An Ostiense View, to the south of Rome

We've been living in Ostiense, not far from the Pyramid, on the 9th floor.  Although the view from our balcony is to the south--and hence does not encompass the Centro Storico--it is in its own way, we think, not only fascinating but spectacular.  We offer it here in a 30-second sweep (wobbly, yes--we don't take many videos).  Below the video, for connoisseurs, is a left-to-right description of what you're seeing (also available on YouTube at https://youtu.be/pmxA5CEURFk)

9:30  In the distance, the Alban Hills (Colli Albani), and closer in, the beginning of the neighborhood            of Garbatella

10:00   The peak at right is Monte Cavo and beneath it and just to the left, the city of Rocca di Papa

10:30   The tall building with lettering is the headquarters of the Lazio Region, of which Rome is a                  part.  Just to its right,  the cupola of San Francesco Saverio, in Garbatella.  This was the first                parish visited by John Paul II after he became Pope.  

11:00  A Calatrava-style bridge, the Settimia Spizzichino bridge, named after a Jewish woman who               was deported to the concentration camps in October, 1943--and somehow survived, the only               Rome woman to do so.  The structure bridges the Metro "B" line and the Lido train and              connects Garbatella with the Ostiense quartiere.  

           To the right of the bridge, wall art by Clemens Behr (he also has a piece in Tor Marancia - for a fuller description, see the app, streetartroma).

11:30   Cupola of Santa Maria Regina dei Apostoli da Montagnola, c. 1950

9:30-1:00, forefront: the remains of the Mercati Generali (General Markets) of Rome, constructed c.                 1913, abandoned 2002.  Now supposedly being reconstructed, but we've seen no workers there, despite the presence of a crane.  

12:30  The slim campanile of the Basilica of San Paolo Fuori le Mura (Saint Paul outside the wall).                The church burned down and was rebuilt--sumptuously--c. 1850

1:00  The squarish building in the distance is the Colosseo Quadrato (square coliseum), formally                   known as the Palazzo della Civilta' Italiana, c. 1940, located at EUR as part of what was                       supposed to be a celebration of the 20th anniversary of the Fascist March on Rome (the war                             intervened).  

          To its left, also at EUR, and only partially visible, the tower known as Il Fungo (the                             mushroom)--something like Seattle's Space Needle.  

          To its right, also at EUR, the church of Saints Peter and Paul

2:00   Across the broad via Ostiense, an old industrial area, now in part vacant, rapidly being                          transformed into housing and museums.  And beyond Ostiense, and across the nearby
           Tiber River, the Marconi quartiere

2:30    Round metal structures known as the gazometri (gas meters).  These structures once held                    expandable gas liners.  They're considered icons of Rome's industrial-era skyline.   

Rome's Worst Public Sculptures: Nominees, Group 2

Exhale.  Continue on down via delle Sette Chiese, around the curve to where it dead-ends at via Ostiense.  Move ahead into the Park L. Schuster, and right, north toward the Centro.  Here you'll find one of our sculpture nominees. It's nothing to write home about, but then that's the theme of this post. More monoliths, as if invoking Stonehenge was all that was required of an artist. Hugging both sides of a walkway, the pieces seem to suggest passage, but to what? The road beyond? A flower bed? We don't know who made this, but then, do we need to?


 
 
 
A short walk south, beyond the Basilica San Paolo and a few meters to the left, is the San Paolo stop on Metro B.  Take the Metro to the end of the line--Laurentina--after the line curls around EUR.  Emerging from below, you'll find yourself in a piazza of sorts.  At the far end is the sculpture--this one a sculpture/monument.  We'll mute our humor here, because the subject of the work could not be more serious.  Dating from February, 2003, it is dedicated "To the martyrs of Istria, Venezia-Giulia, Fiume, and Dalmatia, 'infoibati' and drowned for their love of liberty and of Italy (1943-1947)."  Although every aspect of the events being memorialized here is controversial, what is clear is that at least hundreds and probably several thousand (perhaps as many as 20,000) Italian soldiers and civilian citizens were massacred--summarily executed--between 1943 and 1949, in the areas mentioned--especially the massive Istrian peninsula--mainly by Yugoslav Partisans seeking to cleanse these areas of ethnic and political populations likely to oppose Communist Yugoslav rule.  In some cases, the motive was revenge for years of repression of the slavic population under Italian Fascism.  (During the interwar years, Istria was part of Italy). 

We have set off the word "infoibati" because it bears so importantly on these events.  The word derives from "foibe," a word that appears in the Bepi Nider poem, "Istria," that accompanies the sculpture (see verse at right).  Foibe refers to a particular type of deep sinkhole for which the area was known.  Some of those murdered, though by no means all, were thrown alive into the "foibe," there to end their lives in the most horrific way.  So powerful is the image that the word foibe (and infoibati, the verb) has come to have a larger, symbolic meaning: to refer to all those who were killed and disappeared in the Yugoslav-occupied territories.  So the killings are often referred to as the "Foibe killings" or "Foibe massacres."

It is remarkable that the commemorative assemblage that we see before us exists at all.  Not until 1991, when Slovenia became independent, was there an investigation of the foibe by any country or international body.  The Italian government was reluctant to bring up the subject because to do so would have meant raising issues of Italian treatment of slavic populations under Fascism.  The Italian Left was equally reluctant to acknowledge the role of Communist partisans in the foibe killings.  Early in the new century there was a change, and both Berlusconi's center-right coalition and the Left, under the leadership of Walter Veltroni,  agreed that it was time to make some effort to come to terms with the events of the 1940s.  "The time has come," said Italian President Ciampi, "for thoughtful remembrance to take the place of bitter resentment." 




Edvard Munch, "The Scream," 1893

We can appreciate the monument as part of this remembering and healing process.  But the sculpture, and Nider's poem, seem less about healing than about remembering the horrors of the foibe, of a slow death in a deep cave.  That seems to be the purpose of the humanoid shapes that dominant the monument, figures of agony, screaming in disbelief at what is being done to them.  Complicating the presentation, these tortured souls seem both derivative--some version of Edvard Munch's much-publicized "Scream" series, painted between 1893 and 1910--and curiously unreal and even comical or gay, akin to shouting flowers. 

It should be said that few such commemorative efforts have the power to evoke powerfully loss and tragedy; Maya Lin's Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C., and the tribute to those who died in the Fosse Ardeatine in Rome, are exceptions to that rule.  The monument to the Istrian massacres and the foibe killings is not at that level, and its location in an unattractive piazza at the end of the subway line works to deprive the sculpture of any profundity it might otherwise have.

Bill

Really Roman Holiday

Rome on a long summer holiday weekend (of which there are plenty) is lovely for residents who remain in town. The tourists are locked in their itineraries that take them to the Coliseum, and most of the Romans head for the beach, a few to the mountains (hiking is too much work for most of them). We almost had the Lungotevere – the streets that run along the Tiber River – to ourselves, breezily scootering along the empty streets, feeling like Nanni Moretti in Caro Diario as he scootered through an August-empty Rome.

The holiday weekend we’re covering here was in celebration of the city’s Saints Peter and Paul. Since it fell on a Tuesday, the Romans took a “ponte” or bridge, and made a 4-6 day holiday out of it. The homage to the city’s Saints was big enough that the Pope dropped into the nearby (to us) basilica of St. Paul, complete with helicopter entourage.

We stopped by the fair that annually graces the park and streets outside of the basilica, and in the afternoon, it too seemed sleepy and empty (photos).

But by dusk, we could barely walk through the thousands of people buying everything in sight – from the newest versions of vegiamatics to roasted corn on the cob to knock-off purses sold by itinerants. For those of you familiar with the Sunday Porta Portese market, this was at least its equal. The evening view looking towards the St. Paul capanile was considerably different from day (photo). In addition to music at the bandstand (video below), including classic Roman sing-along tunes, of course the night was capped off by fireworks, which we watched as we walked through our neighborhood, now dominated by cars and trucks parked in every conceivable (and some inconceivable) place (photos). Ah, Rome. Dianne

On St. Paul's path

St. Paul – not a saint we’ve given much thought to over the years. Even though he’s linked with St. Peter, was a Roman citizen, and is credited with bringing Christianity to Rome, Paul seems to take second place to St. Peter, often viewed as sole founder of the Catholic church. But these days we find ourselves living near, if not precisely on, St. Paul’s path to martyrdom.

San Paolo fuori le mura (St Paul’s outside the walls) is a couple blocks from our apartment. This large and imposing basilica, whose belltower we see from almost any direction, was rebuilt in the mid-1800s after it was burned in a spectacular night fire in 1823 (one story told is that it burned because there was no room for the then current Pope’s picture on its walls; the Pope died that night without knowing the basilica had been destroyed- Pope Benedict's lit-up portrait photo right, high up on the right clerestory). Though we (and Henry James and Franz Liszt, btw) rather like the basilica (and the coffee bar in front of it - top photo), it generally receives poor reviews, except for its graciously designed interior courtyard with many Moorish columns – a courtyard that survived the fire.

The basilica, like most in Rome, is on the site of earlier churches, including one built in the 5th century to mark the place where Paul was buried. The chains in which he was held – and led out of Rome, eventually to his beheading at Tre Fontane - are prominently displayed above the crypt that holds his remains (photo left). Last year the Pope authorized a probe of the remains in the church and they were dated to 1st to 2nd century AD. The church also sits at the foot of via delle Sette Chiese (road of the 7 churches), which runs near our house too. San Paolo fuori le mura is one of the 7 churches pilgrims must visit in a Holy Year, and the via delle Sette Chiese is a pilgrim’s way (tho’ you’d be hard pressed to see that in this street now).

If one keeps walking along via Ostiense and then via Laurentina, you come to the Abbey Tre Fontane (Three Fountains). Here there are three churches, in essence: the Abbey itself (7th century, restored in 1221 - front in photo right) and now inhabited by Trappist monks selling liquers, chocolates, and other stuff, a small church (Santa Maria Scala Coeli [“Jail Stairs”] - back right in photo right) where Paul was held in jail (you can go down into the crypt and peer into the jail space itself ) and another church further on (San Paolo alle Tre Fontane) which is supposedly the site where he was martyred – and where 3 springs spouted where his head bounced 3 times. These latter 2 churches were rebuilt in the 16th century by Giacomo della Porta. San Paolo alle Tre Fontane includes some views of reddish stones (stained by Paul’s blood?) and the stub of a column on which he was beheaded. Nothing if not gruesome these martyrdoms. In between San Paolo fuori le mura and this last church in the Tre Fontane grounds are many things “paoline” or of Paul – including institutes, schools, libraries, and the residences of monks dedicated to St. Paul.

The street that runs perpendicular to ours is via di Villa Lucina. Lucina was the pious matron who claimed Paul’s remains and buried them in her vineyards, which no doubt once covered the ground on which our building sits.

So that’s why we say we’re on St. Paul’s path, and we’ve taken the opportunity to get to know better his story, and the many monuments to it.

Dianne