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Many people have passed through here, some good, others not at all. Before the Romans (Forum Julii), I don't remember well; but then it goes from Napoleon to the "Turcs dal Friùl" (Pasolini) passing through Mongols, Cossacks, even Italians or worse.
Ah, our grandmothers & great-grandmothers, sometimes willing, sometimes unwilling, have worked hard to ensure that in our parts there isn't a physical or cultural archetype: we are totally anomalous. Especially towards ourselves.
Arriving at this WONDERFUL song of love, war, despair, strength, and nostalgia, of memories and hearts that fly to distant places, it must be said that the Prince (who, along with his brother Luigi, comes here every year to commemorate the Porzûs massacre due to… well, see on Google if you want) has created a translation that is certainly not literary – an impossible task – but which, to a small extent, manages to convey the essence of those extraordinary words, untranslatable into Italian.
I wish you could truly understand them in "marilenghe": a language (Ladina, not Austro-Hungarian as some joker defines it here) sweet, which contradicts the common stereotype of the furlan being closed, hard, withdrawn, and tempered by life that we unfortunately have to endure.
One last thought, among the many who have come here for love or by force, to the Sassari Brigade. #ejà!
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DeBaser says
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