“Maria di Crochi piena di bravura
Mary of Crochi, full of talent,
in mezzo all’aria che uno respira
amidst the air that one breathes in
come hai creato l’intera natura
just as you created the whole of nature
che sempre sta sospesa e sempre gira.
Which also is always in suspension and in motion.
Ed il sole con tanta calura
And the sun with so much heat
Che ci accompagna da mattina a sera;
which accompanies us from dawn to dusk;
poi viene la notte e tutto scura
is followed by night and all darkens
luce solo la luna quando è chiara
the only light being that of the moon, when light
creasti la montagna nell’altura
you created the mountains in their height
Valli e pianura con l’alberatura
the valleys and plains with all their trees
E un’altra cosa più potente ancora
and another more powerful thing
L’acqua che scende da ogni fiumara.
The water which descends from every spring.
Acqua che scende a mare non a misura
Water which descends without a measure
Sempre quel livello resta para
always remaining at the same level
E poi creasti la cosa più cara
And then you created the dearest thing
La donna dote della Tua figura.
The woman gifted with your shape.
Preghiamola di cuore ‘sta Signora.
Let us praie this Lady from the heart
Preghiamola di cuore. Ella ci paga.
Let us praie her from the heart. She repays us.
A chi gli chiede la grazia ci dona
She gives to those who ask her for a grace
Agli ammalati il cuore ci sana”.
She heals the hearts of the sick.

These are Crochi’s religious aspects, its Madonna and its history, but Crochi has always wanted to mark an annual event, quite apart from its lithurgical rite, to which every true Caulonian could not miss. Good wine, goat’s meat (carne di crapa) and hammering tarantellas would rule the entire day involving all its participants. The river bank was covered with “barracchi”, ready to welcome every visitor who, drinking quartre-litres of wine, would discuss many things and often close a deal of some kind. The smell of boiled meat, cut up into small lumps (tozza), and then turned into ragù (meat sauce) would pervade everywhere. The real queen of the day, however, was the tarantella which would fill every person’s spirit. To our people, the tarantella meant rhythm, music and dance. Crochi’s tarantella was the same one that each true Calabrian knew and loved having learned it in Polsi and in the inaccessible parts of the Aspromonte. Our tarantella was an instinctive, hard one, able to rise from the obsessive beat of the tambouines and from the bitter or sweet,sometimes honey-like, sounds made by bagpipes and more modern barrel-organs.

The Aspromonte tarantella has always differed from all the other dances particular to our area because of its savage, almost tribal nature. As well as its magical power, it is also amixture between the sacred and the profane; it is danced in honour of the divinities and when courting and when being courted, votes are released and eyes meet in understanding. This dance portrays the courtship of a woman and, sometimes, the rivalry which would arise over her. However, our famous authors such as C. Alvaro, S. Strati and F. Perri leave better testimonials, the latter of which wrote, in one of the most memorable passages of his masterpiece, “Emigranti”: “The musician ... hugged close to his body a huge leather bag from which hung five hollowed-out and perforated canes of different lengths: two overtook the entire bag ending at his knees; two were shorter and the last was an oboe-shaped, unperforated cane which emitted a single note, of nasal sound, which was held as a kind of background base-note. The player’s fingers moved in an almost uniform rhythm over the holes of the first two medium sized canes, his head oscillating, beating time according to the rhythm of the sound, just like a mechanical puppet.

At intervals he would part his lips from around the cane, draw in breath deeply, then seal his lips around the cane again, his neck swelling up and becoming lined with large veins from effort. Next to him stood a young shepherd ... he beat time on a tambourine as large as a flour sieve, holding it close to his ear as if he were savouring its tune. A couple danced in the middle of the circle. The woman ... danced barefoot, with small wide dust-covered feet and she costantly kept her eyes downcast, with the seriousness of who is performing a religious rite. Every now and then she raised her eyes to fiercely and passionately look at her male dancing partner, as if to invite him, flashing at him and almost shutting him out at the same time. Then she lowered her eyes again and carried on her simple dance. The feet, one pair in front of the other, sketched a few brief steps in the dust, hands on hips, firstly with their palms turned out and then with their palms turned to their hips. Their arms bent like the handles of an amphora, their bodies slowly oscillating with the voluptuous movement of their hips and thighs. Sometimes their hands would raise the corners of a small red pinnafore and hold it towards eachother, as if they were about to receive a gift; at other times their hands would raise to the sky and they would snap their fingers in an inciting gesture similar to the one used to encourage dogs to hunt. The female dancer carried on seemingly indefatigable and unscrutable ... She had been dancing since morning and had already exhausted four men. The male dancer, however, seemed possessed by the bite of a tarantula; in dissaray and with a white handkerchief around his neck, ... he jumped around performing hundreds of leg twists and eddies around the woman, shaking his head as if trying to stare straight into her eyes, and placing his arms above her head in a crown shape, his hands tracing circles as one would encircle a loved one, to indicate his exclusive possession. Then he proceeded to turn like a spinning top, caught in some kind of delirium, clapping his hands and emitting high-pitched shouts, like a wild animal. When the male dancer had danced for a certain amount of time, the man playing the tambourine, acting as master of the dances, rose to his feet, performed a wide circle around the couple and with a gracious bow, released the male dancer in order to invite the next one up”.

The passage has been admirably analyzed by the scholar Goffredo Plastino in his book “Canti, suoni, spari. La musica tradizionale e l’ambiente sonoro a Polsi nella letteratura calabrese” (Songs, sounds, shots. Traditional music and the sound environment at Polsi in Calabrian Literature), published by Laruffa editore along with the rights of the “Santa Maria di Polsi – Storia e pietà popolari” (Santa Maria di Polsi – Popular history and piousness) congress.

With the last steps of a tarantella and with the return of the Madonna to the church, the Crochi festivities would draw to an end. After “Crochi” also the “mutazioni d’aria” (the change of air) went towards its natural conclusion and by the end of September all the Caulonians would be back in the historical centre of the town. The rainfalls would become more and more intense and the cold nights would no longer allow nights to be spent in the countryside. One had to be home by San Remigio (1st of October), the day in which the children would pick up their satchels again and go back to school. Thus preparations would begin for a new season and with it a new story…