Straddling two worlds

    The poem  “A Page of Life”, originally written in Italian by my father, Dante Manganelli, deals with the painful experience of  leaving one’s homeland and  loved ones in a time when no form of technology existed to make separation less doleful.

     The poem starts with a long description of  the scene of a spring day, the symbol  of  the dawn of  a new and fruitful experience: the opportunity for change and improvement. 

      After this lengthy description, the  poem  underscores  the heartbreaking experience of  lengthy  family separation. Family cohesion is a value which  Italian immigrants fostered  in their “new homeland”.

      Finally the last lines sum up two contrasting feelings: eagerness  to start a new life and  sorrow for what one leaves behind.

      The last words of the poem  are the most meaningful: the poet defines the USA  his “second homeland”.  These words express appreciation for two very different cultures and an open-minded attitude to reconcile  the best aspects of two worlds and of past and future. 

 

A Page of Life

Spring was in the air

And thousands of thoughts were swarming  in my mind

For the sad day of my leaving

Was drawing near.

A restlessness

Drove me out of my house

To admire once again

The beauty of nature.

The March day was exhilarating:

The sun was  shining,

Skylarks were flying in the bright sky,

While a few shallows were happily screeching,

perhaps because they had found their lost nests.

Fresh blades of fragrant  grass,

and colorful tiny flowers emerged from the damp earth.

Bushes were becoming green

And some violets sprouted among the hawthorns.

Here and there spots of soft snow still covered the ground.

The light rustle of leaves,

The singing of young farmers,

The roaring of the stream,

The sparkling dewdrops,

The dazzling sun setting behind the hill

Altogether made that dying day lovely.

These moments of sublime joy

Were swiftly blurred

By the  broken-hearted faces of  my loved ones,

In whose eyes an awesome, endless sadness shone.

Eager to join the woman

 whom I had bound my life to

and sorrowful for leaving home,

I departed for a very distant land

Which fatally became my second homeland.

                                                                                                    Dante Manganelli

 

Immigration Poetry

In the poem “Hopefully flying home”, originally written in Italian, my father  focuses on the concepts of separation and loss perceived by an immigrant.

He expresses the feelings of an immigrant son returning to his dying father.

His  “looking up” and “ looking down” on the plane journey  symbolize death and life and the poet’s  uncertainty of finding his father still alive. 

The concept of death is dealt with serenity and strength.    

Obviously the translation has no poetic value, but I’d like to share the English version of the  poem with you so it can reach as many people as possible. I hold family bonds the most precious treasures to cherish.                                                          

                                         

                                           It was suddenly dark and

                                           the rain was pelting down.

                                           Waiting for more than an hour, 

                                           sitting in a jet plane,

                                           I saw only blinding lightning through the window.
                                           When a sudden  break in the clouds peeped out,

                                           the jet plane took off.

                                           For eight long hours I remained

                                           between heaven and earth 

                                           at  boundless height,

                                           and, when I was torn apart by doubt,

                                           I wished the jet plane flew higher and higher

                                           to reach up to my dear father's soul.

                                           But an ineffable eagerness

                                           drove me to hope

                                           that  at my arrival

                                           his heart would still beat.

                                           Looking up at the sky

                                           I was blinded

                                           by falling unlit stars.

                                           Secular seemed to me that night

                                           and  as it ended

                                           the stars vanished,

                                           whilst the grey sky appeared

                                           and the faraway dawn seemed so feeble.

                                           The emerging sun

                                           inspired me with strength and courage

                                           and heralded the landing.

                                           Looking down I saw my ancestral land.

                                           In the same moment as I arrived home

                                           my beloved father exhaled the last breath.

                                           Cold tears poured down his unaffected face

                                           and his lips still warm I kissed.

                                           I was tempted to massage his chest

                                           to stimulate his heart,

                                                      but I kept from doing it

                                           for he had found serenity.

                                                                                     Dante Manganelli

The Perspective of Improvemnt and Progress

I‘d like to share an excerpt from the book The Story of the Italians in America - Your Ancestor Series - ( Doubleday & Company Inc.,  Garden City, New York , 1965) by Michael A. Musmanno, a jurist of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania and a politician of Italian heritage. The author depicts the hardships and prejudice Italian immigrants faced in the USA but also their achievement. Here is one of the most touching and meaningful pages of his book:

  Though the children’s garments were left much to be desired, they were getting the best clothing in the world for their minds. They were being dressed with education in the free schools of America. Itwas only a little country school they attended but the teacher seemed to know everything and the children brought home books that excited even Antonio and Maddalena who dreamed of the day their offspring would take their place with dignity and respect in the life of America, earning wages that would supply them with good clothing, nourishing food and warmth no matter how wintry the winds of life might blow.

    When the United States went to war with Spain, Giovanni joined Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders, fought in Cuba and came back in a blue uniform with yellow stripes and a sombrero pinned up at the side, a dashing hero to two sisters and three brothers. And as the first three sons reached working age, they got jobs on a railroad section gang, toiling close to their dad. The fourth one, Francesco, worked in a steel mill by day and went to school at night, steering his life by a star which pointed to a lawyer’s career. The other daughter, Rosina, became a telegraphist. Antonio and Maddalena offered prayers of thanksgiving for the opportunities of America to live in self-dependence, self-respect and with a continuing prospective of further improvement and increasing happiness. They now had a more substantial home, shaded by a slight mortgage and five fine mulberry trees, the saplings of which had come from Antonio’s paese.

    When America declared war on Germany, two of the brothers sailed away to the battlefields of France. One did not return and the mulberry trees spread their melancholy shade for young Raffaelo resting in eternal peace and glory in Flanders Field. Maddalena, with a sob in her throat, placed a golden star in the window. Antonio hung in the next window the American flag. He knew now he was truly an American because the blood of his boy was in the red stripes.
    Fifteen years later, Francesco, who had become a successful lawyer, was elected judge. On the day he was to be installed in office, Antonio and Maddalena sat in the courtroom, trembling in their ecstasy. It was true and yet it could not be true. The forlorn immigrants who had landed in America many years ago had had many dreams, but even in the rosiest clouds of hope and promise they could not visualize a shining judicial robe for one of their own children. At the moment that Francesco took the oath, Antonio lifted to his lips the folds of an American flag at this side and kissed the nation’s ensign, murmuring at the time some words. That night at home, Francesco said to his father: “Papà, I saw you kiss the flag at the swearing-in ceremony and I know you spoke some words because I saw your lips move. What did you say?” Antonio lowered the large-bowl pipe at which he had been puffing and, as creamy clouds of smoke ascended to the ceiling, he replied: “My boy I said: ”Thank God for a country where even the son of an Italian immigrant coal miner and railroad section hand can become a judge.”