Becoming Italian Word by Word

politicamente corretto

politicamente corretto

politically correct (pc)

            No longer is anyone in Italy poor (povero), handicapped (handicappato), deaf (sordo), or cieco (blind). 

How did this miraculous transformation come about?  The credit doesn’t go to divine intervention or 21^st-century innovation, but to Italy’s language police, who are proposing what linguists call “il linguaggio non offensivo” (nonoffensive language). In this new idiom, the formerly poor are economicamente sfavorito (financially underprivileged), the handicapped, inabile fisciamente (physically unable); the deaf, non udente (non-hearing), and the blind, non-vedente (non-seeing). Someone who used to be minorato (disabled) would be diversamente abile (differently able or skilled) and a paralitico (paralytic) affetto da paralisi (affected by paralysis).

            The newfangled politically correct terms (which I have never heard used in real-life situations) raise interesting questions. Is an invalid (invalido) any less ill when described as “non deambulante” (not capable of walking)?  Are the mentally unable (incapace mentale) more  likely to be treated with compassion when they are “sofferente psichico” (psychologically suffering) or insufficienti mentali (mentally inadequate)?

Linguistic manipulation is hardly new in Italy. The most zealous dicers, splicers, purgers, and purifiers of Italian were the Fascists, who took their name from  the bundles of sticks, called fasces, that symbolized power in ancient Rome.  In 1923 they levied a tax on foreign words used in shop signs. At the beginning of the Second World War, a law banned them altogether. Posters blazed, “Italiani, boicottate le parole straniere!” “Italians, boycott foreign words!”  No one pointed out that boicottare was itself foreign,  derived from the name of Captain James Boycott, the first victim of this treatment in Ireland. “Boycott” had passed  from English, to French, to Italian.   

Under Fascism an Italian chauffeur became an autista; soccer turned into calcio; a bar was rechristened qui si beve (here one drinks). Shakespeare’s name, like other foreign appellations, had to be pronounced as if it were Italian: Shah-kay-spay-ah-ray.  In 1933 the journalist Paolo Monelli published Barbarian Domination: 500 Foreign Expressions Examined, Attacked, and Banished from the Language with Old and New Argument, with the History and Etymology of the Words and with Anecdotes to Entertain the Reader.  By the second edition in 1943, the list had grown to 650. 

A Fascist law prohibiting the practice of giving foreign Christian names to Italian children stayed on the books until 1966. Fascism also tried to exterminate la malerba dialettale (the dialect weeds) that it saw as sullying the purity of the national language.

Under  the Italian Codice Rocco of 1930,  vulgarity and blasphemy actually  became  crimes. Italians didn’t stop  swearing, however. They just made clever word substitutions. Rather than taking God’s name in vain with a “per Dio!” they would say “per Diana!” “Porca vacca!” (damn cow) substituted for  porca puttana (damn whore),  A son of  a bitch (figlio di puttana) became the son of a good woman (figlio di buona donna). Instead of vaffanculo (f*&# off), an angry Italian directed the object of his ire to go lay an egg  (va affa' l'ovo!) or go to that place (vai a quel paese!).

Words and Expressions

“fregarsene” -- literally to give oneself a rub, a term coined by the writer Gabriele D’Annunzio

“Me ne frego” -- “I don’t give a damn ” (or a  stronger expletive).   

Ma chi se ne frega? -- Who gives a damn?

 

 

carciofo

carciofo

artichoke

The word carciofo, like the artichoke itself, first came from Arabia, where it played the role of matchmaker in a  tender love story. According to legend, the fair daughter of an Arabian farmer, after observing her donkey eating a strange thistle, tried it herself.  Experimenting with eating the odd-shaped food raw, grilled and stewed, she began selling artichokes in the marketplace.  A prince who heard of the new delicacy insisted on meeting the cook. They instantly fell in love and lived happily ever after. 

According to archaeological evidence, artichokes had migrated north by the time of the Etruscans some 3,000 years ago.   The ancient Romans called them Carduos, their word for thistle, although the slang term was cynara, for a girl of this name who was turned into the prized plant.  This far-fetched tale testifies to the passion of Roman buongustai (gourmets)  for artichokes, which they hoarded and prohibited the masses from buying or eating.  “Artichokes were discovered by asses,” the Roman writer Pliny observed disdainfully, “and are still being consumed by them."

Catherine de’ Medici, another buona  forchetta (hearty eater), toted artichokes and cooks to prepare them to Paris when she married the future king of France in 1533.  Carciofo debuted in Italian literature in the writings of the poet Ludovico Ariosto in the sixteenth century.  By 1729, according to the venerable Vocabolario of the Accademia della Crusca, it had taken on another colloquial meaning as slang for a foolish or stupid fellow.

At the end of the nineteenth century, an enterprising cook named Angelo Valiani, who was anything but foolish or stupid, became famous for the tasty carciofini sott'olio (small, juicy artichoke heads in oil) that he sold at a cold buffet in train stations, first in his home town of Orbetello and then in Grosseto and Rome. Delighting in his success, he proudly named his newborn son Carciofino.

The parish priest refused to baptize the boy with such an outlandish name. Valiani argued that if a wild beast (leone, or lion) could inspire the name of Leo XIII, the pope at the time, how could the church object to a plant. The priest, stumped for a rebuttal, gave his blessing to the boy called "Little Artichoke."

Although artichokes grow throughout much of Italy, Rome is famous for the quality of the large, tender, purplish artichokes produced in the surrounding countryside. The carciofo romanesco has been granted IGP status, a designation similar to the DOC designation for wines produced in a particular area. The most famous recipes for Roman artichokes are “carciofi alla Romana" (braised upside down in seasoned olive oil) and “carciofi alla Giudia” (Jewish style, fried upside down until browned then turned and cooked until tender).

Every year since 1950 thousands of  Italians celebrate their beloved thistle at the annual Sagra del Carciofo Romanesco in Ladispoli near Rome. In addition to cooking demonstrations and tasty samples, the festival boasts a competition for best artichoke sculpture. 

For a quick view of artichokes as you’ve never seen them before -- in sculptures of a hot-air balloon, a butterfly and a boat --  click  below:

Words and Expressions

carciofaia --  artichoke bed

carciofaio  -- artichoke grower

cimaroli -- literally “those that grow on the top”), the Roman artichokes considered the best because of their large, pulpy, globe-like leaves 

acqua

acqua

water

 

            When in Italy, I spend as much time as possible in, on and under water (in, sull’ e sott’ acqua).   But you don’t have to get wet (bagnarsi) to find yourself afloat in watery Italian words.

American kids cry out “hot” and “cold” when playing games like hide and seek; Italian youngsters yell “fuoco” (fire) and “acqua.”  “Acqua in bocca!”  (water in the mouth!) means “Keep it quiet” or  “Mum’s the word.” A wholesome beauty is described as acqua e sapone (like soap and water). Suggesting an obvious solution is as trite as scoprire l’acqua calda (discovering hot water, or stating what everyone already knows). That’s almost as bad as being all’acqua di rose (wishy-washy).

English speakers may find themselves in a tempest in a teapot; Italians, in una tempesta in un bicchier d’acqua (a tempest in a glass of water). If they have to navigare in cattive acque (sail bad or dangerous waters), they may soon avere l’acqua alla gola (have water at one’s throat, or be in trouble up to one’s neck). If they try to to lavorare sott’acqua (work underwater, or do something underhanded), they may end up a pane e acqua  (on bread and water, or imprisoned).

Acqua trickles into the Italian equivalent of many English proverbs. Two peas in a pod are as similar as due gocce d’acqua (two drops of water). Rather than crossing the bridge when they come to it, Italians say, “All’acqua ci scalzeremo.” (“At the water we’ll take off our shoes.”)  And they’d rather bide their time fino a che non si siano calmate le acque  (until the waters calm  down) than wait for the dust to settle.

“The past is past”  translates as“acqua passata non macina piu” (past water no longer grinds) while “portare acqua in mare” (carry water to the sea) expresses the same futility as  bringing coals to Newcastle.  Pestare l’acqua nel mortaio ( pounding the water in the mortar) is a waste of time and effort. Someone who backs down from a belligerent position puts acqua nel proprio vino  (water in one’s wine), while those who  draw l’acqua al proprio mulino (the water to one’s own mill) are looking out only for themselves. Keep an eye on someone who’s unusually reserved. You already know that still waters run deep but in Italy“l’acqua cheta rovina I ponti”  (quiet water damages bridges.)

Words and Expressions

acqua marina  -- sea water

acqua salsa -- salty, saline water (in a pond or river)

acqua viva, sorgiva, di fonte -- spring water

acqua sudicia  -- dirty water

acqua dura  -- hard water

acqua piovana  --  rain water

acqua potabile -- drinking water

acqua morta -- dead or still water

acqua santa -- holy water

acque termali -- spa waters

acqua di rubinetto -- tap water

acqua alta  -- high tide (in Venice)

To see a surfer take on l’acqua alta, click below:

dire / parlare

dire / parlare

say, tell / speak, talk

“Mi dica,” an Italian shopkeeper says when you enter a shop. “Tell me.”   A friend eager to know the latest gossip says the same thing but uses the informal form: “Dimmi. Dimmi tutto.” (“Tell me. Tell me everything.”)

 If you can parlucchiare (speak a little) Italian, you might want to parlare di politica (talk about politics) or just parlare del più e del meno (talk of more or less, of nothing in particular).  Sometimes this too is a way a dire molto (of saying a lot).

To tell the truth (dire la verita), I’m not always sure whether I’m about to dire or parlare when I open my mouth.  I know how to dire di si o di no (say yes or no) but I can either dire or parlare bene o male (speak well or badly) of someone.  When stumped, I ask,  “Come si dice.. (“How do you say…") or   “Cosa vuole dire questa frase?” (“What does this phrase mean?”)  “Che si dice?” (“What do you say/think? What’s up?"). I’ll ask a friend.

Sia detta fra noi (speaking just between us), I often can’t resist the chance to dire la mia (say mine, or say my piece). However, I’m wary of parlare a torto e traverso (speaking wrongly and crookedly, or badly). But that doesn’t mean I sto zitta (stay quiet). A friend once said that I have such a parlantina (chatter box) that I even parlo da sola (speak to myself). My response: “Senti chi parla!  ("Look who’s talking!") “Non parliamone più!”)  she said. ("Let’s not talk about it anymore,  let’s forget about it.")

There are things every speaker -- parlatore (m) or  parlatrice (f) – should avoid. Don’t dirla grossa (talk big to impress others) or dirne due a qualcuno (tell someone two -- a thing or two --  when angry).  Try not to parlottare (mutter) or parlare in punta di forchetta (speak on the point of a fork, or with affected elegance). Never parlare sporco (talk dirty). Above all, never sound like the pompous bores who parlare per dare fiato alla bocca (speak in order to give breath to the mouth, or just to hear themselves speak).

So what should you talk about? “Parlami d’amore!” (“Talk to me about love") is always good advice --  and the title of a popular Italian movie and song. Here are the lyrics to the chorus in Italian and English:

Parlami d’ amore

Parlami di te

Soffiami sul cuore che bruciava

Ma già vuole te

 

Talk to me about love

Talk to me about you

Blow in my heart that was burning

But already wants you

You can hear the entire song by clicking below:  

Words and Expressions

non c’e che dire -- There’s no disputing that.

far parlare qualcuno -- make someone talk

parlare a vanvera – talk at random, talk nonsense

Chi parla?  --  “Who is speaking?” (a question often asked on the telephone) 

Non se ne parla nemmeno!  --  “Don’t mention it!”

Senza dire ne ai ne bai -- without saying ai or bai,  without so much as a how-do-you-do

Ci vuole più a dirlo che a farlo -- it needs more to say than to do it,  it’s more trouble to talk about than actually do it

 

camera

camera

room

“Dov’è la mia camera?” (Where is my “camera”?) I asked in a sudden panic in a taxi in Rome. 

The driver quickly reassured me that my  camera was exactly where it should be -- in my hotel.  It took a moment for me to realize that he was teasing me about a common mistake: assuming that “camera” means the same in Italian as in English.

Yes, you certainly want to take your camera on vacation in Italy. But don’t try to snap pictures with an Italian camera, which looks and sounds like the English word but has four walls, a ceiling, and a floor. 

When you check into a hotel, you can ask for a camera con vista (room with a view), a camera singola (single room), or a camera doppia or camera matrioniale (double room).  Your home may have a camera da letto  (bedroom), a camera a due letti  (twin room), and a camera degli ospiti (guest room). A camera ammobilliata  is what the British call a “bedsit,”  a combination bed and living room, while a camerino (little room) serves as a dressing room.

A camera can also play a public role.  Local businesses often belong to the Camera di Commercio (Chamber of Commerce), while politicians campaign for seats in the Camera dei Rappresentanti (House of Representatives). A camera ardente is a chapel of rest; a camera oscura, a dark room; a camera a gas, a gas chamber.  Then there’s a camera d’aria -- a chamber of air, or inner tube.

The woman who tidies up your hotel room is a cameriera; a manservant,  a cameriere.  Cameriere di ristorante translates as waiter;  cameriera di ristorante, as waitress.  College students and military recruits often live in a camerata (dormitory or barracks), where they are likely to develop a sense of cameratismo (comradeship).

So what Italian word do you use for a device that takes pictures? The correct term is macchina fotografica (literally a photographic machine) -- unless you’re snapping photos with your cellphone’s built-in camera. That’s a telefonino con fotocamera.  My macchina fotografica, it turns out, was not lost, but exactly where the driver suggested: back at the hotel, in my camera.

Words and Expressions

telecamera  -- TV camera

camera blindata -- strong room

Camera dei Lord --  House of Lords

Cameristico -- chamber

Camerista -- a manservant for noble and wealthy  family

cielo

cielo

sky

"Considera i cieli, e vedi!" ("Look unto the heaven, and see!") exhorts Job in the Old Testament. "Guarda le nuvole, come sono  più in alto di te!" ("Observe the clouds, which are higher than you!")

It may seem a bit sacrilegious, but these biblical words pop into my mind when my husband Bob and I reach the height (or depth) of relaxation on vacation. For hours we simply stare at the Italian sky (il cielo), an experience so delightful that we feel we are in seventh heaven (al settimo cielo).

Over the centuries artists such as Leonardo and Titian have tried to capture the radiant Italian sky on canvas. Its colors range from lightish blue (azzurriccio, azzurrigno, celestino) to clear blue (azzurro) to bright blue (blu) to a truly heavenly blue (celeste) to dark, deep blue (turchino).  At sunset (tramonto) the sky may erupt in a dazzling Technicolor display of gold (oro), pink (rosa), scarlet (rosso scarlatto), orange (arancione), flame red (rosso fuoco), and bronze (bronzo).  At night I like to lie a cielo aperto   (under the open sky) and marvel at the cielo stellato (star-studded sky).  

In the summer the sun often blazes from a cielo senza nuvole (cloudless sky). Some days bring no more than a nuvola passeggera (passing cloud); others, a nuvolaglia (mass of clouds).  Over the inland mountains in the afternoon they darken to grigio (gray) and thicken into a nuvolaccio (black storm cloud).   As if someone shouted  “Aprite cieli!” (Open the heavens), all hell breaks loose, with a sudden nuvolata (cloudburst) and colpi di fulmine (lightning) crackling across il cielo.

Even after vacation I still often have la testa nelle nuvole (my head in the clouds).  Something may be ne’ in cielo ne’ in terra  (neither in heaven or earth, or utter nonsense), but I might try to attaccarsi alle funi in cielo (cling to the ropes in the sky, or go to any length to prove a point).

If il ciel me ne guardi (heaven forbid), something bad happens, the unexpected news makes me cadere dalle nuvole (fall from the clouds),  I try to muovere cielo e terra (move heaven and earth) to help a friend. Volesse il cielo (if the heavens wish) and things go well, I am so thrilled that I feel that I might camminare sulle nuvolette (walk on little clouds, or air) or even toccare il cielo con un ditto (touch heaven with a finger).

Of course, Italians created the perfect song for sky-gazing:   “Volare”  (“To Fly”). The English lyrics are different than the original Italian ones, which describe a dreamer with hands and face painted blue swept away by the wind to fly “nel ciel infinito” (in the infinite sky). Here is a translation of the infectiously hummable chorus:

Volare, oh oh

Cantare, oh oh oh oh

Nel blu dipinto di blu

Felice di stare lassu'.

 

Flying, oh oh

Singing, oh oh oh oh

In the blue. painted blue

Happy to stay up there

Click below to hear a light-hearted rendition by Pavarotti in his prime:

Words and Expressions

cielo a peccorele, acqua a catinelle  -- fleecy clouds one day, buckets of rain the next

portare al settimo cielo -- carry to the seventh heaven or praise to the skies

essere nelle nuvole -- to be in the clouds, daydream

per amor del cielo -- for love of heaven

 

cavallo

cavallo

horse

For two days this summer -- on July 2 and August 16 -- centuries slipped away, and all eyes in Italy again turned to il Campo (the field), as the natives of Siena call their piazza, for the running of the Palio (horse race). Just as they did in the first Palio in 1656, race horses (cavalli) and their bareback riders representing the city’s contrade (wards or neighborhoods) whipped madly around the edges of the Piazza del Campo.

Each of the contrade has its own symbol: aquila (eagle), bruco (caterpillar), chiocciola (snail), civetta (little owl), drago (dragon), giraffa (giraffe), istrice (crested porcupine), unicorno (unicorn), lupa (wolf), conchiglia (seashell), oca (goose), onda (wave), pantera (panther), selva (forest), tartaruga (tortoise), torre (tower) and Valdimontone (“Vale of the Ram”). However, the stars of the Palio are i cavalli. The prize goes to the first horse to cross the finish line with its head ornaments intact -- with or without its jockey. As the winning contrada celebrates raucously, those who backed i cavalli perdenti (the losing horses) plan for next year’s race.

You don’t have to wait that long to encounter a cavallo italiano -- be it a cavallo da sella (saddle horse), a cavallo di razza (thoroughbred), a cavallo da corsa (race horse), a cavallo da tiro (draught horse), or a cavallo da carrozza (carriage horse). Where there are cavalli, you’ll find finimenti di cavalli (horse-trappings), ferri di cavallo (horseshoes) -- and mosche (horse flies).

You also might run into a horse dealer (mediatore di cavalli, cavallaio or cavallaro). A cavaliere is something else entirely: a horseman, a rider, a cavalier, a knight and the Italian press’s nickname for Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi. A cavaliere servente (ladies’ man) may never montare un cavallo (mount a horse) but may prefer to correre la cavallina (run the young mare, or sow wild oats).

“Siamo a cavallo!” (“We are on the horse!”) Italians say when things are going well -- or at least heading in the right direction. But they also caution, “Campa cavallo che l’erba cresce.” (As the horse is resting in the field, the grass grows…) Things may be going well now, in other words, but don’t trust any long-term promises And while you’re at it, remember this timeless advice: A caval donato non si guarda in bocca. (Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”)

Da bambina (as a child), I loved to ride a cavallo a dondolo (rocking horse), and I’d beg my father to  play a cavalluccio (make like a little horse and carry me on his back).   At the beach we’d watch the huge breaiers sailors call cavallone (big horses) and look for  a cavalluccio marino (sea horse) in the sand. At the end of the day we would  andare con il cavallo di San Francesco (go with St. Francis’s horse -- on foot, as St. Frances and his begging brothers did).

Words and Expressions

tosse cavallina -- horse or whooping cough

a cavallo del  secolo  -- at the horse (turn) of a century

cavalli di battaglia -- battlehorse, in the sense of an old chestnut, a favorite song or show, a very strong quality in someone 

cavallo di troia -- Trojan horse

 

Click below to watch two-and-a-half minutes of last year’s stirring race, won by la Nobil Contrada del Bruco, the noble contrada of the caterpillar, whose horse was anything but slow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMiGht7mU94

bambino

bambino

baby

This post celebrates the arrival of the bellissimo bambino Julian August, the  brand-new son of my cherished blog collaborator Valentina and her husband Mike.

In my next life I want to come back as an Italian baby. Infants may be loved the whole world over, but in Italy, which now has one of the lowest birth rates in Europe, i bambini are adored.

On a trip to Italy when I was about five months pregnant (incinta di cinque mesi), I went shopping for maternity clothes (abiti pré-maman). “Aspetto una bambina” (I am expecting a baby girl), I’d explain to sales clerks. Immediately their faces lit up with radiant smiles. They hugged me, patted my “bel pancione” (beautiful big belly) and showered me with advice about everything from labor (travaglio) and delivery (parto) to taking care of a neonato (newborn).

The women also asked all sorts of questions: How long would I be on maternity leave (essere in maternità)?  What sort of diapers (pannolini) would I use? Would I hire una bambinaia (nursemaid, although “babysitter” has become more common)? Would I take my child (bimba) to daycare (asilo nido)?

Italians, superstitious about life in general, are especially wary of tempting the fates during pregnancy. A baby shower would be unthinkable. Many hesitate even to give a pregnant woman a present before the actual delivery. But when the infant (pupo) arrives, everyone celebrates.

Proud new parents hang a ribbon  (fiocco nascita or coccarda annuncio nascita) on the entrance door to let people know that the big day (il lieto evento, or happy event) has come.  A blue ribbon (fiocco azzurro) announces the arrival of a boy; a pink ribbon (fiocco rosa), a girl’s birth.  

In another tradition, a mother dresses a newborn in a camicina della fortuna (little shirt that brings good luck), a tiny silken red or white shirt that acts as a lucky charm. In Italian someone “nato con la camicia” (born with a shirt on) is as lucky as an English speaker born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Some of the sweetest Italian songs are ninnenanne (lullabies) that mothers use to ninnare or cullare (sing or rock) a baby to sleep. Here are the words of “Stella Stellina,” a classic as well known as the English “Rock-a-bye Baby.”

Stella stellina
la notte si avvicina
la fiamma traballa
la mucca é nella stalla
La pecora e l'agnello
la vacca col vitello
la chioccia coi pulcini
la gatta coi gattini
e tutti fan la nanna
nel cuore della mamma

Star, little star,
Night approaches
The flame trembles,
The cow is in the stall
The sheep and the lamb,
The cow and the calf,
The hen with the chicks,
The cat with the kittens
And everyone is sleeping
In their mommy’s heart.

Click below to hear the tune:

Words and Expressions

comportamento bambinesco – childish, puerile behaviour
bambinone – big baby, also used for adults who are totally immature and naïve.
bamboccio – babe in arms, simpleton
bambino prodigio – child/infant prodigy
fare il bambino – to behave like a child
da bambino – when I was a child 
andare a nanna – to go bye-bye, go to sleep