Becoming Italian Word by Word

Clowns, Spitfires, Slobs, and Blockheads in the Italian Language

z

zeta

The very last word under the very last letter in my Italian dizionario makes me smile (mi fa sorridere): zuzzurullone (or zuzzerellone), which once translated as tomboy but now applies to any playful person. Just saying it aloud certainly makes me want to whistle (zirlare) and frolic (zurlare).

Of all the letters of the alphabet, z (zeta in italiano) may be the most zany--an English word derived from Zanni, a form of Giovanni or Gianni (John) and the name of a classic character in La Commedia dell’Arte (comedy of the “art” or profession of acting). In this centuries-old form of street theatre, buffoonish Zanni kept trying, rather lamely, to pull off la zannata (a clown’s trickery).

Italian imported two "z" words--zampa and zanna--from the Germanic tribes who invaded the peninsula more than a thousand years ago. Zampa (foot in German) means paw or claw in Italian, as in le zampe del gatto (the cat’s paws) or camminare a quattro zampe (walk on all fours). Italians call bell-bottomed pants pantaloni a zampa d’elefante (elephant-foot pants). Those of us who wore them in the seventies now find ourselves with zampe di gallina (crow’s feet). The German word zanna for tooth translates in Italian as fang or tusk, as in le zanne del cinghiale (the boar’s tusk).

Zeta can be as sweet as a zolletta di zucchero (cube of sugar), as spicy as zenzero (ginger), as tasty as zampone (pig’s trotter, a traditional New Year’s dish), or as prim as an old maid (zita, zitella, zitellona). But it’s a mischievous enough zolfino (spitfire) to call a fussy old bachelor a zitellone and a dandy or fop a zerbinotto (derived from zerbino for doormat).

In fact quite a few colorful insults start with the last letter of the alphabet. A zotico is a clumsy, uncouth, stupid, clownish, churlish dunce. Someone exhibiting zoticaggine or zotichezza (boorishness) qualifies as a zoticone or a zoccolone (from zoccolo, for wooden shoe or clog).

A blockhead can be dismissed as a zuccone (literally big pumpkin) or zucca vuota (empty pumpkin). A zavorra is a worthless piece of garbage who non conta uno zero (doesn’t add up to zero). Something filthy or sordid is zozzo, while a zozzone is a scruffy, untidy slob.

If you use these words too freely, someone may caution, “Sta zitto!” (“Hush! Keep quiet!”). You don’t have to be zitto-zitto (quiet as a mouse), but you don’t want to spargere zizzania (literally spread weeds, or start trouble).

Words and Expressions

lo zio d’America -- a presumably rich uncle in the United States

andare a zonzo –- wander about

nuove di zecca –- new as a tick, brand new

rasare a zero -– shave one’s head

Cavar le castagne dal fuoco con la zampa del gatto –- pull the chestnuts out of the fire with the cat’s paw (let someone else do the dirty work while reaping the benefits)

Dianne Hales is the author of LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language. 

Click below to listen to Zero Assoluto (Absolute Zero), two enormously popular Italian singers, sing about something we all do every day: getting up in the morning.

A Life Lesson in the Italian Language

I so enjoyed this clever and wise anecdote from Il Gruppo Castelvetrano in Trapani, Sicily,  that I translated  it into English to share with more readers in the holiday season. Click here for the complete Italian version.  

La storia del barratolo

The Story of the Jar

A professor (un professore), in front of his philosophy class, without saying a word (senza dire parole), takes a big jar (barattolo), and fills it with golf balls (palle da golf). He asks the students if the jar is full (pieno).  They say “Si” (yes).

The professor then takes a box full of little glass  balls (palline di vetro) -- we might call them marbles -- and pours it into the jar. The little balls fill in the empty spaces between the golf balls. The professor asks the students if the jar is full, and they again say yes.

The professor takes a box of sand (una scatola di sabbia) and pours it into the jar. The sand fills all the empty spaces, and the professor again asks if the jar is full. This time the students respond with a unanimous “yes” (un si unanime).

The professor quickly adds two cups of coffee (due tazze di caffé) to the contents of the jar. They fill all the empty spaces (tutti gli spazi vuoti) in the sand. The students laugh...

When the laughter (la risata)  dies down, the professor says, “I want you to understand that this jar represents life (rappresenta la vita). The golf balls are the important things (le cose importanti), like family, children, health, friends, love, the things that fill us with passion (ci appassionano). They are things that, even if we were to lose everything and only they remained, our lives would still be full (le nostre vite sarebbero ancora piene)." 

"The glass balls are the other things that are important to us (le altre cose che ci importanto), like work, home, etc. The sand is all the rest (tutto il resto)—the little things. If before everything you would put the sand in the jar, there would be no room for the little glass balls or the golf balls."

"The same thing (la stessa cosa) happens with life. If we use all our time and energy (tutto il nostro tempo ed energia) on the little things, we will never have space for the really important things."

“Pay attention (fai attenzione) to the things that are crucial for your happiness (cruciali per la tua felicità): play with your children, take time to go to dinner with your partner, practice your favorite sport or hobby. There will always be time to clean house (pulire casa), to cut weeds, to repair the little things."

"Take up first the golf balls, the things that really matter to you.  Set your priorities (stabilisci le tue priorità); the rest is only sand.”

One of the students raises his hand (alza la mano) and asks what the cups of coffee represent.  The professor smiles and says, “It is only to demonstrate that it doesn’t matter how busy our life can seem (quanto occupata possa sembrare la vostra vita).  There is always a place for a cup of coffee with a friend.”

Words and Expressions

vivere una vita piena --to live a full life

fare la vita di Michelangelo -- to make the life of Michelangelo, to make a comfortable life

lasciarsi vivere -- to let oneself live, to take things as they come

sapere vivere -- to know how to live, to know how to get along with people 

 

Dianne Hales is the author of LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language. 

Click below for a stirring anthem to life in both English and Italian:

Playing Hooky in the Italian Language

marinare la scuola

"marinate the school," play hooky

I played hooky the other day. The weather was perfect (faceva bello). The tide (la marea) was out. I didn’t have a deadline (una scadenza) to meet. So I headed for my favorite beach (la mia spiaggia preferita) and walked for miles. Then I felt guilty (in colpa).

“Perchè?” (Why?) an Italian friend asked. “Così fanno tutti.” (Everyone does it.) It’s true. Every country has some equivalent of “playing hooky.” The British “play truant”; the Germans “blaumachen”; the French “faire l'école buissonnière” (make school in the bushes).

But in Italy cutting class -- marinare la scuola (marinate or pickle the school) in standard Italian -– seems to be a national pastime, so widespread that linguists have identified dozens of local expressions for truancy. Here are some examples from various regions:

• Piedmont: tagliare (to cut), bucare (to make a hole), fare sega (to make the saw, to saw)

• Lombardy: scavallare (to frisk about), far cavalletta (to make the grasshopper), impiccare (to hang), salare (to salt)

• Trentino: bruciare (to burn), andare in marina (to go to the marina)

• Veneto: far manca (to make the left), brusare or bruciare (to burn), buco (hole)

• Liguria: fare il ponte (to make the bridge), saltare (to leap or jump)

• Emilia-Romagna: fare fuoco (to make fire), fare fuga (to make flight), fare focaccia (to make focaccia)

• Tuscany: fare chiodo (to make the nail), fare forca (to make the pitchfork), fare sale (to make salt)

• Umbria: fare salina (to make salty)

• Marche, Lazio: fare sega (to make the saw)

• Molise: fare spago (to make string)

• Campania: fare filone (to make the big wire)

• Puglia: fare fruscio (to make a rustle), saltare la piomba (to salt the lead), fare salasso (to make bloody

• Calabria: scioperare (to go on strike), giocarsela (to make a game of it)

• Sicily: far Sicilia (to make Sicily), stampare (to print), sparare (to shoot), buttarsela (to throw one’s self), fare luna (make moon), fare l'ora (make the hour)

• Sardinia: fare vela (make sail)

By whatever name, skipping school is, as an Italian writer puts it, una delle attività più amate dagli studenti di tutto il mondo (one of the most loved activities of students of all the world.)

Woody Allen, the multi-talented American wit, once explained the allure of this guilty pleasure:  “There are few things in life more enjoyable than playing hooky,” he observed, “It’s like postponing the electric chair.” (Ci sono poche cose nella vita divertenti come marinare la scuola, è come rimandare la sedia elettrica.)

You can find more regional expressions for cutting school, including some in dialect, by clicking here. 

For Italian speakers, the clip below provides excuses for not going to school (le scuse per non andare a scuola). One tip:  For a febbre finta (fake fever), insert a  thermometer  into the mouth of your pet dog. Or you can claim that  you must attend the funeral of a close relative. This excuse, the young narrator cautions, should not be used more than una o due volte (one or two times).

 

Dianne Hales is the author of LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Itaian, the World's Most Enchanting Language.

Baking Words in the Italian Language

L’arte delle parole

The Art of Words

As part of Florens 2010, an international week of cultural events. two of Italy’s great institutions—the Uffizi Gallery and the Accademia della Crusca—are celebrating art and letters in a presentation on ”Parole e Immagini dei Mestieri e delle Arti” (Words and Images of the Crafts and Arts) in the Uffizi biblioteca (library) on Friday, November 19.  

Although less famous than the Uffizi, with its renowned collection of paintings (pitture) and sculptures (sculture), “La Crusca,” the oldest scholarly academy in Europe, deserves acclaim for a different masterpiece: the Italian language (la lingua italiana).

During the 1500s, an unheralded but invaluable invention transformed Italian agriculture: il frullone, a sieve-like device that separated wheat from chaff to produce flour. A group of irreverent Florentine intellectuals, passionately devoted to preserving their language’s più bei fiori (loveliest blooms), decided to become human frulloni and separate the linguistic fior di farina (the flower of the wheat) from the coarse crusca (chaff or bran).The  self-declared Crusconi formed  L’Accademia della Crusca (the Academy of the Bran) and took on a lofty mission:  creating the first dictionary of officially recognized words in any language.

This was no dry academic venture by uptight language police. The Crusconi playfully gave themselves names related to farming, cooking, and baking, such as Lievito (yeast or leaven), Macinato (milled into flour), Sollo (soft or spongy), and Grattugiato (grated). Each Cruscone also selected a related symbol, such as a sieve or sheaf of wheat, which was embossed in vibrant colors upon a wooden pala (above), a shovel-like paddle bakers used to slide loaves of bread from an oven.

Among La Crusca’s traditions was an annual stravizzo, a term members used defined with understatement as “eating that happens together with pleasant conversation.” The menu from one stravizzo presents five staggering courses that included eight types of meat, even more varieties of pasta, fruit, vegetables, cheese, biscotti — and stuzzicadenti (toothpicks).

Despite their jocularity, La Crusca’s founding brothers took their mission seriously. Over decades of research, discussion, and debate, they created the Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca, published on January 20, 1612. The 960 oversized pages of this unique compendium contained only words that qualified as “belle, signifcative, e dell’uso nostro” (“beautiful, noteworthy, and of our use,” that is, from Italian authors such as Dante, Petrarca, and Boccaccio).

When I had the privilege of turning the stiff, dry pages of a first edition of the Vocabolario, I was so moved that I became senza parole (speechless). This volume, constructed of words chosen to please the ear, the eye, and the soul, contains Italian’s genome. No less than the artists laboring in a Renaissance bottega, the language “bakers” of La Crusca had painstakingly created a living work of art: la più bella lingua del mondo (the most beautiful language in the world).

Last week brought belle notizie (good news) for Italian’s belle parole: The College Board has reinstated the AP Italian placement exam, a decision heralded as a triumph for Italy, Italian-Americans, and all who love the language “baked” by Florentine wordsmiths some four hundred years ago.

Words and Expressions

parolina, paroletta -- nice word

parolone -- big or long word, pompous-sounding word A

avere la parola facile -- to have the easy word, to be articulate

in parole povere -- in poor or plain words

È una parola! -- it’s a word (easier said than done)

in poche parole -- in short, in brief

Dianne Hales is the author of  LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Italian, the World’s Most Enchanting Language.

Click below to hear Italian music icon Mina dismiss the "parole, parole, parole" (words, words, words) of Alberto Lupo in a famous pop tune:

 

Strangers in the Italian Language

Gli stranieri

The foreigners

“Statunitense?” a hotel clerk in Italy once asked me. When I looked befuddled, he clarified the question: “La Sua nazionalità?”

“No, no,” I vehemently declared. “Sono americana.” He  kindly explained that he had thought that a “United States-er” was, in fact, an American.

Well, yes—even though we don’t identify ourselves as such. It may be a small world (un piccolo mondo), but we remain foreigners (gli stranieri) in other languages, including Italian.

Some countries—such as l’Austria, l’Australia, il Canada,  l’Iraq, and la Russia--go by the same names in English and Italian. But an Austrian is an austriaco; an Australian, an australiano; a Canadian, a canadese;  an Iraqi, an iracheno, and a Russian, a russo. (Italian does not capitalize the words for citizens of any nation, including gli italiani.)

Italian designates--for reasons unknown to everyone I asked--certain nations as masculine (il Brasile, lo Yemen) and others as feminine (la Tailandia, la Turchia). A man from la Spagna is a spagnolo and a woman a spagnola, a male Mexican, a messicano and a female a messicana. Regardless of gender, a citizen of il Belgio (Belgium) is always a belga; two or more are belgi.

La Francia is home of the francesi; l’Irlanda, of the irlandesi; and la Svizzera, of the svizzeri.   The giapponesi come from il Giappone; the coreani, from la Corea; the cingalesi, from lo Sri Lanka; the bengalesi, from il Bangladesh,  the vietnamiti, from il Vietnam; and the cinesi, from La Cina. The citizens of il Cile (Chile) are cileni; of il Perù, peruviani; of Il Venezuela, venezuelani; and of la Nigaragua, nicaraguensi. 

All the Scandinavian countries follow the same pattern, with norvegesi from la Norvegia, danesi from la Danimarca, finlandesi from la Finlandia, and svedesi from la Svezia. This is not the case for Africa, where the kenyoti come from Il Kenya, the libici from la Libia, the tunisini from la Tunisia, the marocchini from il Marocco, and the congolesi from il Congo.

English speakers refer to the birthplace of their mother tongue by three names: the United Kingdom, Great Britain, and England. The Italian counterparts are il Regno Unito, la Gran Bretagna, and l’Inghilterra. In English, the Dutch come from the country known either as Holland or the Netherlands. In Italian, the olandesi come from l’Olanda or i Paesi Bassi (the low countries).

When Italians ask about my ethnic background, I explain that my grandparents came from la Polonia (Poland). But I was taken aback the first time one responded, “Ah, una polacca!” Although it sounds like the not-very-nice American slang for a Pole, “polacco” and “polacca” are, in fact, the perfectly respectable Italian terms for a Polish man or woman.

The combination of “alla"  plus a nationality refers to a characteristic of a particular country. “Un giardino alla giapponese," for instance, is a garden made in the Japanese style. The Italians call a pert little nose  a “naso alla francese” (in the French style) and  a placemat, a tovaglietta all'americana (in the American style).

When I heard one Italian say to another, "Non facciamo le cose all'italiana" (Let’s not do things in the Italian style), I asked  what this means. Her translation:  "Let's do things properly without improvising too much."

Words and Expressions

Paese che vai, usanza che trovi -- Every country  you go to has its own customs

fumare come un turco -- to smoke like a chimney

Tutto il mondo è paese -–  All the world is a village.

Dianne Hales is the author of LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language. 

Click below for a classic song about Italians who want to "fare l'americano" (make or act the American):

 

The Italian Language on a New York Subway

The Lovely Coincidence

La bella coincidenza

 As a graduate student at Columbia Journalism School, I spent plenty of time reading other people’s books on the subway, so I was particularly delighted when Peter V., a New Yorker, wrote to share this anecdote about La Bella Lingua and a chance meeting on a train from Brooklyn.

"I was taking the subway (la metropolitana) — a very crowded (molto affollato) number 2 express -- from Brooklyn to Penn Station in Manhattan the other day (l’altro giorno). The passengers were packed in like sardines. I had a seat (mi sono seduto) and had my nose buried in (ero immerso nella lettura) La Bella Lingua.

A very attractive woman (una donna molto bella) next to me said that she never spoke to strangers (estranei) but had to make an exception since the coincidence (la coincidenza) was so incredible. She had also read La Bella Lingua and had liked it so much that she bought a second copy (una seconda copia) to give to her mother. We chatted for a few minutes about how much we enjoyed (abbiamo apprezzato) the book.

La donna did not speak Italian. I told her that I speak a little bit (ne parlo un pochino) and that every time I visit Italy, I bone up (lo ripasso) by listening to tapes and studying grammar books. I also told her about how my parents spoke Italian to each other (parlavano in italiano tra loro) when I was growing up (quando ero piccolo).

The woman said that it was remarkable (straordinario) that two people could by sheer coincidence (per pura coincidenza) be sitting next to each other on a subway in New York City and both be fans of a book on the subject of la lingua italiana.

I was so surprised by the conversation (la conversazione) that I never thought to ask la bella donna her name. At any rate, my stop came soon, and I had to get off (dovevo scendere)."

Grazie, Pietro, per la bella vignetta.

If you read this, bella donna di Brooklyn, grazie per i complimenti, and let us know (facci sapere) how to find you (come trovarti). I will send you (ti manderò) a signed frontispiece.

Words and Expressions

un incontro casuale –- a meeting

casualità -– chance, coincidence, accident

per caso –- by chance

per puro caso –- by pure chance

troppe coincidenze –- too many coincidences

gli scherzi del destino -– the tricks of fate

Che coincidenza! -- What a coincidence!

Dianne Hales is the author of LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language.

 

 

50 Years of "The Sweet Life" in the Italian Language

La Dolce Vita

Italy is celebrating the 50th anniversary of its most iconic film with the release of a digitally remastered version of La Dolce Vita. The Gucci fashion house paid for the restoration, which premiered last weekend at the Rome International Film Festival, as a tribute to the movie that “paved the way for a new world with an obsession for style, fashion, and celebrity.”

Its director, Federico Fellini, son of a traveling salesman, was born in 1920 in the seaside town of Rimini. At age 10 he ran away to join the circus. (His job was caring for a sick zebra.) During World War II, he traveled throughout Italy writing sketches for a touring theatre troupe.

After the war Fellini set up a store called the Funny Face Shop, where he sketched caricatures for American G.I.s. He also penned gags for comedians, illustrated comic books, and drafted radio plays. Fellini described himself as “un bugiardo,” a liar—but an honest one. He won eight Oscar nominations for screenwriting in addition to a raft of awards for directing.   

For his breakthrough movie of Rome during the 1950s, Fellini searched for the face of an everyman to play Marcello Rubini, a jaded, perpetually horny (arrapato, in Roman dialect) gossip reporter chasing scoops—and skirts--on the sultry Via Veneto. The producer, eager for a sure-fire success, wanted Paul Newman, but Fellini chose a rising but not well-known star named Marcello Mastroianni.

“The first thing Fellini said to me was, ‘I need a face with no personality—like yours,’” Mastroianni later recalled. The name Fellini coined for his character, Paparazzo (derived from a dialect word for a large pesky mosquito), morphed into paparazzi, the universal word for celebrity-chasing news hounds.

The movie—with a working title of "Although Life Is Brutal and Terrible, You Can Always Find a Few Wonderful Moments of Sensuality and Sweetness"—captured a vivid panorama of the not-always-sweet life of post-war Rome.  

Released in 1960, La Dolce Vita was condemned by the Vatican but won international critical acclaim. Its unforgettable scenes, such as Anita Ekberg’s nocturnal dip in the Trevi Fountain, signature music, and luscious leading man created an image of Italian life that enchanted the world.

Some critics compared this 165-minute movie, with 104 separate scenes, to Dante’s Divine Comedy. Like the 14th-century pilgrim, the errant journalist wanders through a corrupt world teeming with memorable characters—120 named in the script—to emerge into the light of day. Although Fellini’s voyager found neither radiant stars nor any hope of salvation, his film has joined the ranks of immortal screen classics.

Words and Expressions

Amarcord -- the title of Fellini’s semi-autobiographical movie, from a local Rimini dialect word for “I remember” that conveys a touch of poignancy

Vitelloni -- literally “big, overgrown calves,” the title of a Fellini film about aimless young men

Ciak! -- a director’s onomatopoeic cry for “Action!"

sceneggiatore -- scriptwriter

Grazie a tutti!  Thanks to all of you (tanti--so many!) who entered our "Viva l'italiano! Book Bonanza Contest."  I will announce the winners in my November newsletter.

Click below to see the movie's most famous scene: