We are a small school in the Lodi hinterland, about 30 km from Milan. The town is small and in the countryside.The school is named after Renzo Pezzani who was a teacher and a poet. He wrote nursery rhymes and poems for children. Here is an example:
( from "filastrocche.it)
The months of the year by Renzo Pezzani
January says "Close that door!"
February says "I'm in my shell!"
March opens his eyes and invents colors;
April covers every meadow with flowers;
May hands you the most beautiful rose;
June has an ear of wheat and a star in his fist;
July drinks a stream in one breath;
August slumbers in a lying shadow;
September bites the violet grapes;
Wiser October puts them in the vat;
November makes fagots of every twig;
December walks towards the crib!
The months of the year by Renzo Pezzani
January says "Close that door!"
February says "I'm in my shell!"
March opens his eyes and invents colors;
April covers every meadow with flowers;
May hands you the most beautiful rose;
June has an ear of wheat and a star in his fist;
July drinks a stream in one breath;
August slumbers in a lying shadow;
September bites the violet grapes;
Wiser October puts them in the vat;
November makes fagots of every twig;
December walks towards the crib!
November 11th
November 11th is the day of San Martino. A legend tells that on 11th November Martin was in Amiens, in Gaul on the way back home. In the midst of a storm he met a beggar shrunken from the cold and generously offered him half of his cloak. After a few moments the rain stopped falling, the wind subsided and a beautiful sun came out to warm the earth. So the legend predicts a short three-day interruption of the grip of the cold to be repeated every year to commemorate the generous gesture. Here a poem by G. Carducci inspirated by Autumn images and feelings and titled "San Martino.
San Martino by Giosuè Carducci
La nebbia a gl'irti colli
piovigginando sale,
e sotto il maestrale
urla e biancheggia il mar;
ma per le vie del borgo
dal ribollir de' tini
va l'aspro odor de i vini
l'anime a rallegrar.
Gira su' ceppi accesi
lo spiedo scoppiettando:
sta il cacciator fischiando
su l'uscio a rimirar
tra le rossastre nubi
stormi d'uccelli neri,
com'esuli pensieri,
nel vespero migrar.
(illustrated by the great students of 5a)
Saint Martin
The fog to the steep hills
amid the rain ascends,
and under the mistral
the sea screams and whitens;
but through the alleys of the village
from the bubbling vats
goes the sour smell of wine
the souls to rejoyce.
Turns on burning logs
the spit, sputtering;
stands the hunter whistling
on the door to gaze
among the reddish clouds
flocks of black birds
as exiled thoughts,
in the twilight migrating.
https://lyricstranslate.com/en/san-martino-saint-martin.html
And here a song whose lyrics are the lines of the poem.
La nebbia agli irti colli...