia round,
for the iron poor αρρώστια φυλαχτό,
χωρίς όμως, αλίμονο, ποτέ να κατορθώνουν
να την φυλάξουν απ' το μαύρο θάνατο μ' αυτό.

Γιατί είναι τ' άγρια τα μάτια της υγρά κι ηλεκτρισμένα
so unwillingly in the black iron pulls,
crazy and screaming at one point looking
bringing tears to the dark and silent sailors.

Soon πριν από το θάνατον από τους ναύτες ένας,
- αυτός όπου είδε πράματα στη ζήση του φριχτά -
χαϊδεύοντας την, μια στιγμή στα μάτια την κοιτάζει
κι ύστερα μες στη the wild sea of \u200b\u200bflying.

And then the sailors, who very rarely lyga their heart,
going to bow to hide the heart tight,
full of a strange πικρία που όλο δαγκώνει,
σαν όταν χάνουνε θερμή γυναίκα αγαπητή.

Che dire? Niente, forse ogni cosa sarebbe fuori luogo. C'è stata, a un certo punto, una musica; un gruppo chiamato "Xembarki" ci ha messo delle note sopra; note che vanno a tutte le sorelle che dalle profondità marine consumano sette, settecento, settecentomila vite.