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La prima fotografia di Hitler

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Questo video fa parte del progetto www.videopoesia.it. Attraveso i versi di Wislawa Szymborska, è una videopoesia creata in memoria delle vittime dell'Olocausto.

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This video is part of the project www.videopoesia.it. Trough Wislawa Szymborska's poem it has been made in memory of the holocaust victims.
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3 responses // La prima fotografia di Hitler

  • why would holocaust victims want to look at hitler? I grew up as a kid being forced to watch all the "carnage" for lack of a better word. and it scared me so much, I had nightmares every night & every day. I think we are tired of seeing this "man", for a lack of a better word and relive his "glory". What is the purpose of this film? Show us some flowers, show us some of todays Jewish people & jewish youth, succeeding & living & spreading the word of peace & non discrimination. That is what is important.
    HeadNtheClouds
  • Hi HeadNtheClouds, you're right, probably would be better stop showing him... But I'm not so sure that forgetting is the solution. We've a mission and it's just to rempember an try to tell to who will follows. Soon the last survivors will be not anymore with us and the coming generations need not only flowers and colours, but they need to know who came before and didn't reach any of his dreams and goals. So, even a evil face like this one, but it's just my opinion, should not be forgotten.
    The truth is also that probably the most of the current users can't understands the words in italian.
    It's a poetry of Wislawa Szymborska. As soon as possibile I'll find the words in english and post them here.
    Thanks a lot for your comment and have a good day.

    Diana
    dianaletizia
  • Already found it.
    Just another thing: if you read in the lines, that's the real message: everybody was a kid and we have all the time we need to stop violence, just paying much attention to the others.

    Hitler's First Photograph
    Wislawa Szymborska

    And who's this little fellow in his itty-bitty robe?
    That's tiny baby Adolf, the Hittler's little boy!
    Will he grow up to be an LL.D.?
    Or a tenor in Vienna's Opera House?
    Whose teensy hand is this, whose little ear and eye and nose?
    Whose tummy full of milk, we just don't know:
    printer's, doctor's, merchant's, priest's?
    Where will those tootsy-wootsies finally wander?
    To garden, to school, to an office, to a bride,
    maybe to the Burgermeister's daughter?

    Precious little angel, mommy's sunshine, honeybun,
    while he was being born a year ago,
    there was no death of signs on the earth and in the sky:
    spring sun, geraniums in windows,
    the organ-grinder's music in the yard,
    a lucky fortune wrapped in rosy paper,
    then just before the labor his mother's fateful dream:
    a dove seen in dream means joyful news,
    if it is caught, a long-awaited guest will come.
    Knock knock, who's there, it's Adolf's heartchen knocking.

    A little pacifier, diaper, rattle, bib,
    our bouncing boy, thank God and knock on wood, is well,
    looks just like his folks, like a kitten in a basket,
    like the tots in every other family album.
    Shush, let's not start crying, sugar,
    the camera will click from under that black hood.

    The Klinger Atelier, Grabenstrasse, Braunau,
    and Braunau is small but worthy town,
    honest businesses, obliging neighbors,
    smell of yeast dough, of gray soap.
    No one hears howling dogs, or fate's footsteps.
    A history teacher loosens his collar
    and yawns over homework.

    dianaletizia

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