PRIMO Magazine, For and About Italian Americans. Second Edition 2. On the cover: Lorella Cuccarini, daytime TV star in Italy.  She is considered the "Italian Oprah," with a show seen by tens of millions every day. Miss Cuccarini is a multi- talented Italian celebrity who can sing, dance, and act. Her talk show is noted for her probing interviews of other celebrities and leaders in the arts, government and industry in Italy. Call with your questions or comments at 8.

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Correction - 2nd Edition 2. On page 2. 0, we misspelled the subject's name. It should have been Gaito, not Gallo. We very much regret the error. The title of the article is "The Hero of Capracotta" and is written by Donna Gaito Piccillo.

The Latest News…from an Italian American Perspective: Note: Content on the PRIMO web site is different from the print edition of PRIMO magazine. To read the latest articles in the newest print edition of PRIMO, please subscribe today. Please remember to update your browser in order to view all material on our web site. BATTLE LOST - OUR LADY OF LORETO IS DESTROYEDBy Truby Chiaviello, Publisher & Editor PRIMO Magazine.

Before - Our Lady of Loreto once contained a beautiful interior for Mass said to a flock of devoted Italian American Catholics After - Our Lady of Loreto today, on the cusp of total demolition, as requested by Bishop Nicholas Di. Marzio, of the Brooklyn archdiocese. Our Lady of Loreto has been destroyed. The Brooklyn archdiocese got its way. And the church, built by Italian immigrants over 1.

One photo was taken by my son Samer last week. You can see how the church is boarded up. No doubt this is a demolition site. You can see how the roof has been removed and, thus, the interior. It is reminiscent of what happens to a building that had a bomb dropped on it.

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The church was near a subway stop. I visited there in 2.

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Our Lady of Loreto was located on 1. Sackman Street in Brooklyn. Part of Brownsville or Ocean Hill neighborhood in Brooklyn. Some refer to the area as East New York. This neighborhood was once a densely populated Italian neighborhood.

About 1. 10 years ago, the Italian immigrants wanted a Catholic church of their own. A house of worship that conveyed their language, customs and traditions.

So, they volunteered their money and labor. Many of the men who lived there were carpenters and bricklayers and had experience in construction. They hired an Italian architect and built a beautiful church. You can see photos here from the web site devoted to Our Lady of Loreto, a web site maintained by Dominick Mondelli. The interior was beautifully designed. There is a ceiling mural. A statue of San Innocenzo at Loreto.

Here is a photo of Mass at the church in 1. You can see that it was well- attended and made up of many devoted parishioners. In the 1. 96. 0s, Our Lady of Loreto was turned over to the Brooklyn archdiocese. And 4. 0 years later, the archdiocese wanted to tear it down.

That’s when PRIMO got involved. I published a feature article on the effort of Italian Americans who once lived in the neighborhood, who attended Mass there at Our Lady of Loreto, who were baptized there, had their first communion and confirmation there; and so they organized to save the church. Besides PRIMO, the Italian Tribune, mainstream newspapers and news sites in New York such as the New York Times and the Daily News and others brought a lot of publicity to the preservation effort. And all things were offered to the archdiocese including a creative development idea that preserved the church. This was back in 2. Brooklyn archdiocese agreed to retain the church in return for demolishing the rectory next door.

The archdiocese was supposed to upkeep the structure and they didn’t. And here is where one wonders about the intentions of Bishop Nicholas Di. Marzio and other officials of the Brooklyn archdiocese. Did they intentionally allow Our Lady of Loreto to deteriorate so they could claim it as a danger to the community and apply for demolition? This is what happened over the last 1.

The fight to preserve it included petitions and donation drives. Now, you hear the news about how divided is America. Well, the activists involved came from all walks of life. Not just Italian Americans, but people who live in the neighborhood or are active in it - these were African Americas who’s ancestors come from different parts of Africa and the Caribbean - these were Latinos - Asians - everyone was involved to keep Our Lady of Loreto because they all recognized it as a beautiful church - a real work of art in so many ways.

In the end, however, the fight was lost. The legal appeals exhausted and the archdiocese had their way - and Our Lady of Loreto is being torn down. In its place will be affordable housing. You can see photos here, taken by Todd Maisel, of The Daily News, how the the murals, statuary, the decorative elements - all being beaten and destroyed. The time it took to build them, the craftsmanship, the artistry - all for nothing - destroyed. Very sad. This is not the only church to face its extinction. PRIMO reported on St Peter’s in Duluth, Minnesota and the effort there by Robin Mainella to save it.

The situation began also around 2. I wanted both churches to survive. But I thought if one was going to face it’s demolition, it would have been St. Peter’s. Instead, the opposite happened. An artist by the name of Jeffrey T. Larson purchased St.

Peters and has now turned it into an art academy. One wonders, why couldn’t the same thing have happened to Our Lady of Loreto. This part of Brownsville is still knee deep in poverty and dispossession. It remains a place plagued by urban decay. Watch The Steam Experiment Online The Steam Experiment Full Movie Online. People need more than just a roof over their heads.

They need inspiration from art. They need faith. One wonders why the Brooklyn archdiocese didn’t sell the property to another denomination - perhaps a Protestant faith - now prevalent in the area. In return for keeping the church and its interior decorations, the people there could have a place of worship. It is not unusual for Catholic churches to be converted to Baptists and other Protestant denominations. Unfortunately, that’s not the case.

The turning point was when the parish turned itself over to the archdiocese. Any time you build something, you should try and keep it, because those whom you hand it over to, really don’t care and they will destroy it when the moment arises. The silver lining are the activists, all ethnicities and backgrounds, that tried to save Our Lady of Loreto. We commend them for their efforts. We commend also the Italian immigrants who built this church. They came to build up the city and not tear it down - unlike the archdiocese and now even some others in local government that want to tear down statues of Columbus and others.

We learn from this sad situation, that the effort to preserve our Italian heritage in New York and all over America is well worth the fight and we have to keep fighting whenever we are faced with destruction of our heritage. Here is a list the people who fought the good fight to save Our Lady of Loreto. If I missed anyone, please let me know, as I want to include anyone and everyone who fought the good fight. We commend the following people who led the effort to preserve the church. Flavia Alaya. Gianfranco Archimede. Simeon Bankoff. Patricia Dean. Jeff Dunston. Gerald Ferretti.

Barbara Florio. Lester Ford. Louis Gallo. Marialena Giampino. Monica Kumar. Farrah Lafontant. Donny Mondelli. Jillian Mulvihill. Barabara Anne Pascucci.

Charles Piazza. Stanislao Pugliese. Miriam Robertson. William Russo. Joseph Sciame. Paula Segal. Zulmilena Then. Mario Toglia. Gabriella Velardi Ward. Marilyn Verna. Lakai Worrell.

Here is a link to the web site devoted to Our Lady of Loreto in Brooklyn. Below is a You. Tube video presentation on the destruction of Our Lady of Loreto.

Song of Myself. Won't you help support Day. Poems? 1. 81. 9- 1. I celebrate myself, and sing myself.

And what I assume you shall assume. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air. Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their.

I, now thirty- seven years old in perfect health begin. Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance. Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten. I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard. Nature without check with original energy.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with. I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it. The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the. It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it. I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked.

I am mad for it to be in contact with me. The smoke of my own breath. Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love- root, silk- thread, crotch and vine.

My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing. The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and. The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of. A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms.

The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag. The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields. The feeling of health, the full- noon trill, the song of me rising. Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much?

Have you practis'd so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of. You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions.

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through. You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me.

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the.

But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. There was never any more inception than there is now. Nor any more youth or age than there is now. And will never be any more perfection than there is now. Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge. Always the procreant urge of the world. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and.

Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well. Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical.

I and this mystery here we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen. Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age.

Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they. I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean.

Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be. I am satisfied- -I see, dance, laugh, sing. As the hugging and loving bed- fellow sleeps at my side through the night. Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with. Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes.

That they turn from gazing after and down the road. And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent. Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?

Trippers and askers surround me. People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and.

I live in, or the nation. The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new. My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues.

The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love. The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill- doing or loss. Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news. These come to me days and nights and go from me again.

But they are not the Me myself. Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am.

Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary. Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest. Looking with side- curved head curious what will come next. Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with. I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you. And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat. Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not. Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning. How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me. And parted the shirt from my bosom- bone, and plunged your tongue. And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass. And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own. And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own. And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women. And that a kelson of the creation is love. And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields.

And brown ants in the little wells beneath them. And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and. A child said What is the grass? How could I answer the child?

I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord. A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt. Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see. Whose? Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic.

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones. Growing among black folks as among white. Out For A Kill Full Movie Part 1. Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass. It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men. It may be if I had known them I would have loved them.

It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out. And here you are the mothers' laps. This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers. Darker than the colorless beards of old men. Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues. And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women. And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken. What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere. The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the. And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. Watch Call Me Mrs. Miracle Full Movie.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses. And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it. I pass death with the dying and birth with the new- wash'd babe, and. And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good. The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good. I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth. I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and.

They do not know how immortal, but I know.).