DI MARCO LODOLI
repubblica.it
È naturale che un uomo di oltre cinquant´anni non capisca una ragazzina di quindici. I film che vedo, la musica che ascolto, per loro non esistono. Hanno tagliato i ponti con gli adulti.
Lunedì comincerò il mio trentesimo anno di insegnamento: era il 1980 quando entrai per la prima volta in classe e ricordo ancora bene quella lezione, preparata con cura e spavento, sul viaggio ultraterreno di Dante ma più in generale sul viaggio nella letteratura. In un´ora passai da Don Chisciotte a Pinocchio, da Rimbaud a Kerouac, dal Sorpasso a Pollicino, con una smania infinita di spiegare, di emozionare.
Avevo ventitré anni, leggevo dalla mattina alla sera, speravo che nei libri ci fosse tutto ciò I was missing: and that which was, immediately communicate it to my students as a valuable asset to share. I was convinced that beauty, poetry, looking for way to cover all the teenagers in the world, you need to have sixteen if you do not look up? So I thought, but actually even told me: I was sure. The boys listened to the music that appealed to me, Talking Heads, The Cure, The Smiths, the Italian singers, talked about football and politics and about anything, and I understood them. Also taught at night, to gardeners older than me, and after reading a poem or a story by Chekhov Pascoli we talked together, we had a common language to exchange views, even to argue. And the years, a week after another, have passed. I was always the teacher young, wild, what with the sale even if it pours, that even with jeans with holes and with dread, for a time. For me it was easy to understand the boys, even if they change the bands, the films at the cinema, the ways of dressing - more like spring. Sometimes I would find students or alumni to present my books and they were proud of me and I them, we give some pat on the back, embarrassed, happy.
Now everything has changed. It is obvious that it is, I think, is normal for a man of fifty years does not understand a girl of fifteen. I put my hands on the glass, I try to peek, but it's all fogged up, you do not see anything. The guys talk about literature, but it's a lost language, like Latin ol'aramaico. I'm also talking about cinema and music, but films that I see for them not to exist, the music I listen to is blank. There is no dispute, no one thinks I'm wrong, who knows what order to defend that infamous: these guys have just cut all ties with adults. Before the boat was one, there was above all together, maybe trying to throw the enemies below: now every generation has its own lifeboat. Marketing has divided society into target. This would cover a thirty year old does not care a sixteen year old. My students O neomelodici listen to singers from Naples, the rapper's self Tor Bella Monaca, hate the movie because you have to be two hours in the dark and silent, are not sports, chat, pass the mall on Saturday. I send three hundred pupils who sms a day, quietly. So one tries again: On the road, and Cervantes, the forests of the Brothers Grimm and the dark forest, the trip back to Moby Dick, Gauguin's escape from the outside world, but few are listening, perhaps at times no one, and so many teachers is discouragement. We are losing pupils and buy mountains of papers to be filled mazes as confused.
Thirty years of contempt for the culture - stuff poor, to be unhappy - have come to this: a country poor and needy. But I do not give up, I still give my students a highest point, where the air is better, where we see the world better.
Marco Lodoli
Source: www.repubblica.it
09/09/2010
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