I Can Play My Guitars In The Sims 2

Italy is a land long

Not long ago we were immigrants. We started traveling on foot, with his ship, escaping from poverty or war. Do not remember any more, it makes sure that no one remember. We must now buy the air conditioner, there is no time for these things. Then for evening where you have cold I put a poem, one that has gone away to seventeen years, from Molise in Detroit. It's called Giose Rimanelli, and was born in 1915. It could be my grandfather.


Italy is a land
a long walk from the ground lunnnnnnnga


My father came from outside
us kids did not know where
took off his jacket and shoes
you put a finger on
turn a globe of land and sea
he called the World

Italy is a land a land long
lunnnnnnnga


to hate my father take me to drink, O, that I thirst back
said
studying each restless sweaty
Globo that land and sea
Water is the hole in the wall
nell'anfora sultry copper
My mother takes the wind takes
fog rain
small patient a bit 'strange
the well Artesian
not get enough of the thirst

Italy is a land a land long
lunnnnnnnga
to see

Now we all know
only turn the ball
he is thirsty or terror

always in surplus on returns
prepare the highest
pitcher who ends up taking
Do not miss the flowers on the balcony

Italy is a land a land long
lunnnnnnnga
to own

said
There is no water even if I know if I know Oh
But
walk walk and walk in front of you are always thirsty
until one realizes the DESERT
has no end or beginning if
We pressed on his chest

Italy is a land a land long
lunnnnnnnga
as resentment

Take the train or the horse
even when the truck passed
saying today reaches the sea
He was out three days a

months and when he came back tired
knew
brutalized his pockets with sand and sea water

We climbed the highest hill on a Sunday morning

to see where my father came
The sea was not there behind
and a pastor told us back up the other hill


Italy is a land a land lunnnnnnnga

long as the heartache

L 'Africa is what it takes ol'America

and always ran his finger
that globe of land and sea
to find the land that we wanted We grew up in the dark

of a cent of land that is not enough
thirst el 'Italy is a land a land long
lunnnnnnnnnnnnga

to forget Time has come to America
puts the bolts to machinery
has a garden with a garage all the plants
l’acqua che vuole negli idranti
E’ diventato più giovane ed esperto
più quieto più tondo un po’ bolso

L’America è fatta di acqua
dice appena ridendo ai nuovi che vengono
ma pensa a quella che manca al paese
(o l’hanno poi messa al paese?)

e alle donne scomparse che un tempo
pazienti modeste un po’ strane
prendevano l’acqua coi secchi
al pozzo artesiano.

L’Italia è una terra lunga
una terra lunnnnnnnga
da ricordare (Detroit, 1959)



Giose Rimanelli è nato a Casacalenda, Molise, November 28, 1925.
studied in a religious school in Puglia, and 17 years in northern Italy found itself involved in the civil warfare in 1943-'45. He traveled to Europe, South and North America, and stayed for months in Paris. E 'Professor Emeritus of Italian and Comparative Literature at the University of New York (SUNY Albany B). He has published novels, travel narratives and stories in Italian and English, including Clay Pigeon (1953, 1991) Original Sin (1954), third-Ticket (1958, 1999)