Cruising Spots El Paso

“Ho trascorso questa   notte sul monte degli Ulivi. Ero indegno, o Signore, di cercare voi. Non lo so, ma   la catena era stretta alla mia caviglia ed io sudavo come voi il mio sudore.”

NON SO NULLA 

tratto da I Poemi di Frasnes , luogo in cui venne rinchiuso Brasillach. Rappresentano l'ultima sua testimonianza  

Sono già quattro giorni che sono rinchiuso
quattro giorni che cancello sul calendario
ad uno ad uno, bisogna pur farlo,
four days, I do not know anything.
Outside, the buzz of the city, every minute bursts
a thud.
The machine guns crackle, what
four long days.
But there are also children who play,
and other unintelligible noises and distant.
But my window is shut.
And I do not know.
Sometimes I think it's cannon or a mortar
, I'm not very sure.
The road is full of noise of wagons and trucks;
perhaps go away. And 'maybe the end?
No! Everything starts as a dream,
everything goes and nothing is over. Earlier
a voice announced a truce,
so I believe, because
I know nothing.
When I crossed the city at midday, the sun was
in the streets the other day, there were
flags in the town, there were guys who spent
bracelets unknown.
Since then, I do not know anything about what happens,
only what comes to me through the thickness of the walls, I hear constantly go
firefighters
the night sky is red
and I do not know.
Here I am, just as I have never been,
Robinson builds his world within four walls.
What will those crazy in the city I love?
Where are your friends, relatives?
God save them from hatred,
and I do not know.

August 22, 1944

by the bullets of the Republican Regime, Robert Brasillach was shot, 6 February 1945.

The mobilization of the most distinguished French writers, among others, will leave unaffected the dictator De Gaulle.

THE TESTAMENT OF PAY

thirty five years as a prisoner
Villon,
chained like Cervantes,
condemned as Andrea Chenier,
first hour of the condemned,
like others in the past,
scribbled on the paper
start my will.
to above, of my worldly goods I
you want to remove the possession.
's easy, I do not have land or treasures
and my books, my views
can be dispersed in the wind

love and courage are not subject to the process.
First I let my soul
a Dio suo creatore,
nè santa nè pura, lo so,
soltanto l'anima di un peccatore.
Possano i Santi francesi
quelli della fiducia, dire
egli non arrivò mai.
A peccare contro la speranza.
Cosa donare alla mia patria
se ella stessa mi ha scacciato?
Ho creduto d'averla servita
e l'amo sempre, anche oggi.
Essa mi ha dato il mio paese,
e la lingua che è stata mia.
Io non posso che lasciarle qui
il mio corpo, in terra sconsacrata.
E poi lascio il mio amore,
la mia infanzia, il mio cuore,
il ricordo dei primi giorni,
il cristallo della più pura felicità.
Ah! Lascio tutto ciò che amo
il primo bacio, la freschezza,
lascio veramente tutto me stesso,
il meglio, se pure ve ne è.
A te o prima immagine,
al sorriso sulla mia culla
alla tenerezza e al coraggio,
alla magia dei giorni tanto belli,
sole anche between sobs,
pride in the worst times,
to you that no matter
the age of your child.
And for you, sister, my friend,
(I spent so little time
away from you, and for life
our hearts throbbed together)
what I leave
are the barns of the old spring,
games of youth,
walks students.
In the middle of the frozen snow
gaiety is yours alone, smile on your

beyond the bars away
you so proud, indomitable, smiling
in misfortune,
friend,
sister of joy and pain.
to you, again, that I have seen the birth
when I was twelve,
or sister, you were facing
life on hazy days.
to you all that we have found,
hearts contempt for cowards,
silence that unites us,
and honor that is broken.
O my children,
voi che non mi dimenticherete
(e forse altri verranno dopo di me)
voi m'avete dato quaggiù
i vostri giuochi e i vostri abbracci,
il vostro sonno da custodire:
ecco vi parlo sottovoce
e vi rendo tutte queste meraviglie.
Ed eccomi a te, Maurice,
fratello della mia giovinezza,
cosa potrei donarti a te che lascio
che non sia anche tuo?
Parigi che ci fu cara
Firenze che appare,
e, con le strade brulle e rosse,
sempre la nostra Spagna.
Ma ecco soprattutto, fratello mio,
il coraggio della giovinezza:
nessun caso o disperazione,
guarda tutto con fiducia.
Dallo stesso destino ben mascherato
noi desideravamo solo un disegno chiaro,
così è stato. E niente ci ha negato
fra i doni che poteva recarci.
Bene o male, accettiamo il premio!
Glielo rendo, tutto alla rinfusa.
Ma lascio a te il meglio,
i diciassette anni, la nuova alba,
the colors of the morning advanced,
our years equal and fair,
children of our house,
and our immortal youth.
And here are my friends,
to each his own memory,
to you yesterday, you today,
you're around me without running away,
you turn as I passed
the best focus of the future.
Tendo hands to your faces
who help me to be strong.
Dear Jose, the city here,
the court of Louis the Great
Georges, for the future state,
the streets here in the countryside.
Henry, here are the banks of the Seine,
and books to browse,
and the land of the Sirens
that we should visit.
's Christmas in Vendome,
Notre-Dame of pilgrims.
The past was so beautiful
should not blame fate.
Until the end of our earthly journey,
we have always seen the best,
awareness of ourselves,
the youth of our hearts.
And you, my friend,
long after our teenage years,
strange that I did not let memories:
little joy, certainly, and many pains,
asylum where I tried to protect my life
in the midst of the worst days, and what
never forget.
To you, brothers in war,
comrades of barbed wire
faithful in every misfortune,
it continues to speak.
Here are our snow on the ground,
here are our hopes of exiles,
Our long waits,
clear our faith.
And you, young people of my country
here are the words we have spoken,
our fires in the night,
and our tents in the woods,
you know better than anyone ,
I wanted to preserve the homeland from
bloodshed gift to you,
my friends, this blood is secure.
Dear Well, unshakable pillar,
the populace of the market,
the bustling street, the carts
of gardeners,
are your things, stubborn man,
shadows that seem to guess what the
abiding faith,
despite appearances, he hopes.
And you, new arrivals,
Friends of the worst days,
prisoners imprisoned by the bars,
kept my last hours of the condemned
kept the cold and discomfort:
for those who they will not even
they are treasures.
And I have known you.
Some shade, some images have
rights to some crumbs:
haste then the sharing
before they fulfill the destiny.
All those men and women,
that came in my way
are shining in the night
wait for the morning with me.
For all of them had his hands overflowing:
they are now empty
memories
more distant past and most movingly.
do not keep wearing
beyond the earthly life,
away from human pleasures,
che quelle che furono le mie amicizie,
solo ciò che non mi si può strappare,
l'amore e il gusto della terra,
il nome di quelli che vengono
nel mio cuore nelle notti tristi;
gli anni della mia felicità,
la fiducia dei miei fratelli,
e sempre il pensiero dell'onore
e l'immagine di mia madre.

22 Gennaio 1945

________________

"The process Brasillach" . Isorno translation of Jacques Franco G. Freda. Preface by Maurice Bardeche . Editions Ar