We alone are the vehicle for our Idea, and only through our work will it one day become an indispensable part of life.[1]
Virgilia D’Andrea
Preface to Virgilia D’Adrea’s collection of poetry, Tormento (1922), by Errico Malatesta
Here, dear reader, you will find, condensed into a few short poems, the story of a gentle yet proud soul who approaches life filled with a dream of love, only to experience all its sorrows, all its disappointments, and all its disillusionments.
She sees humanity in pain and suffers and trembles with it; she sees injustice triumphant, the arrogance and callousness of the masters, the abjectness and cowardice of the servants.
But she does not collapse under the weight of her shattered dream; she rebels and fights so that the dream may one day come true; and, ready for any sacrifice, she continues to fight and will fight until the hoped-for triumph, or until death. Here, reader, you will find the story of these past years as it was felt and lived by those who, through the vicissitudes of victories and defeats, of bright hopes and bitter disappointments, remained faithful to the ideal of human brotherhood, justice, well-being, peace and progress for all. You will find here, in harrowing and poignant episodes, the full infamy of war; you will find, depicted in swift and vivid strokes, the workers’ uprising that followed the war, and the joy that filled our hearts when it seemed the hour of victory was at hand, and the deep sorrow that struck us when hopes crumbled and the grim and ferocious reaction set in. But above all, you will find the faith that does not die with defeat, and the firm resolve and certain hope.
What you will find here, O reader, is not empty literature; it is not the idle pastime of a bored person, nor the virtuosity of a versifier who takes pleasure in rhyming any thesis or situation.
Virgilia d’Andrea, poetess of anarchy, worthy of taking the place left vacant by our Pietro Gori, writes and sings because she feels and desires to, and thus succeeds in being truer and more effective than many greater poets. She uses literature as a weapon; and in the thick of battle, amidst the crowd and facing the enemy, or from a gloomy prison cell, or from a friendly refuge that saves her from prison, she hurls her verses as a challenge to the oppressors, a spur to the slothful, an encouragement to her comrades in the struggle.
I, proud to be able to preface these humble words of mine to the verses of Virgilia d’Andrea, recognise and greet in her a sister.
Rome – April 1922. Errico Malatesta
The Vanquished Who Do Not Die
Virgilia D’Andrea (1932)
Anarchy signifies the destruction of misery, hate, superstition, and the abolition of oppression of man by man; that is to say, the abolition of government and the monopoly of property.
Human individuality is a profound and mysterious world which can enclose in itself all the vision of new horizons of various and different sentiments and affections; therefore the individual, this vital part of the vast universal harmony, must be able to give free outlet to his own inspirations, must have the chance to try every way he sees full of light and promise. He must be free to develop his activities, inclinations and capacities, his sometimes esoteric energies, which he feels palpitating in him, all of them mutable in space and time. He must feel himself as arbiter of his own destiny and direct the helm of his own existence towards the harbour which is the supreme dream of his life.
Governments, religions, fatherlands, morals, in their own interests, not only do not recognise any individual aspirations, but violate and sacrifice them. Governments oppress the individual. Religions hinder his rational faculties. Fatherlands push him to the cataclysm and vortex of war. Morals suffocate him with impositions and duties which are in direct contrast with his needs and natural inclinations. We are convinced that man will never be liberated if he is spiritually tied to the prejudices of gods, morals or any form of domination or subjugation. Therefore, our struggle is to free him from the clutches of these terrible intellectual and economic constraints. We rebel against the society which despotically claims the criminal right to dispose of its members.
Man must radically change the notions which have been nailed in his brain by the hammer of habit and centuries of slavery, such as: “Without bosses none would work,” “Nothing flourishes without God,” and “Social life is impossible without government.”
Everything that is beautiful and great is achieved by the dangerous march of humanity, and always against God, masters and government.
The flame of thought, the magnificence of art, wonderful discoveries, the audacity of inventions belong to revolutionary periods, when humanity, tired of the chains of its restrictions, shatters them, and stops inebriated to breathe the breeze of the vaster and freer horizon.
To those who affirm that without government, legislation and repression, which are necessary for the law to be respected and transgressors punished, there will be disorder and delinquency, I am answering: Look around yourselves, cannot you see the frightful disorder in every domain of social life? Disorder that reigns in spite of the authority which governs and the law which represses? Cannot you see that the increase of regulations makes legislation more severe, the domain of repression extends, and immorality, humiliation, crimes and faults multiply? And the spectacle of injustices, which are so repugnant, is before us, torturing our soul and life.
The taking of power, the contact with it, support for it, on any pretext of flag, celebrity, homage to a mirage or principle, despite any appearance, despite repeated trite formulae, bring degeneration in every time and place, to men, to groups and parties. Far from being the stimuli of progress, they become the forces of conservatism. And soon, because the world marches despite them, they change into the causes of reaction. Power uses the worst in man and the worst among men; it elevates, rewards and exalts the vile and servile, and hates and punishes personal independence and dignity.
They ask us: When will the anarchists dominate? We will never dominate. Until the time (its remoteness depends on how far you are from us) of the realisation of a society based on free voluntary contracts, in which no one can impose his will on others because association will be free and concerned with growth and development rather than sacrifice of the individual, we will always be at our place, together with those who, like us, do not want to be oppressed, or to oppress, and who want to push forward those who are oppressed. We will remain out of any government and against all governments to indicate to men the way to their own liberation, when they will take in their own hands their own good and happiness.
They ask us again: Then won’t you always be defeated? No! It is only that we do not delude ourselves that to win we must take the place of the defeated dominator. Even if Anarchy cannot be realised today, tomorrow or after centuries, the essential thing for us is to march towards anarchy today, tomorrow and always. Any blow to the institution of private property or to government; any exposure of their lies; any human activity which can be taken from the control of authority, any effort to elevate people’s conscience by increasing the spirit of initiative and solidarity, is a step towards anarchy.
We need to discriminate between real progress toward sour ideal and not confuse this with hypocritical legal reforms, which, under the pretext of immediate betterment, distract people from the fight against authority and tend to paralyse their activities, giving hope that something can be achieved because of the goodness of masters and governments.
Born Sulmona-Abruzzi, Italy, 11 February 1890, died New York, 11 May 1932
Virgilia d’Andrea is a reminder of the passion that anarchism could (and should!) inspire. It is the ideal, the source of hope and beauty. Like Luigi Galleani she writes in emotive and powerful language- a far cry from the formulaic and cold prose that can be found in some areas of our movement. Anarchism is about life, about individual realisation, about infinite possibility…
Virgilia d’Andrea was born on the 11th of February, 1890 in Sulmona- Abruzzi (Italy). At an early age she became an orphan and was taken to a Catholic college when she was six years old. She was to stay there until she got her teacher’s degree.
This period of her life may be of some interest to those who would like to know something of her psychological make-up. As far as I am concerned, without having many details of her life spent in the college, I can assume that in such an arid, superstitious atmosphere, lacking freedom and affection, her vivid intelligence could not be placated. Instead of adapting herself to the environment, she had been nurturing a rebellious spirit against the institution of a social order which condemned her and many others to grow up in such inhuman conditions. Even so, she was never overcome by desperation for she found a substitute for life in books and she developed a great passion for poetry, which was to remain with her to the end of her life.
As a teacher she met Armando Borghi and from then on she dedicated her life to anarchism. For her anarchism is not a dogma and neither is it a utopia. Or, to be specific, if there is an anarchist utopia, there is also an anarchist reality, and it is this anarchist reality that she is most concerned with communicating to us. A reality found in the aspirations of the human spirit, which is a constant struggle with the environment and convention for self determination and the realisation of freedom. She found it in the writings Homer, Aeschylus, in the mythological Prometheus who, as the son of Justice, lit the spark of thinking in man and put the great hope of liberation in his heart; and who, to assert himself, gave up the beatitude of divine life and rebelled against Jupiter. She found it in Euripides, Shakespeare, Cervantes, etc. a reality passing like a red thread through the works of many writers, painters, artists and litterati.
This reality was part of her life in her struggle against authoritarianism, and particularly against Fascism. Even after her opposition to fascism had forced her to leave Italy, she was not defeated, but continued the struggle in Germany, Holland and France, where she lived from 1923 to 1928. Then she went to America where, in 1932, on the 11th of May, she died in New York, aged forty-three.
Her literary output is slender; it consists of: “Tormento,” a volume of poetry published in 1922 in Italy; “L’Ora di Marmaldo,” a collection of prose published in France in 1928; and “Torce nella Notte,” a collection of articles and treatises published in New York a few days before her death. There are also a lot of papers she gave, mainly in America, and a few unpublished articles, but as far as I know, none of her writings have been translated into English.
This article is taken from the Italian anarchist paper, “Umanita Nova.” This article I later found to be part of a paper given in New York on the 20th of March, 1932.
[1] CPC, ACS, D’Andrea; the speech ‘Chi siamo e che cosa vogliamo’ was originally delivered at the Rand School in New York, and was printed in L’Adunata dei Refrettari, 26 Mar. 1932. (CPC: Casellario Politico Centrale; ACS: Archivio Centrale dello Stato, Rome.
ANIMA ROSSA
Virgilia D’Andrea
Era bambina e la testina bruna Quella sera vegliava… E tra le siepi il raggio della luna Un sogno mite all’ombra ricamava.
«Mamma», disse, d’un tratto, dolcemente: «Che cosa è dunque il mondo? Perchè s’allarga e s’agita la mente E il cuor diventa sempre più profondo?».
Ella rispose, cuore contro cuore: «Per amare, piccina. Non senti attorno attorno quanto amore S’alza e divampa e l’anima trascina?»
Più tardi, adolescente, ella sentiva Nel collegio remoto, Mentre dal Tronto un alito saliva E della vita l’affannava il vuoto,
Balzar, d’un tratto, la domanda antica: «Che cosa è dunque il mondo? Perchè si lotta invano e si fatica E il vuoto si fa sempre più profondo,
E l’essere si frange e s’avventura Ne le trame fiorite E l’anima s’angoscia e s’impaura E serba aperte tutte le ferite?».
«Perchè vita è l’amore e tu, purezza, Apri la mente al sole, Di canti adorna intatta giovinezza, Da’ campi strappa fasci di viole».
Ma quando alla ribalta ella si fece Della scena sognata, E della gioia e dell’amore invece Sentì l’assillo d’anima affannata,
E vide reggie mäestose, altere, Nei tramonti dorati, Sognanti baci delle pure sere Sopra giardini vasti e imbalsamati,
E soffitte poi vide ed il tormento D’antri luridi, impuri, Miseria, fame e sibilo di vento E fonde piaghe di martirî oscuri,
E gemme, argento e seriche vestaglie E schiamazzi di feste, E cenci, angoscie e lacrime e gramaglie E serti d’oro su le bionde teste,
Questa, disse, è la vita e noi si vive Per vederci soffrire: Questa è, dunque, la vita e noi si vive Per puntellare i troni e poi morire.
Schiavi e vigliacchi noi, che assecondiamo D’essere cenci e strame, Bruti ammansati noi, che l’accettiamo Il nodo acerbo di catene infame.
E verso il sole alzò la pura fronte E disse: «Alla riscossa» Gettò dal mare, a la pianura, al monte La sfida calda di giornata rossa.
Firenze, Gennaio 1919.
RED SOUL
Virgilia D’Andrea
She was a child and her dark head That night was awake… And the moon’s ray through the hedge A timid dream in the shade did create.
“Mamma”, all at once she softly said: “So, what is the world? Why does the mind open and stir And the heart become evermore profound?”
She replied, heart to heart: “For love, my little one. Don’t you hear all about you how love Soars and burns and transports the soul?”
Later, in adolescence, she sensed, In the distant college, While from the Tronto rose a breath And from life the ache of emptiness,
Spring, all at once, that ancient doubt: “So, what is the world? Why do we fight in vain and labour And does the void become evermore profound,
And the self break and adventure Into plots in bloom And does the soul suffer and fear And keep open all its wounds?”
“Because life is love and you, pure, Open your mind to the sun, Of song adorn intact your youth, From fields pick violets in bunches.”
But when she came to the fore In the scene so coveted, And for joy and love however Her heavy soul thirsted
And she saw majestic palaces, proud, In the golden sundown, Entranced kisses of evenings pure Over gardens vast and embalmed,
And attics then she saw and the anguish Of lurid impure rooms, Misery, hunger and the hissing winds And deep scars of dark martyrdoms,
And gems, silvery and silky garbs And the din of feasts, And rags, agony and tears and distress And golden crowns on blonde heads,
This, she said, is life and we live it To witness our woe: So, this is life and we live it To support thrones and then die.
Slaves and cowards, we, who submit To being rags and hay, Brutes amassed, we, who accept The bitter knot of infamous chains.
And towards the sun she raised a pure head And said: “To the rescue!” From the sea, to the plain, to the mountain She cried the burning defiance of red day.
Robert Ventresca and Franca Iacovetta, “Virgilia D’Andrea: The Politics of Protest and the Poetry of Exile”, in Women, Gender, and Transnational Lives: Italian Workers of the World, Donna R. Gabaccia and Franca Iacovetta eds., University of Toronto Press, 2002.
Virgilia D’Andrea: The poet anarchist
We alone are the vehicle for our Idea, and only through our work will it one day become an indispensable part of life.[1]
Virgilia D’Andrea
Preface to Virgilia D’Adrea’s collection of poetry, Tormento (1922), by Errico Malatesta
Here, dear reader, you will find, condensed into a few short poems, the story of a gentle yet proud soul who approaches life filled with a dream of love, only to experience all its sorrows, all its disappointments, and all its disillusionments.
She sees humanity in pain and suffers and trembles with it; she sees injustice triumphant, the arrogance and callousness of the masters, the abjectness and cowardice of the servants.
But she does not collapse under the weight of her shattered dream; she rebels and fights so that the dream may one day come true; and, ready for any sacrifice, she continues to fight and will fight until the hoped-for triumph, or until death. Here, reader, you will find the story of these past years as it was felt and lived by those who, through the vicissitudes of victories and defeats, of bright hopes and bitter disappointments, remained faithful to the ideal of human brotherhood, justice, well-being, peace and progress for all. You will find here, in harrowing and poignant episodes, the full infamy of war; you will find, depicted in swift and vivid strokes, the workers’ uprising that followed the war, and the joy that filled our hearts when it seemed the hour of victory was at hand, and the deep sorrow that struck us when hopes crumbled and the grim and ferocious reaction set in. But above all, you will find the faith that does not die with defeat, and the firm resolve and certain hope.
What you will find here, O reader, is not empty literature; it is not the idle pastime of a bored person, nor the virtuosity of a versifier who takes pleasure in rhyming any thesis or situation.
Virgilia d’Andrea, poetess of anarchy, worthy of taking the place left vacant by our Pietro Gori, writes and sings because she feels and desires to, and thus succeeds in being truer and more effective than many greater poets. She uses literature as a weapon; and in the thick of battle, amidst the crowd and facing the enemy, or from a gloomy prison cell, or from a friendly refuge that saves her from prison, she hurls her verses as a challenge to the oppressors, a spur to the slothful, an encouragement to her comrades in the struggle.
I, proud to be able to preface these humble words of mine to the verses of Virgilia d’Andrea, recognise and greet in her a sister.
Rome – April 1922. Errico Malatesta
The Vanquished Who Do Not Die
Virgilia D’Andrea (1932)
Anarchy signifies the destruction of misery, hate, superstition, and the abolition of oppression of man by man; that is to say, the abolition of government and the monopoly of property.
Human individuality is a profound and mysterious world which can enclose in itself all the vision of new horizons of various and different sentiments and affections; therefore the individual, this vital part of the vast universal harmony, must be able to give free outlet to his own inspirations, must have the chance to try every way he sees full of light and promise. He must be free to develop his activities, inclinations and capacities, his sometimes esoteric energies, which he feels palpitating in him, all of them mutable in space and time. He must feel himself as arbiter of his own destiny and direct the helm of his own existence towards the harbour which is the supreme dream of his life.
Governments, religions, fatherlands, morals, in their own interests, not only do not recognise any individual aspirations, but violate and sacrifice them. Governments oppress the individual. Religions hinder his rational faculties. Fatherlands push him to the cataclysm and vortex of war. Morals suffocate him with impositions and duties which are in direct contrast with his needs and natural inclinations. We are convinced that man will never be liberated if he is spiritually tied to the prejudices of gods, morals or any form of domination or subjugation. Therefore, our struggle is to free him from the clutches of these terrible intellectual and economic constraints. We rebel against the society which despotically claims the criminal right to dispose of its members.
Man must radically change the notions which have been nailed in his brain by the hammer of habit and centuries of slavery, such as: “Without bosses none would work,” “Nothing flourishes without God,” and “Social life is impossible without government.”
Everything that is beautiful and great is achieved by the dangerous march of humanity, and always against God, masters and government.
The flame of thought, the magnificence of art, wonderful discoveries, the audacity of inventions belong to revolutionary periods, when humanity, tired of the chains of its restrictions, shatters them, and stops inebriated to breathe the breeze of the vaster and freer horizon.
To those who affirm that without government, legislation and repression, which are necessary for the law to be respected and transgressors punished, there will be disorder and delinquency, I am answering: Look around yourselves, cannot you see the frightful disorder in every domain of social life? Disorder that reigns in spite of the authority which governs and the law which represses? Cannot you see that the increase of regulations makes legislation more severe, the domain of repression extends, and immorality, humiliation, crimes and faults multiply? And the spectacle of injustices, which are so repugnant, is before us, torturing our soul and life.
The taking of power, the contact with it, support for it, on any pretext of flag, celebrity, homage to a mirage or principle, despite any appearance, despite repeated trite formulae, bring degeneration in every time and place, to men, to groups and parties. Far from being the stimuli of progress, they become the forces of conservatism. And soon, because the world marches despite them, they change into the causes of reaction. Power uses the worst in man and the worst among men; it elevates, rewards and exalts the vile and servile, and hates and punishes personal independence and dignity.
They ask us: When will the anarchists dominate? We will never dominate. Until the time (its remoteness depends on how far you are from us) of the realisation of a society based on free voluntary contracts, in which no one can impose his will on others because association will be free and concerned with growth and development rather than sacrifice of the individual, we will always be at our place, together with those who, like us, do not want to be oppressed, or to oppress, and who want to push forward those who are oppressed. We will remain out of any government and against all governments to indicate to men the way to their own liberation, when they will take in their own hands their own good and happiness.
They ask us again: Then won’t you always be defeated? No! It is only that we do not delude ourselves that to win we must take the place of the defeated dominator. Even if Anarchy cannot be realised today, tomorrow or after centuries, the essential thing for us is to march towards anarchy today, tomorrow and always. Any blow to the institution of private property or to government; any exposure of their lies; any human activity which can be taken from the control of authority, any effort to elevate people’s conscience by increasing the spirit of initiative and solidarity, is a step towards anarchy.
We need to discriminate between real progress toward sour ideal and not confuse this with hypocritical legal reforms, which, under the pretext of immediate betterment, distract people from the fight against authority and tend to paralyse their activities, giving hope that something can be achieved because of the goodness of masters and governments.
(Source: The Anarchist Library; Kate Sharpley Library)
Andrea, Virgilia d’, 1890-1932
Virgilia d’Andrea
Born Sulmona-Abruzzi, Italy, 11 February 1890, died New York, 11 May 1932
Virgilia d’Andrea is a reminder of the passion that anarchism could (and should!) inspire. It is the ideal, the source of hope and beauty. Like Luigi Galleani she writes in emotive and powerful language- a far cry from the formulaic and cold prose that can be found in some areas of our movement. Anarchism is about life, about individual realisation, about infinite possibility…
Virgilia d’Andrea was born on the 11th of February, 1890 in Sulmona- Abruzzi (Italy). At an early age she became an orphan and was taken to a Catholic college when she was six years old. She was to stay there until she got her teacher’s degree.
This period of her life may be of some interest to those who would like to know something of her psychological make-up. As far as I am concerned, without having many details of her life spent in the college, I can assume that in such an arid, superstitious atmosphere, lacking freedom and affection, her vivid intelligence could not be placated. Instead of adapting herself to the environment, she had been nurturing a rebellious spirit against the institution of a social order which condemned her and many others to grow up in such inhuman conditions. Even so, she was never overcome by desperation for she found a substitute for life in books and she developed a great passion for poetry, which was to remain with her to the end of her life.
As a teacher she met Armando Borghi and from then on she dedicated her life to anarchism. For her anarchism is not a dogma and neither is it a utopia. Or, to be specific, if there is an anarchist utopia, there is also an anarchist reality, and it is this anarchist reality that she is most concerned with communicating to us. A reality found in the aspirations of the human spirit, which is a constant struggle with the environment and convention for self determination and the realisation of freedom. She found it in the writings Homer, Aeschylus, in the mythological Prometheus who, as the son of Justice, lit the spark of thinking in man and put the great hope of liberation in his heart; and who, to assert himself, gave up the beatitude of divine life and rebelled against Jupiter. She found it in Euripides, Shakespeare, Cervantes, etc. a reality passing like a red thread through the works of many writers, painters, artists and litterati.
This reality was part of her life in her struggle against authoritarianism, and particularly against Fascism. Even after her opposition to fascism had forced her to leave Italy, she was not defeated, but continued the struggle in Germany, Holland and France, where she lived from 1923 to 1928. Then she went to America where, in 1932, on the 11th of May, she died in New York, aged forty-three.
Her literary output is slender; it consists of: “Tormento,” a volume of poetry published in 1922 in Italy; “L’Ora di Marmaldo,” a collection of prose published in France in 1928; and “Torce nella Notte,” a collection of articles and treatises published in New York a few days before her death. There are also a lot of papers she gave, mainly in America, and a few unpublished articles, but as far as I know, none of her writings have been translated into English.
This article is taken from the Italian anarchist paper, “Umanita Nova.” This article I later found to be part of a paper given in New York on the 20th of March, 1932.
By J. Grancharoff
(Source: libcom.org)
[1] CPC, ACS, D’Andrea; the speech ‘Chi siamo e che cosa vogliamo’ was originally delivered at the Rand School in New York, and was printed in L’Adunata dei Refrettari, 26 Mar. 1932. (CPC: Casellario Politico Centrale; ACS: Archivio Centrale dello Stato, Rome.
Virgilia D’Andrea
Era bambina e la testina bruna
Quella sera vegliava…
E tra le siepi il raggio della luna
Un sogno mite all’ombra ricamava.
«Mamma», disse, d’un tratto, dolcemente:
«Che cosa è dunque il mondo?
Perchè s’allarga e s’agita la mente
E il cuor diventa sempre più profondo?».
Ella rispose, cuore contro cuore:
«Per amare, piccina.
Non senti attorno attorno quanto amore
S’alza e divampa e l’anima trascina?»
Più tardi, adolescente, ella sentiva
Nel collegio remoto,
Mentre dal Tronto un alito saliva
E della vita l’affannava il vuoto,
Balzar, d’un tratto, la domanda antica:
«Che cosa è dunque il mondo?
Perchè si lotta invano e si fatica
E il vuoto si fa sempre più profondo,
E l’essere si frange e s’avventura
Ne le trame fiorite
E l’anima s’angoscia e s’impaura
E serba aperte tutte le ferite?».
«Perchè vita è l’amore e tu, purezza,
Apri la mente al sole,
Di canti adorna intatta giovinezza,
Da’ campi strappa fasci di viole».
Ma quando alla ribalta ella si fece
Della scena sognata,
E della gioia e dell’amore invece
Sentì l’assillo d’anima affannata,
E vide reggie mäestose, altere,
Nei tramonti dorati,
Sognanti baci delle pure sere
Sopra giardini vasti e imbalsamati,
E soffitte poi vide ed il tormento
D’antri luridi, impuri,
Miseria, fame e sibilo di vento
E fonde piaghe di martirî oscuri,
E gemme, argento e seriche vestaglie
E schiamazzi di feste,
E cenci, angoscie e lacrime e gramaglie
E serti d’oro su le bionde teste,
Questa, disse, è la vita e noi si vive
Per vederci soffrire:
Questa è, dunque, la vita e noi si vive
Per puntellare i troni e poi morire.
Schiavi e vigliacchi noi, che assecondiamo
D’essere cenci e strame,
Bruti ammansati noi, che l’accettiamo
Il nodo acerbo di catene infame.
E verso il sole alzò la pura fronte
E disse: «Alla riscossa»
Gettò dal mare, a la pianura, al monte
La sfida calda di giornata rossa.
Firenze, Gennaio 1919.
RED SOUL
Virgilia D’Andrea
She was a child and her dark head
That night was awake…
And the moon’s ray through the hedge
A timid dream in the shade did create.
“Mamma”, all at once she softly said:
“So, what is the world?
Why does the mind open and stir
And the heart become evermore profound?”
She replied, heart to heart:
“For love, my little one.
Don’t you hear all about you how love
Soars and burns and transports the soul?”
Later, in adolescence, she sensed,
In the distant college,
While from the Tronto rose a breath
And from life the ache of emptiness,
Spring, all at once, that ancient doubt:
“So, what is the world?
Why do we fight in vain and labour
And does the void become evermore profound,
And the self break and adventure
Into plots in bloom
And does the soul suffer and fear
And keep open all its wounds?”
“Because life is love and you, pure,
Open your mind to the sun,
Of song adorn intact your youth,
From fields pick violets in bunches.”
But when she came to the fore
In the scene so coveted,
And for joy and love however
Her heavy soul thirsted
And she saw majestic palaces, proud,
In the golden sundown,
Entranced kisses of evenings pure
Over gardens vast and embalmed,
And attics then she saw and the anguish
Of lurid impure rooms,
Misery, hunger and the hissing winds
And deep scars of dark martyrdoms,
And gems, silvery and silky garbs
And the din of feasts,
And rags, agony and tears and distress
And golden crowns on blonde heads,
This, she said, is life and we live it
To witness our woe:
So, this is life and we live it
To support thrones and then die.
Slaves and cowards, we, who submit
To being rags and hay,
Brutes amassed, we, who accept
The bitter knot of infamous chains.
And towards the sun she raised a pure head
And said: “To the rescue!”
From the sea, to the plain, to the mountain
She cried the burning defiance of red day.
Translation ©Matilda Colarossi 2024
(Source: paralleltexts.blog)
Virgilia D’Andrea’s writngs are available, in italian, at the Biblioteca Libertaria Armando Borghi.
Suggested Reading:
Robert Ventresca and Franca Iacovetta, “Virgilia D’Andrea: The Politics of Protest and the Poetry of Exile”, in Women, Gender, and Transnational Lives: Italian Workers of the World, Donna R. Gabaccia and Franca Iacovetta eds., University of Toronto Press, 2002.