Inserisci sottotitolo qui
THE TAKING OF GORIZIA
Gorizia Santa, Gorizia Maledetta: the city has suffered for a century the same commonplace that in times the most macho of macho people used for women: either saint or whore. Neither one nor the other, of course. The war 15-18 has become, in the centenary, simply the useless carnage: a judgment that is also well-referred to the Pelopponean War, the Trojan War, the Punic Wars, the Napoleonic Wars. The death of one man is in itself an irreparable loss, let alone that of a hundred thousand: because so many died to take Gorizia. But to objectify the First World War means to strip oneself from political sympathies, to immerse oneself in the atmosphere of the time, which lived of strong nationalisms not only in Italy but in the whole Europe. History pushed towards the dissolution of a multi-cephalous, autocratic and aristocratic creature, which had made its time, the Habsburg Empire. Today many people regret it, but the peoples subject to it at that time seemed to be on the leash of a master and they wanted to get rid of it. Austria Hungary began the great massacre: the excuse was to wash away the shame of Sarajevo. It was joined by the Kaiser Germany and the Ottoman Empire, not exactly examples of democracy and tolerance: does anyone remember the massacre of the Armenians? The bewilderment is such that, as often happens in Italy, the object of contention, which should be "historicized" a century later, is, with trivial cynicism, used to make one or the other ideology prevail, a conventional sector, especially in our region. Gopolis publishes the festival of Santa Gorizia di V. Locchi and provides the link to listen - with beautiful images - Gorizia you are cursed. Everyone has an opinion.
The Festival of Santa Gorizia by Vittorio Locchi
Translation of a version written by Vittorio Locchi
It was all like a rainbow the air dome of the Karst. The stones shone like calcined bones; far away the Julian Alps seemed like enchanted domes. All the highest mountains lifted their white cloaks and warmed themselves in the sun, while the wind and the seeds passed to sow. There, in the distant, distant, white and shining plain, the sea was like a spear fallen to a giant lancer, as they are in fairy tales. And if Calvary did not blossom, if the Karst did not blossom, always in torment under the fury of the blows, all the hearts sown with hope blossomed there. It was said: "We are going: this time we are going! We shall skip the Soča like roe deer; who will keep us when the time comes? We all want to be the first to kiss the celestial mantle of St. Gorizia...