Storia di un impiegato: Introduzione - Introduction

Lottavano così come si gioca i cuccioli del maggio era normale loro avevano il tempo anche per la galera ad aspettarli fuori rimaneva la stessa rabbia la stessa primavera... Introduzione © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani We are introduced to the worker as he observes the student rebels of 1968.

They fought the way one plays, the puppies of May, it was normal. They even had time for prison. Waiting for them on the outside remained the same rage, the same springtime . . . English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Canzone del maggio - May Song

Anche se il nostro maggio ha fatto a meno del vostro coraggio se la paura di guardare vi ha fatto chinare il mento se il fuoco ha risparmiato le vostre Millecento anche se voi vi credete assolti siete lo stesso coinvolti. E se vi siete detti non sta succedendo niente, le fabbriche riapriranno, arresteranno qualche studente convinti che fosse un gioco a cui avremmo giocato poco provate pure a credervi assolti siete lo stesso coinvolti. Anche se avete chiuso le vostre porte sul nostro muso la notte che le "pantere" ci mordevano il sedere lasciandoci in buonafede massacrare sui marciapiedi anche se ora ve ne fregate, voi quella notte voi c'eravate. E se nei vostri quartieri tutto è rimasto come ieri, senza le barricate senza feriti, senza granate, se avete preso per buone le "verità" della televisione anche se allora vi siete assolti siete lo stesso coinvolti. E se credete ora che tutto sia come prima perché avete votato ancora la sicurezza, la disciplina, convinti di allontanare la paura di cambiare verremo ancora alle vostre porte e grideremo ancora più forte per quanto voi vi crediate assolti siete per sempre coinvolti, per quanto voi vi crediate assolti siete per sempre coinvolti. Canzone del maggio © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/ Nicola Piovani "Canzone del maggio" is the song listened to by the student rebels and heard by the worker, that sparks his personal reflections. The song is based on a song by Dominique Grange, "Chacun de vous est concerné" about the May 1968 events in France. Grange did not ask for any rights of authorship when De André contacted her about publication. The lyrics of "Canzone del maggio" reflect each of the concepts of the original, verse by verse.

Even if our May did without your courage, if the fear of looking made you bow down your chin, if the fire spared your Fiat 1100’s, even if you believe yourselves absolved, you are, all the same, involved. And if it was said to you all, "Nothing is happening, the factories will reopen, they’ll arrest some students," convinced, you all are, it was a game that we’ll have played little, just try to believe yourselves absolved. You are, all the same, involved. Even if you had closed your doors in our face the night that the “panthers” were biting our bottoms, leaving us in good faith to be massacred on the sidewalks, even if now you don’t give a damn, all of you, that night, you all were there. And if in your neighborhoods everything remained as it was yesterday, without the barricades, without injuries, without grenades, if you all had taken at face value the “truths” of the television, even if in that moment you're absolved, you are, all the same, involved. And if you all believe now that everything is as before, why have you still voted the security, the discipline, convinced of warding off the fear of change? We’ll still come to your doors and we will shout even louder still. As much as you believe yourselves absolved, you’re all, forever, involved, As much as you believe yourselves absolved; you’re all, forever, involved. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: La bomba in testa - The Bomb in the Head

....e io contavo i denti ai francobolli dicevo "grazie a Dio" "buon Natale" mi sentivo normale eppure i miei trent'anni erano pochi più dei loro ma non importa adesso torno al lavoro. Cantavano il disordine dei sogni gli ingrati del benessere francese e non davan l'idea di denunciare uomini al balcone di un solo maggio, di un unico paese, e io ho la faccia usata dal buonsenso ripeto "Non vogliamoci del male" e non mi sento normale e mi sorprendo ancora a misurarmi su di loro e adesso è tardi, adesso torno al lavoro. Rischiavano la strada e per un uomo ci vuole pure un senso a sopportare di poter sanguinare e il senso non dev'essere rischiare ma forse non voler più sopportare. Chissà cosa si prova a liberare la fiducia nelle proprie tentazioni, allontanare gli intrusi dalle nostre emozioni, allontanarli in tempo e prima di trovarti solo con la paura di non tornare al lavoro. Rischiare libertà strada per strada, scordarsi le rotaie verso casa, io ne valgo la pena, per arrivare ad incontrar la gente senza dovermi fingere innocente. Mi sforzo di ripetermi con loro e più l'idea va di là del vetro più mi lasciano indietro, per il coraggio insieme non so le regole del gioco senza la mia paura mi fido poco. Ormai sono in ritardo per gli amici per l'odio potrei farcela da solo illuminando al tritolo chi ha la faccia e mostra solo il viso sempre gradevole, sempre più impreciso. E l'esplosivo spacca, taglia, fruga tra gli ospiti di un ballo mascherato, io mi sono invitato a rilevar l'impronta dietro ogni maschera che salta e a non aver pietà per la mia prima volta. La bomba in testa © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani According to the liner notes, after having listened to "Canzone del Maggio" with new ears, the worker compares his life of good sense, individualism and fears with the lives of the students who had the courage to rebel against the system that oppressed them. His doubts increase and he feels like the students were right. But he realizes he can't really unite with them given his conditioning and situation. He decides to act independently and alone, to throw a bomb into a masked ball where the myths and cultural values of the bourgeois powers are on display, and he imagines the results (hence, "the bomb in the head").

. . . and I was counting the teeth on the postage stamps, I was saying, “Thanks be to God,” “Merry Christmas,” I was feeling normal. And yet my thirty years were few more than theirs. But it doesn’t matter, now I return to work. They were singing the messiness of their dreams, the ingrates of French affluence, and they weren’t giving me the idea of denouncing men at the balcony of one single May, of one single country. And I have a face worn by good sense, I repeat “Let’s not have ill feelings for each other,” and I don’t feel normal. And I surprise myself still to measure myself against them, and now it’s late, and now I return to work. They risked it on the streets, and for a man it just takes one sense to endure, to be able to bleed. And the sense doesn’t have to be risking, but maybe no longer wanting to endure. Who knows what one tries to liberate? The confidence in one’s own attempts, pushing away the intruders from our emotions, warding them off in time and before you find yourself alone with the fear of not returning to work. Risking liberty street by street, forgetting the tracks back to home, I’m worth it, to arrive to encounter people without having to pretend I’m innocent. I force myself to repeat myself with them, and the more the idea goes over there through the glass, the more they leave me behind for their courage together. I don’t know the rules of the game, without my fear I trust myself little. Now I'm late for my friends. For the hatred I could give it a try on my own, illuminating with TNT anyone who has the look and shows only his face, always agreeable, always more vague. And the explosion splits, cuts, ransacks among the guests of a masked ball. I invited myself to note the imprint behind every mask that jumps, and to have no mercy for my first time. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Al ballo mascherato - At the Masked Ball

Cristo drogato da troppe sconfitte cede alla complicità di Nobel che gli espone la praticità di un'eventuale premio della bontà. Maria ignorata da un Edipo ormai scaltro mima una sua nostalgia di natività, io con la mia bomba porto la novità, la bomba che debutta in società, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. Dante alla porta di Paolo e Francesca spia chi fa meglio di lui: lì dietro si racconta un amore normale ma lui saprà poi renderlo tanto geniale. E il viaggio all'inferno ora fallo da solo con l'ultima invidia lasciata là sotto un lenzuolo, sorpresa sulla porta d'una felicità la bomba ha risparmiato la normalità, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. La bomba non ha una natura gentile ma spinta da imparzialità sconvolge l'improbabile intimità di un'apparente statua della Pietà. Grimilde di Manhattan, statua della libertà, adesso non ha più rivali la tua vanità e il gioco dello specchio non si ripeterà "Sono più bella io o la statua della Pietà" dopo il ballo mascherato del celebrità. Nelson strappato al suo carnevale rincorre la sua identità e cerca la sua maschera, l'orgoglio, lo stile, impegnati sempre a vincere e mai a morire. Poi dalla feluca ormai a brandelli tenta di estrarre il coniglio della sua Trafalgar e nella sua agonia, sparsa di qua, di là, implora una Sant'Elena anche in comproprietà, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. Mio padre pretende aspirina ed affetto e inciampa nella sua autorità, affida a una vestaglia il suo ultimo ruolo ma lui esplode dopo, prima il suo decoro. Mia madre si approva in frantumi di specchio, dovrebbe accettare la bomba con serenità, il martirio è il suo mestiere, la sua vanità, ma ora accetta di morire soltanto a metà la sua parte ancora viva le fa tanta pietà, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. Qualcuno ha lasciato la luna nel bagno accesa soltanto a metà quel poco che mi basta per contare i caduti, stupirmi della loro fragilità, e adesso puoi togliermi i piedi dal collo amico che m'hai insegnato il "come si fa" se no ti porto indietro di qualche minuto ti metto a conversare, ti ci metto seduto tra Nelson e la statua della Pietà, al ballo mascherato della celebrità. Al ballo mascherato © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani This song is the first of the worker's dreams, where he blows up symbols of power right and left, political, cultural, ideological and religious, with the intent to tear the masks off the hypocrites and deligitimize the powers that be.

Christ, drugged by too many defeats, surrenders to the complicity of Nobel, who explains to him the practicality of a possible prize for kindness. Maria, neglected by an Oedipus now shrewd, mimes one of her nostalgic scenes of the Nativity. I, with my bomb, bring the novelty, the bomb that makes its social debut at the masked celebrity ball. Dante at the door of Paolo and Francesca spies one who is doing better than he: there behind is recounted a normal love, but he'll know then how to render it so brilliant. And the voyage to hell, make it now by yourself, with your last envy left there under a sheet. Surprised at the door of a delight, the bomb saved normality, at the masked celebrity ball. The bomb is not by nature kind, but driven by impartiality it upsets the improbable intimacy of a seeming Statue of the Pietà. Grimilde of Manhattan, Statue of Liberty, now your vanity has no more rivals and the mirror game won’t repeat - “Am I more beautiful, or the Statue of the Pietà?” - after the masked celebrity ball. Nelson, ripped at his carnival, chases after his identity and searches for his mask, his pride, his style, busy always with winning and never with dying. Then from the Felucca hat now in tatters he tries to pull out the rabbit of his Trafalgar, and in his agony, scattered here and there, he implores a Saint Helena still jointly owned, at the masked celebrity ball. My father demands aspirin and affection and runs up against his authority. He entrusts to a dressing gown his final role, but he explodes afterwards, first his decorum. My mother approves herself in shards of mirror. She should accept the bomb with serenity, martyrdom is her job, her vanity. But now she accepts dying only halfway, the part of her still living pities herself so, at the masked celebrity ball. Someone left the moon in the bathroom turned only halfway on, that little amount enough for me to count the fallen, astounding me with their fragility. And now you can remove my feet from the neck, friend who taught me the “How is it done?” If no I’ll carry you back for a few minutes, I’ll set you down to converse, I’ll put you there seated between Nelson and the Statue of the Pietà, at the masked celebrity ball. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Sogno numero due - Dream #2

Imputato ascolta, noi ti abbiamo ascoltato. Tu non sapevi di avere una coscienza al fosforo piantata tra l'aorta e l'intenzione, noi ti abbiamo osservato dal primo battere del cuore fino ai ritmi più brevi dell'ultima emozione quando uccidevi, favorendo il potere i soci vitalizi del potere ammucchiati in discesa a difesa della loro celebrazione. E se tu la credevi vendetta il fosforo di guardia segnalava la tua urgenza di potere mentre ti emozionavi nel ruolo più eccitante della legge quello che non protegge la parte del boia. Imputato, il dito più lungo della tua mano è il medio quello della mia è l'indice, eppure anche tu hai giudicato. Hai assolto e hai condannato al di sopra di me, ma al di sopra di me, per quello che hai fatto, per come lo hai rinnovato il potere ti è grato. Ascolta una volta un giudice come me giudicò chi gli aveva dettato la legge: prima cambiarono il giudice e subito dopo la legge. Oggi, un giudice come me, lo chiede al potere se può giudicare. Tu sei il potere. Vuoi essere giudicato? Vuoi essere assolto o condannato? Sogno numero due © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Roberto Dané The worker continues to dream, but now in court presumably after having been arrested for throwing the bomb. But the judge informs him that the bourgeois powers are in the know of his acts, and accusations of murder are transformed into thanks for having eliminated old remnants that were bothering power itself, which now has found another way of governing. The worker correctly used the instruments of law, and his gesture was nothing other than a search for personal power. He is welcomed, and his own liberty is placed at his disposal.

Defendant listen, we have heard you. You didn’t know about having a consciousness based on phosphorus planted between the aorta and intention. We observed you from the first beat of your heart until the shortest rhythms of the last emotion when you killed, favoring power, the lifelong associates of power, stacked up downwards in defense of their celebration. And if you believed it revenge, the phosphorus on duty marked your urgency for power while you got worked up in the most exciting role of the law, that which doesn’t protect the part of the executioner. Defendant, the longest finger of your hand is the middle one. The one for me is the index, and yet you too have judged. You absolved and you condemned above and beyond me, but above and beyond me, for that which you did, for how you renewed it, the power is grateful to you. Listen, at one time a judge like me judged whoever had the law dictated to him: first they changed the judge and immediately after the law. Today, a judge like me, asks power if it can judge. You are the power. Do you want to be judged? Do you want to be absolved or condemned? English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Canzone del padre - Father's Song

-"Vuoi davvero lasciare ai tuoi occhi solo i sogni che non fanno svegliare". - "Sì, Vostro Onore, ma li voglio più grandi." - "C'è lì un posto, lo ha lasciato tuo padre. Non dovrai che restare sul ponte e guardare le altre navi passare le più piccole dirigile al fiume le più grandi sanno già dove andare." Così son diventato mio padre ucciso in un sogno precedente il tribunale mi ha dato fiducia assoluzione e delitto lo stesso movente. E ora Berto, figlio della Lavandaia, compagno di scuola, preferisce imparare a contare sulle antenne dei grilli non usa mai bolle di sapone per giocare; seppelliva sua madre in un cimitero di lavatrici avvolta in un lenzuolo quasi come gli eroi; si fermò un attimo per suggerire a Dio di continuare a farsi i fatti suoi e scappò via con la paura di arrugginire il giornale di ieri lo dà morto arrugginito, i becchini ne raccolgono spesso fra la gente che si lascia piovere addosso. Ho investito il denaro e gli affetti banca e famiglia danno rendite sicure, con mia moglie si discute l'amore ci sono distanze, non ci sono paure, ma ogni notte lei mi si arrende più tardi vengono uomini, ce n'è uno più magro, ha una valigia e due passaporti, lei ha gli occhi di una donna che pago. Commissario io ti pago per questo, lei ha gli occhi di una donna che è mia, l'uomo magro ha le mani occupate, una valigia di ciondoli, un foglio di via. Non ha più la faccia del suo primo hashish è il mio ultimo figlio, il meno voluto, ha pochi stracci dove inciampare non gli importa d'alzarsi, neppure quando è caduto: e i miei alibi prendono fuoco il Guttuso ancora da autenticare adesso le fiamme mi avvolgono il letto questi i sogni che non fanno svegliare. Vostro Onore, sei un figlio di troia, mi sveglio ancora e mi sveglio sudato, ora aspettami fuori dal sogno ci vedremo davvero, io ricomincio da capo. Canzone del padre © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani Per the album notes, the worker "has understood that he is a finished man with no possibility of recovery, that his acts will always be individualistic, striving for his own personal needs, and that by attaining more power one doesn't escape one's condition of isolation and anxiety. The bomb that was tossed with force, with anger and with a sense of vendetta in the dream, now in reality becomes a moment of exhilaration and, obviously of lucidity."

“Do you really want to leave to your eyes only the dreams that don’t wake them up?” “Yes, Your Honor, but I want them bigger.” “Over there there is a seat, your father left it. You don't have to do anything but stay on the bridge and watch the other boats passing, the smaller ones direct them to the river, the bigger ones already know where to go.” Thus I became my father, killed in a previous dream. The tribunal put their trust in me, acquittal and crime the same motive. And now Berto, son of the laundrywoman, school-mate, he prefers to learn how to count on cricket antennae. He never uses soap bubbles for playing; he buried his mother in a cemetery of washers rolled up in a sheet almost like the heroes; he stopped himself a moment to suggest to God that He continue to attend to His own affairs, and he ran away afraid of rusting. Yesterday’s paper noted his rusty death. The gravediggers collect some often amongst people who let the rain fall on themselves. I invested my money and my affections - bank and family give safe yields. With my wife, love is discussed. There are distances, there are no fears, but every night she surrenders to me later. Men come, there is one of them thinner, he has a suitcase and two passports, she has the eyes of a woman that I pay. Commissioner, I pay you for this, she has the eyes of a woman who is mine. The thin man has busy hands, a suitcase of pendants, an expulsion order. He no longer has the face of his first hashish, he is my last son, the least wanted. He has few rags where to falter, standing up is not important to him, nor when he fell: and my alibis catch fire the Guttuso painting still to be authenticated. Now the flames envelop me in bed, these the dreams that don’t wake you up. Your Honor, you are a son of a sow, I still wake up and I wake up sweaty. Now wait for me outside of the dream. We’ll see each other indeed, I’ll start again from the top. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Il bombarolo - The Bomber

Chi va dicendo in giro che odio il mio lavoro non sa con quanto amore mi dedico al tritolo, è quasi indipendente ancora poche ore poi gli darò la voce il detonatore. Il mio Pinocchio fragile parente artigianale di ordigni costruiti su scala industriale di me non farà mai un cavaliere del lavoro, io son d'un'altra razza, son bombarolo. Nello scendere le scale ci metto più attenzione, sarebbe imperdonabile giustiziarmi sul portone proprio nel giorno in cui la decisione è mia sulla condanna a morte o l'amnistia. Per strada tante facce non hanno un bel colore, qui chi non terrorizza si ammala di terrore, c'è chi aspetta la pioggia per non piangere da solo, io son d'un altro avviso, son bombarolo. Intellettuali d'oggi idioti di domani ridatemi il cervello che basta alle mie mani, profeti molto acrobati della rivoluzione oggi farò da me senza lezione. Vi scoverò i nemici per voi così distanti e dopo averli uccisi sarò fra i latitanti ma finché li cerco io i latitanti sono loro, ho scelto un'altra scuola, son bombarolo. Potere troppe volte delegato ad altre mani, sganciato e restituitoci dai tuoi aeroplani, io vengo a restituirti un po' del tuo terrore del tuo disordine del tuo rumore. Così pensava forte un trentenne disperato se non del tutto giusto quasi niente sbagliato, cercando il luogo idoneo adatto al suo tritolo, insomma il posto degno d'un bombarolo. C'è chi lo vide ridere davanti al Parlamento aspettando l'esplosione che provasse il suo talento, c'è chi lo vide piangere un torrente di vocali vedendo esplodere un chiosco di giornali. Ma ciò che lo ferì profondamente nell'orgoglio fu l'immagine di lei che si sporgeva da ogni foglio lontana dal ridicolo in cui lo lasciò solo, ma in prima pagina col bombarolo. Il bombarolo © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani Upon his return to the dream, the worker has the clear idea of how to vent his rage: make a bomb and launch it against the powers that have disappointed him. According to the liner notes: "The worker knows what to do, where to go, who to hit and why. He goes straight to the Parliament to throw a real bomb and to kill real people, but his ability was only a dream: the bomb rolls down towards a magazine kiosk. His true defeat might be in seeing on all the newspaper covers the face of his fiance, who decided to leave him after his actions. The bomber remains truly alone."

Anyone who goes around saying that I hate my job doesn’t know with how much love I dedicate myself to TNT. It's almost ready to stand on its own, another few hours, then I’ll give it a voice: the detonator. My delicate Pinocchio, artisanal relative of devices made on an industrial scale - it will never make of me a Knight in the Order of Merit for Labor, I am of another race, I'm a bomber. In descending the stairs I pay closer attention - it would be unpardonable to carry out a death penalty on me at the main entrance on the very day in which the decision is mine about condemnation to death or amnesty. Out on the street, so many faces don’t have good color. Here, whoever doesn’t terrorize becomes sick with terror. There are ones who wait for the rain so as not to cry alone. I am of a different opinion, I'm a bomber. Today's intellectuals, tomorrow's idiots, give me back brain enough for my hands. Ever so acrobatic prophets of the revolution, today I’ll make do by myself without instruction. I’ll track down your enemies for all of you so distant, and after having killed them I’ll be among the fugitives. But until I look for them, they are the fugitives, I’ve chosen another school, I’m a bomber. Power too many times delegated to other hands, dropped and returned to us from your airplanes. I come to return to you a bit of your terror, of your disorder, of your noise. Thus thought long and hard a desperate thirty-something, if not right about everything, almost nothing mistaken, searching for the appropriate place suitable for his TNT, in short, the place worthy of a bomber. There is one who saw him laughing in front of the Parliament, waiting for the explosion that demonstrated his talent. There is one who saw him crying a torrent of vowels, seeing explode a kiosk of magazines. But what wounded him deeply in his pride was her image, that jumped out from every paper far from the ridicule in which she left him alone, but on the first page, with the bomber. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Verranno a chiederti del nostro amore They'll Come to Ask You About Our Love

Quando in anticipo sul tuo stupore verranno a chiederti del nostro amore a quella gente consumata nel farsi dar retta un amore così lungo tu non darglielo in fretta, non spalancare le labbra a un ingorgo di parole le tue labbra così frenate nelle fantasie dell'amore dopo l'amore così sicure a rifugiarsi nei "sempre" nell'ipocrisia dei "mai" non son riuscito a cambiarti non mi hai cambiato lo sai. E dietro ai microfoni porteranno uno specchio per farti più bella e pensarmi già vecchio tu regalagli un trucco che con me non portavi e loro si stupiranno che tu non mi bastavi, digli pure che il potere io l'ho scagliato dalle mani dove l'amore non era adulto e ti lasciavo graffi sui seni per ritornare dopo l'amore alle carezze dell'amore era facile ormai non sei riuscita a cambiarmi non ti ho cambiata lo sai. Digli che i tuoi occhi me li han ridati sempre come fiori regalati a maggio e restituiti in novembre i tuoi occhi come vuoti a rendere per chi ti ha dato lavoro i tuoi occhi assunti da tre anni i tuoi occhi per loro, ormai buoni per setacciare spiagge con la scusa del corallo o per buttarsi in un cinema con una pietra al collo e troppo stanchi per non vergognarsi di confessarlo nei miei proprio identici ai tuoi sono riusciti a cambiarci ci son riusciti lo sai. Ma senza che gli altri ne sappiano niente dimmi senza un programma dimmi come ci si sente continuerai ad ammirarti tanto da volerti portare al dito farai l'amore per amore o per avercelo garantito, andrai a vivere con Alice che si fa il whisky distillando fiori o con un Casanova che ti promette di presentarti ai genitori o resterai più semplicemente dove un attimo vale un altro senza chiederti come mai, continuerai a farti scegliere o finalmente sceglierai. Verranno a chiederti del nostro amore © 1973 Fabrizio De André/ Giuseppe Bentivoglio/Nicola Piovani The worker, now incarcerated, writes this letter of farewell to his former fiance. In what has been to this point a completely political album, De André inserts a love song in part because he thought it was too arid and lacking in humanity. The song was written for the woman he was involved with in between his two wives, the same woman for whom "Giugno '73" was composed.

When, before you even know about it, to your amazement they come to ask you about our love, to those people consumed with grabbing one's attention, a love so long, don’t you give it to them so easily. Don’t throw your lips open to a snarl of words, your lips so restrained in the fantasies of love, after love so secure in taking refuge in the “forevers,” in the hypocrisy of the “nevers.” I haven’t managed to change you, you haven’t changed me, you know. And off camera they’ll bring a mirror to make you more beautiful and, thinking I’m old already, you give them a makeup you never wore with me. And they'll be astonished that you weren’t enough for me. Just tell them that power, I hurled it from my hands where love wasn’t grown-up, and I left scratches on your breasts, to return after love-making to the caresses of love. It was easy at the time. You weren’t able to change me, I didn’t change you, you know. Tell them your eyes always came back to me like flowers bestowed in May, given back in November, your eyes like returnable containers for whoever gave you work, your eyes hired for three years, your eyes for them, now good for sifting beaches under the pretext of cheap red, or for throwing yourself into a movie with a stone at your neck, and too tired to not feel ashamed, to confess it in mine eyes, just identical to yours. They managed to change us, they managed to, you know. But without others knowing anything about it, tell me without a program, tell me what it feels like. You’ll keep admiring yourself so much you'll want to wed yourself. You’ll make love for love’s sake, or to have it guaranteed. You’ll go live with Alice, who makes herself whiskey distilling flowers, or with a Casanova who promises to introduce you to his parents, or you’ll remain more simply where one moment deserves another, without asking yourself how come. You'll continue to make yourself choose, or finally you will choose. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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Storia di un impiegato: Nella mia ora di libertà - In My Hour of Freedom

Di respirare la stessa aria di un secondino non mi va perciò ho deciso di rinunciare alla mia ora di libertà se c'è qualcosa da spartire tra un prigioniero e il suo piantone che non sia l'aria di quel cortile voglio soltanto che sia prigione che non sia l'aria di quel cortile voglio soltanto che sia prigione. È cominciata un'ora prima e un'ora dopo era già finita ho visto gente venire sola e poi insieme verso l'uscita non mi aspettavo un vostro errore uomini e donne di tribunale se fossi stato al vostro posto... ma al vostro posto non ci so stare se fossi stato al vostro posto... ma al vostro posto non ci so stare. Fuori dell'aula sulla strada ma in mezzo al fuori anche fuori di là ho chiesto al meglio della mia faccia una polemica di dignità tante le grinte, le ghigne, i musi, vagli a spiegare che è primavera e poi lo sanno ma preferiscono vederla togliere a chi va in galera e poi lo sanno ma preferiscono vederla togliere a chi va in galera. Tante le grinte, le ghigne, i musi, poche le facce, tra loro lei, si sta chiedendo tutto in un giorno si suggerisce, ci giurerei quel che dirà di me alla gente quel che dirà ve lo dico io da un po' di tempo era un po' cambiato ma non nel dirmi amore mio da un po' di tempo era un po' cambiato ma non nel dirmi amore mio. Certo bisogna farne di strada da una ginnastica d'obbedienza fino ad un gesto molto più umano che ti dia il senso della violenza però bisogna farne altrettanta per diventare così coglioni da non riuscire più a capire che non ci sono poteri buoni da non riuscire più a capire che non ci sono poteri buoni. E adesso imparo un sacco di cose in mezzo agli altri vestiti uguali tranne qual'è il crimine giusto per non passare da criminali. Ci hanno insegnato la meraviglia verso la gente che ruba il pane ora sappiamo che è un delitto il non rubare quando si ha fame ora sappiamo che è un delitto il non rubare quando si ha fame. Di respirare la stessa aria dei secondini non ci va e abbiamo deciso di imprigionarli durante l'ora di libertà venite adesso alla prigione state a sentire sulla porta la nostra ultima canzone che vi ripete un'altra volta per quanto voi vi crediate assolti siete per sempre coinvolti. Per quanto voi vi crediate assolti siete per sempre coinvolti. Nella mia ora di libertà © 1973 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/ Nicola Piovani In the final song, the worker realizes that individual protest has little chance of having results against power, and that to change things it's necessary to join with others and to act en masse, as did the students of May 1968 in France.

To breathe the same air as a prison guard doesn’t work for me. And so I decided to renounce my hour of freedom. If there is something to divide up between a prisoner and his sentry that is not the air of that courtyard, I want it only to be prison, that is not the air of that courtyard, I want it only to be prison. It started an hour before, and an hour after, it was already finished. I saw people coming alone and then together towards the exit. I wasn’t expecting one of your errors, men and women of the court. If I had been in your position . . . but in your position I don’t know how to be. If I had been in your position . . . but in your position I don’t know how to be. Outside the court room on the streets - but even further outside of the midst of that outside - I asked, putting on my best face, for an argument of dignity. So many the scowls, the sneers, the mugs - go to them and explain that it's spring, and then they know it but prefer to see it taken away from whoever goes to jail. And then they know it but prefer to see it taken away from whoever goes to jail. So many the scowls, the sneers, the mugs, few the faces, among them hers, she's asking everything in a day. It is suggested, I would swear, that which she might say about me to people. What she might say, I say it to all of you: since a little while ago he had changed a bit, but not in saying to me "My love." Since a little while ago he had changed a bit, but not in saying to me "My love." Certainly it’s necessary to come a long way from an exercise of obedience to a gesture much more human that gives you a sense of the violence. But it's necessary to come a long way to become such assholes, to no longer be able to understand that there are no good powers, to no longer be able to understand that there are no good powers. And now I am learning a ton of things in the midst of the others all dressed alike, except what is the right crime for not passing as criminals. They taught us the wonder for the people who steal bread. Now we know that it’s a crime, not stealing when one is hungry. Now we know that it’s a crime, not stealing when one is hungry. To breathe the same air as a prison guard doesn’t work for me, and we decided to imprison them during the hour of freedom. Come you all now to the prison, stay to hear at the door our final song that repeats to you one more time: As much as you believe yourselves absolved, you're all forever involved. As much as you believe yourselves absolved, you are all forever involved. English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Storia di un impiegato, released in 1973, tells the story of a worker who, inspired by a song about the French student riots of May/June 1968, decides to become a revolutionary. De André hoped to make a poetic interpretation of the events of 1968, but wanted to burn the album upon its release because he felt it ended up as a political album, with him telling people how to act. The lyrics were co-written with Giuseppe Bentivoglio, and the resultant anarchist/Marxist texts are sometimes confusing and obscure. The music was co-written with Nicola Piovani, who also co-wrote Non al denaro non all'amore né al cielo.

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