When I departed and left home the friends, the school, the familiar and dear things; I felt a big emptiness in my heart. And then I looked at the pitch black train heavy, cold, mute, dirty but beautiful And I felt like it represented me, like my life. Taking in new places, filled with many anxious thoughts that don’t agree with many people who are agitated and speak for different motives, the train stops for only a little while, then it starts again on it’s road, sending out it’s frustrated steam, dreaming of the arrival: that will be beautiful, always more beautiful. And then it finds the old one, sighs, and it stops.
And so did I; except I don’t have the shiny rails and the station depends on my willingness.
The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.
Original photo taken in 1955 of Antonio jumping in the the waters of Ancona.
The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.
He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.
The original Italian poem written by Antonio Ottavini.
I dreamt that I was walking in heaven.
When, at the first light, the earth was moving and everything seems to came out of a slab of hard crystal, with a shading of a rainbow of colours, but faint, undefined; when remaining, sweet, the desire of sleep, and yet everything chuckles to the life that returns and the noises are dear, like the touch of bells; when, full of sleep, you still loo for more so you can dream, I walked in heaven.
I felt like like light, very light. I walked a street, like all the other streets; suddenly my steps were stretched and I felt like I was rising, without gravity. Then I started to run, panting, pushing my body higher and higher; looking down I could see the earth a dark green, then violet: the houses, white, red and black specks. The people were bigger than the houses, and they were looking up at me and they were applauding. I felt so big and proud: so proud! I was alone and I couldn’t express my joy; thinking: “At home I will tell them about my adventure. And I was walking forward, forward... I could not come back. At that moment I was scared. An immense fear that changed my breathing in a single moment. On earth the men were looking at my with tranquility, then they became confused and disappeared. I was alone and crying. How do get back? Who is calling me between the clouds? It’s my mother! It wasn’t a cloud; the ground was grey and turned green. Yes, the dark green of the cypress tree. My mother was dead... And without her, what was my joy?
My mother was dead... And I woke up crying.
The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.
An original photo taken in 1950 of young Antonio with his sister, Francapaola Ottavini, and his mother, Giulia Ottavini.
The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.
He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.
The original Italian poem written by Antonio Ottavini
Dad left; like the flight of birds when the season changes The flight ascended like my dream. He went through the dark blue sea, the white and yellow dry dessert, the huge black forest, and he arrived in the Transvaal. The indigenous huts covered with bamboo, gigantic trees, a troop of monkey, roaring wild animals and other mysterious animals; the blacks work in the diamond mine while others are covered with feathers and shells, dancing and playing on drums. “Master we are faithful to you and the children” Oh, the adventure and the adventurous! I dreamt while waiting for dad’s letter, that he will tell us all these stories...
I searched many times behind the small crystal opening in my postbox, which now seems to me a precious chest: and the pearl is there! It’s a long white envelope and there’s a foreign stamp, my heart is beating out of my chest! I waited for my mother to read it while I was looking at the fog of Milano; which is a sag grey and always the same! My mother reads out loudly the possibly the final phrase: “Kiss Antonio and Franca and give them my blessing” Shaking, I asked if I could read the letter; I took it to the bedroom and I opened it in front of my Tom Mix comics with a superior attitude. Finally! my dad was a good father, and now he will tell me about his adventure and everyone else would be in awe... I’m reading: “...I left my heart with the children...” he speaks about his work. Dad is working, he doesn’t play with Tom Mix comics, he doesn’t dream of adventures... Dad is working. For me, he went very far and is suffering... “I left my heart”... No, it isn’t Africa with the lions and crocodiles and there isn’t many adventures and strange dreams; “‘Master is alone, alone, alone,...” ...With my children I left my heart... Dad is working for me, for my life. The adventure falls, and a dream dies...
..."And now why are you crying, boy?"...
The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.
Lionello Ottavini 1951
Lionello Ottavini in 1952.
Original photos of Antonio’s father, Lionello, of whom he writes about in this poem.
Antonio wrote this in inspiration of when his father left the family in Italy to work in South Africa. During this time, there was a community of Italians that moved to South Africa for similar reasons, leaving many children in Italy feeling the same as young Antonio did in the poem above.
The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.
He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.
