This is the spot where Mussolini was strung up at the end of the second world war. This is also Piazza Quindici Martiri where the bodies of fifteen ordinary Milanese civilians, killed by the fascists in retaliation for partisan activity, had been put on public display as a warning by Il Duce’s henchmen one year before.
I came here to read a poem (in The Swan bar just across the road). It was always going to be a quiet affair. A far cry from the large and impressive auditorium at MUDEC on Saturday and the historic Teatro Filodrammatici tonight. I had just posted a picture on social media of the bar in Piazzale Loreto when an Italian friend pointed out the significance of the location.
I had begun to feel a little sorry for myself, sat in an unfriendly bar by what is now a huge traffic roundabout. I had begun to think that no one really understood what I did, that no one really cared whether I did it or not before my friend explained the story of the Martyrs of Piazzale Loreto.
It may be glib to say that reading or writing poetry is an action against fascism (it depends of course on what kind of poetry you happen to be reading or writing). It may also be simplistic to suggest that if poetry’s purpose is to make you think a little differently, then a poem can be a weapon against tyranny.
The cars honked and horned around Piazzale Loreto and the locals took aperitivo in the Swan bar on Piazza Quindici Martiri. This was freedom. And I came here to read a poem.