{"id":12968,"date":"2016-11-25T18:49:33","date_gmt":"2016-11-25T17:49:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/italian\/?p=12968"},"modified":"2016-11-25T18:49:33","modified_gmt":"2016-11-25T17:49:33","slug":"ode-to-an-odious-teacher","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/italian\/ode-to-an-odious-teacher\/","title":{"rendered":"Ode To An Odious Teacher"},"content":{"rendered":"

A few days ago I wrote a post<\/a><\/strong><\/span> in which I recounted a pleasant episode that took place when I was a 15 year old student at the Liceo Classico in Lucca. This was a very strict old fashioned school, in which the teachers never paid compliments to the students, but only put them down, perch\u00e9 le lodi rammolliscono<\/b> (because praise makes you soft!)<\/span><\/p>\n

Felice Casorati, Gli scolari (1927-1928), olio su tavola. Palermo, Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna.<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n

Well, <\/span>unfortunately<\/span>,<\/span> unpleasant<\/span> memories from that period are far more numerous than the <\/span>pleasant<\/span> ones.<\/span> That year in Italian Literature we studied the Twentieth century poetry movement <\/span>known as <\/span>‘<\/span>Ermetismo<\/b><\/span>‘<\/span>. <\/span>The<\/span> poems<\/span>,<\/span> which described the horrors and pains of the the two world wars<\/span>,<\/span> resonated with us students, and <\/span>a group of us<\/span> secretly <\/span>started to rewrite them<\/span>,<\/span> trans<\/span>pos<\/span>ing them into our own world: the horrors and pains of the Liceo Classico N.Machiavelli di Lucca<\/strong>.<\/span><\/p>\n

And it was the extremely unpopular Maths teacher B. who became the main target of our collective wrath. As it happens, I kept a few pages from a school notebook in which, alongside these poems, I recorded some of my thoughts about our teachers entitled ‘Il mio lager’<\/b> (My Concentration Camp). Here is my description of B.:<\/p>\n

‘L’aguzzino B. ti gela con la sua voce odiosa; ti sbeffeggia al minimo errore, e ti rimanda a posto urlando se perdi un solo secondo a pensare’
\n<\/b>‘B. the tormentor freezes you with his odious voice; he mocks you at the smallest mistake and, shouting, sends you back to your desk if you waste even one second thinking (about the answer)’<\/p>\n

Here’s an example of our poetic parodies. This one is based on the poem Alle Fronde Dei Salici<\/b> written by Salvatore Quasimodo<\/b> in 1947, which describes the massacre of partisans and civilians perpetrated by the Nazi Army that occupied Italy. Quasimodo’s poem is based on psalm 137 (Greek 136) which describes the Jews’ exile to Babylon.<\/p>\n

Alle Fronde Dei Salici <\/i>di Salvatore Quasimodo<\/b><\/p>\n

E come potevamo noi cantare
\ncon il piede straniero sopra il cuore,
\nfra i morti abbandonati nelle piazze
\nsull’erba dura di ghiaccio, al lamento
\nd’agnello dei fanciulli, all’urlo nero
\ndella madre che andava incontro al figlio
\ncrocifisso sul palo del telegrafo?
\nAlle fronde dei salici, per voto,
\nanche le nostre cetre erano appese,
\noscillavano lievi al triste vento.<\/b><\/p>\n

On The B<\/i>ranches<\/i> Of The Willows<\/i> by Salvatore Quasimodo<\/p>\n

How could we sing
\nwith the foreign foot on our heart,
\namongst the dead abandoned in the squares
\non the grass hardened by the ice, with the lament
\nof the children like lambs, with the black scream
\nof the mother who went towards her son
\ncrucified on the telegraph pole?
\nOn the branches of the willows, for vow,
\nour harps were also hung,
\nthey were swaying lightly in the sad wind.<\/p>\n

Our Parody: Sulle Righe Dei Cartelloni, degli Studenti della Quinta Ginnasio, Liceo Classico N.Machiavelli 198<\/b>8-8<\/b>9<\/b><\/p>\n

E come potevamo noi cantare
\ncon il piede del Barsanti sopra il cuore,
\nfra i morti che fece nelle scuole,
\nsull’erba dura di ghiaccio, al lamento
\nd’agnello degli interrogati*, all’urlo nero
\ndella madre che andava a vedere i risultati
\nscritti sui cartelloni nell’atrio?
\nSulle righe dei cartelloni, per voto,
\nanche il nostro tre* era appeso,
\noscillavano tutti al triste vento.<\/b><\/p>\n

On The Lines Of The Notice Boards, by the Students of the Quinta Ginnasio, Liceo Classico N.Machiavelli, 1988-89<\/p>\n

How could we sing
\nwith B.’s foot on our heart,
\namongst those he killed in the schools
\non the grass hardened by the ice, with the lament
\nof the interrogated* like lambs, with the black scream
\nof the mother who went to see the results
\nwritten on the boards in the hall?
\nOn the lines of the boards, our grades,
\nour threes*, were also hung,
\nthey all were swaying in the sad wind.<\/p>\n

*Interrogazioni<\/strong> are oral tests, which were more common than written tests when I was at school.<\/p>\n

*In Italy i voti<\/b> (school marks or grades) go from 1 (the lowest) to 10 (the highest), and the minimum pass is 6. Therefore a grade of 3 is an extremely negative result.<\/span><\/p>\n

How about you, do you have pleasant or unpleasant memories of your school days?<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\"\"

A few days ago I wrote a post in which I recounted a pleasant episode that took place when I was a 15 year old student at the Liceo Classico in Lucca. This was a very strict old fashioned school, in which the teachers never paid compliments to the students, but only put them down…<\/p>\n

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