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Khorakhané
Roma Gypsies

Il cuore rallenta la testa cammina
in quel pozzo di piscio e cemento
a quel campo strappato dal vento
a forza di essere vento

porto il nome di tutti i battesimi
ogni nome il sigillo di un lasciapassare
per un guado una terra una nuvola un canto
un diamante nascosto nel pane

per un solo dolcissimo umore del sangue
per la stessa ragione del viaggio viaggiare
Il cuore rallenta e la testa cammina
in un buio di giostre in disuso

qualche rom si é fermato italiano
come un rame a imbrunire su un muro
saper leggere il libro del mondo
con parole cangianti e nessuna scrittura

nei sentieri costretti in un palmo di mano
i segreti che fanno paura
finché un uomo ti incontra e non si riconosce
e ogni terra si accende e si arrende la pace

i figli cadevano dal calendario
Yugoslavia Polonia Ungheria
i soldati prendevano tutti
e tutti buttavano via

e poi Mirka a San Giorgio di maggio
tra le fiamme dei fiori a ridere a bere
e un sollievo di lacrime a invadere gli occhi
agli occhi cadere

ora alzatevi spose bambine
che é venuto il tempo di andare
con le vene celesti dei polsi
anche oggi si va a caritare

e se questo vuol dire rubare
questo filo di pane tra miseria e sfortuna
allo specchio di questa kampina
ai miei occhi limpidi come un addio

lo puó dire soltanto chi sa di raccogliere in bocca
il punto di vista di Dio

Cvava sero po tute
i kerava
jek sano ot mori
i taha jek jak kon kasta

Poserá la testa sulla tua spalla
e fará
un sogno di mare
e domani un fuoco di legna

vasu ti baro nebo
avi ker
kon ovla so mutavia
kon ovla

perché l'aria azzurra
diventi casa
chi sará  a raccontare
chi sará 

ovla kon ascovi
me gava palan ladi
me gava
palan bura ot croiuti

sará  chi rimane
io seguiró questo migrare
seguiró
questa corrente di ali

The hearbeats slow down, the head walks on
in that poddle of piss and concrete
in that field blown by the wind
by dint of being the wind

I bear the name of all baptisms
each name the seal of a pass
for a ford, a country, a cloud, a song
a diamond hidden in bread

but for one humour in blood so sweet
for the same reason to travel, travelling
The heartbeats slow down, the head walks on
in the dark of forlorn swings

some gypsies stopped and became Italian
like copper hung to get brown on a wall
Being able to read the book of the world
with everchanging words and no writing

on the narrow paths in the palm of a hand
those frightening secrets
until a man meets you and won't know himself anymore
and every country lights up and peace surrenders

Sons would fall from the calendar
Yugoslavia, Poland, Hungary
soldiers would take them all
and all they threw away

And then Mirka at St. Georges in May *
between the flowers flames, with laughs and drinks
a relief in tears flooding the eyes
and from the eyes falling down

Now rise you childbrides
the time has come to go
blue veins on your wrists
another day for begging

And if this means stealing
a scanty bread out of poverty and misfortunes
on the mirror of this kampina **
to my eyes, clear as a farewell

that can only tell who's got in his mouth
God's point of view

Čvava sero po tute
i kerava
jek sano ot mori
i taha jek jak kon kašta
vašu ti baro nebo
avi ker.

kon ovla so mutavla
kon ovla
ovla kon aščovi
me ğava palan ladi
me ğava
palan bura ot croiuti.

[I'll lay my head on your shoulder
and I will
dream of the sea
and tomorrow a wood fire
so that the light blue air
become home

Who'll be there to tell
who'll be
it'll be who stays on
I'll follow this migration
I'll follow
this wings stream]

* Gypsies' holiday, on the 6th of May
** kampina: mobile tent

    translation pellenovanta

Khorakhané: tribú rom di provenienza serbo-montenegrina, sterminati nei campi di concentramento nazisti

Khorakhané: tribe of Roma from Serbia-Montenegro, exterminated in Nazi concentration camps

 

Commenti in Italiano

Comments on the lyrics

By Starless Aquila
Translation Enrico Massetti

  "The exclusion is also the result of learned behavior from ancient cultures. Gypsies travelled the world for more than two thousand years, if we are to believe Herodotus. The Roma, this is a free people affected by dromomania, that constant desire to move. I do not think they ever hurt anyone, despite the strange rumors, it is true that they steal - on the other hand can not do without the primary impulse in the DNA of every human being: that the looting, which we have heard in recent administrations - but I never heard that they have stolen through banks. I also never seen a Roma woman hooking on a sidewalk. They go without carrying weapons, so if you were to give a Nobel peace to a people, the Roma would be the most appropriate .
(Fabrizio De Andre - Concert at the Teatro Valli di Reggio Emilia - 1997)
 

The "people of the wind"

  In order to understand the full meaning and beauty of a song as Khorakhané you need a mind free from prejudices and stereotypes without ties to more or less legitimate, necessary, in other words, to know something more of a people that has made a real difference and their purpose in life.

The Gypsy people, from India, is divided into three groups, the Roma, Sinti and Kale and many subgroups. Over the centuries, has expanded throughout Europe and never give up nomadism, the foundation of his soul and his culture: these people are the essential freedom and the movement for which they sacrifice wealth, power and glory. They have a common language, Romani, only oral, which is enriched with words and words of various people they encounter along their path. It is understandable that a people without writing should be entrusted only to the oral tradition, the task of transmitting its own history and culture. The history of the Roma, the one we know, was written by Caggi ("non-gypsies") and is therefore biased and poorly reliable.

These fundamentals, together with the structure of society, have remained solid for over a millennium and still the traditional festivals are the catalysts for a wide range of groups across Europe. The most important is the feast in honor of Saint Sarah (protector of this people) held on May 24 of each year in Les Saintes Maries de la Mer in the Camargue. The festival lasts two days on which with moments of deep religious faith alternate with song and dance.

Roma is the cornerstone of a society patriarchal family, where the old man is considered wise and is the undisputed representative. The family all belong to those who have a common ancestor. In this sense of belonging and traditions underpinning the psychological wellbeing of all members of society Roma society in which there are no social classes or "rulers". A Roma feel perfectly safe in their community. This security comes from the tradition which makes him feel secure in the face of this and the cohesion of the parental group that defends the dangers before the future. This harmony is constantly threatened by external contacts that undermine the unity of the group and its traditions.

There is a court within each community (the Kriss) which consisting of elders of proven moral rectitude that have the unquestioned confidence of the whole group: their task is to enforce laws and punish those who have contravened and the most severe penalty that can be imposed is expulsion from the tribe which is equivalent to the complete isolation of the individual. The condemned person is in fact to be halfway between a native community that did not want further into it and another that does not recognize her and are hard to welcome him.

Also the need to travel has made them excellent craftsmen (blacksmiths hot), musicians and horse dealers, these activities which gave ample room for creativity and facilitate human relationships, as well as being a source of wealth for the community through the practice of barter . Over time, with the custom of barter gone, the primary source of their livelihood, they had to find alternative sources to support themselves.

One chapter deserves special music, real soul food for the Gypsy people. Not many people know that jazz and flamenco come directly from the manouche gypsy music and that many nineteenth century classical music was directly inspired by this. Franz Liszt, who had among his music teachers a Hungarian Roma, even wrote that the entire folk music of Hungary is due to the gypsies, "They have a musical sense of incredible depth, certainly unknown to any other people." Among the classical works inspired by Gypsy culture, you can mention the "Carmen" by Bizet and "Slavonic Dances" by Dvorak, as well as authors such as Brahms, Tchaikovsky Schubert, Debussy and Ravel took many cues from the music of these people. However, there has never been an official recognition of the contribution of gypsy music to the west. Speaking of jazz can not be ignored that the only European to be imposed on the Olympus of the jazz classic was Django Reinhardt, gypsy manouche amazing guitarist, whose story was also told in the films of Woody Allen's "Sweet and Lowdown" in 1999.

For their "diversity" the Gypsies have always been persecuted: they never had land, and armies to defend it, nor allies, nor the political power, they were absolutely helpless in front of any system, ancient or modern. Perhaps for this reason the "fatality" feel pervades the wandering gypsy and also serves to "relieve the pain of living" by starting all over again.
 

All this, plus the same soul of the Roma, was enclosed by a miracle in this song to be listened in silence, eyes closed, lost in a pop like a breath of wind, but letting the words come up in depth of our hearts.

Song? No. Although Faber and Fossati have always refused to be defined poets, this is poetry.

"The heart slows
And the head walking ... "

The pace is slow and unchanging, as slow, unchanging is their life.

Slow because it's about memories handed down through an unbroken line of blood, from father to son .. and son .. son and yet, no dates, no other memory stick.

Slow, because if your feet are nailed

"in the well of piss and cement"

ripped to the "normal" with the same wind strength, the mind is already beyond that closed by walls that seem to be prisons.

We follow the train of thought of a human being like us, his soul is like ours, only more "free." He does not need evidence to prove who he is, or luggage to show his greatness: all he needs is contained within him. In his name brings his story and that is enough to be recognized by his peers, to find a place around a bonfire, join in a song, or divide

"a diamond hidden in the bread"

because he knows the wealth hidden in small things.

It is a 'son of the wind "... and will always follow the "sweet mood of blood" that drives him to resume the journey with no clear goal, without any other purpose that the travel ..

A brother every now and then gives up and stops the eternal wandering, lost his instinct and, going against his nature, he stops to turn brown, like a copper on the wall.

The "sons of the wind" does not need to know how to read or write to understand the world. The world itself is a book handed down

"with changing words and no writing"

as

"in the paths forced in the palm of hand"

are hidden

"the secrets that make fear"

.. and is perhaps the secret of our fear of the "different", fear that we often call contempt or pity ...

The eternal search continues ...

"until a man meets you and you do not recognize
and any ground on and not give up peace"

That man, that one "cgge", how the Roma define who are not Roma, and Faber and those like him who are recognized in the "marginalized" and "lonely."

Ignorance and hatred for the other, knowledge is match: only then comes the true peace that comes from the depths of our soul, not the one sanctioned by some black mark on a simple sheet of paper.

Continue the path of memories ..... persecution always and everywhere.

"children dropped from the calendar
Poland Hungary Yugoslavia
The soldiers took all
and threw away all"

Gypsies expelled from anywhere ... The "different" must disappear from the face of the earth ... Only then, perhaps, our fear will cease to exist ... Or find another "different" to which to charge the shame of our fear.

But after each tragedy comes the good weather, the seasons, as the cycle of the earth itself ...

"Mirka and then to St. George in May
the flames of flowers laughing and drinking
and a relief of tears to my eyes invade
and the eyes fall ..."

And, with a few haunting guitar notes that mark the fall of limpid tears, the heart is resting ... Around the faces of friends, who share the same history, which belong to the large patriarchal family of the Roma and that at the end of the festivities will start again ...

The joy of meeting, the sadness for a farewell ...

The everyday life resumes as necessary to try every day to eat the little that is, even with the simple gesture of a hand in the act of begging

"with the blue veins of the wrists"

naked under our eyes ....

" and if that means stealing
this thread of bread between misery and misfortune"

.. So look around, cagge, look this camp, look at the misery that is around, and decide if it means stealing ...

"in my eyes as clear as a farewell
can say only those who can collect in the mouth
point of view of God"

There is one single man, so powerful or wise in the whole earth I can in good conscience say "gather the views in the mouth of God"?

Come back, bursting in his gentleness, freedom ... Faber's words and voice of Dori Ghezzi to shake the conscience of the large air ends this beautiful song, sung in "Romani" ...

Cvava sero po tute
i kerava
jek sano ot mori
i taha jek jak kon kasta...
vasu ti baro nebo
avi ker

I'll lay my head on your shoulder
and I will
dream of the sea
and tomorrow a wood fire
so that the light blue air
become home

... Can you hear a strong gust of freedom?

kon ovla so mutavia?
kon ovla?
ovla kon ascovi
me gava palan ladi
me gava
palan bura ot croiuti ...

Who'll be there to tell
who'll be
it'll be who stays on
I'll follow this migration
I'll follow
this wings stream

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