Becoming Italian Word by Word

What’s What in the Italian Language

 

Che? Che Cosa? 

What? 

In any language “what” makes the world go round. We always want to know “what’s that?” (che cosa è quello?), “what’s happening?” (che succede?), “what for?” (per che cosa?) and “what’s the matter?” (che cosa c’è?). 

In Italian the pronoun che or the noun cosa (thing) can be used alone or together. “Come vanno le cose?” (How are things?) you may ask or be asked. If you don’t know what to do, say, “Non so che cosa fare.” People may offer you the philosophical advice, "Che sarà, sarà" (What will be, will be). And if they break into the classic Doris Day song, that would be un bel che (a fine thing). 

When travelling, “whats” are what a trip is all about, so here’s what you should know: 

What Do You Need? 

Forgot your toothbrush (spazzolino da denti)? Don’t have a power adapter (adattatore)? Want an aspirin (aspirina) for your headache? The Italian phrase to use is “avere bisogno di ” (literally, to have need of). In the first person singular, you say “ho bisogno di…” For instance, ho bisogno di una forchetta pulita (I need a clean fork). 

What do You Want? 

"Cosa prende?" (What are you having?) a waiter may ask. “I want” translates as “voglio,” a phrase one of my first Italian teachers dismissed as “only for babies.” A polite grown-up says “vorrei” (I would like), as in “vorrei un menu” (I’d like a menu). My instructor, insisting that I learn to ask for what I want “come una signora, come una duchessa” (like a lady, like a duchess), taught me an alternative to use in extraordinary circumstances: “Mi piacerebbe” (it would be pleasing to me). Like “Open Sesame!” it has worked magically to produce whatever I’ve desired. 

What Do You Mean? 

This question translates as “Che cosa vuol dire?” (literally, what do you want to say?) If you understand someone’s words, say “ho capito” (Italians use the past tense, “I understood,” to indicated comprehension). If you don’t, “non ho capito.” If you’re stumped by a word, ask, “Che significa questa parola?” (What does this word mean?) 

What Are You Doing? 

“Che fai?” (What are you doing?) you often hear Italians ask their children or friends. To ask a stranger the same question, use the polite form: Che cosa fa? What will you be doing in Italy? Here are some likely activities, in the first person singular. Mangio (I eat). Vado (I go). Vado a piedi (literally I go by foot) or walk. Guardo (I look).  Nuoto (I swim). Compro (I buy). Mi diverto (I enjoy myself). 

What Not to Do 

Italians have a strong sense of what “non si fa” (one doesn’t do). You don’t put cheese on any dish containing fish, for instance, or drink cappuccino after a meal. To avoid more serious missteps, watch out for signs saying “Vietato” (forbidden), such as “Vietato Fumare” (no smoking) and “Vietato l’ingresso” (No entrance). It’s easy to spot a “divieto di sosta” or "sosta vietata" (no parking) sign. Usually there are cars parked right under it. 

What a….! 

Just like the English what, che does double-duty as an exclamation. To sound thoroughly Italian, make liberal use of phrases such as “Che bello!” (how lovely), “Che carino!” (How cute), “Che confusione!” (what a mess) and “Macchè!” (not at all) . 

Words and Expressions 

Che avete? -- what do you have? What’s the matter with you (plural)? 

È una cosa da nulla –- it’s nothing

fare la cosa giusta -- to do the right thing 

Ogni cosa a suo tempo --- there’s a time for everything 

Dianne Hales is author of LA BELLA LINGUA: MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH ITALIAN, THE WORLD'S MOST ENCHANTING LANGUAGE. 

Click below to hear a very different "Che sarà" than the hit from the 1950s:

Who Are You in the Italian Language?

 

 

  

 

Chi? 

Who? 

English speakers declare their identities with a straightforward, “I am.”  Italian, more discreet, uses the phrase “mi chiamo” (I call myself), as in “Mi chiamo Diana.” 

Who “you” are is trickier. You are always “you” in English, regardless of age, gender, rank or number. In Italian you might be tu, te, ti, Lei, La, Le, voi, vi, or (if you happen to be royalty or a pontiff) Loro. Other languages that distinguish between formal and informal terms of address also pose a problem for English speakers, but only in Italian can the choice of a second-person designation spell the difference between bella or brutta figura (a good or bad impression).

The ancient Romans used “tu a tutti,” the casual “you” to everyone, from slave to emperor. In the Middle Ages, their Italian descendents, wanting to accord special respect to worthier persons, began using the plural “voi,” for someone as valuable as two lesser “tu’s.” 

Until well into the twentieth century children and grandchildren said voi out of respect when talking to their parents and grandparents. Many southern Italian dialects that date back to medieval times still use voi as a polite form of address. 

Sometime in the 1500s, probably in the resplendent courts of the day, voi gave way to Lei, the word for “she.” Contrary to a common assumption among Italians, Lei did not derive from the Spanish (who used usted for their formal you), but stands for “Sua eccellenza” (Your Excellency), a feminine noun. And so you address a stranger or casual acquaintance (even if he has significant facial hair and weighs 200 pounds) as a woman and use the third-person rather than the second-person verb forms. 

Mussolini, seeking a more virile language for his macho vision of the Italian nation, substituted the comradely voi, the plural “you all,” for Lei. Throughout the Fascist era, Lei was banned and voi obligatory in schools, public offices, movies, radio and public ceremonies. After the war, Italians reclaimed Lei and abandoned il voi as a form of address for just one person. 

One thing hasn't change over the years, however: the importance of titles. Unless you are young and addressing other ragazzi (kids) your age, do not immediately use first names or il tu. Greet strangers, waiters, shop clerks and casual acquaintances with Signore (Mister), Signora (Madame) or Signorina (Miss). Better yet, use Dottore or Dottoressa for anyone with a laurea (a university degree), Professore or Professoressa for scholars or physicians, Architetto, Ingegnere, Avvocato, etc. for professionals (architect, engineer, lawyer) -- and Onorevole for a legislator. (As an American, I have yet to become comfortable with using my new title of Cavaliere and am startled with an Italian addresses me as such.)

Failure to recognize the importance (and superiority) of someone you are addressing can lead to a classic Italian declaration of self-righteous indignation: Lei non sa chi sono io! (You don’t know who I am!) 

Dianne Hales is the author of LA BELLA LINGUA: MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH ITALIAN, THE WORLD'S MOST ENCHANTING LANGUAGE. 

Words and Expressions 

Posso presentarmi? -- May I Introduce myself? 

Piacere -- Pleased to meet you 

Possiamo darci del tu? -- Can we give each other/use the informal you?

Chissà? Chi lo sa? -- who knows? 

a tu per tu –-- tête a tête, face to face 

You can rock with Umberto Tozzi in this concert presentation of "Tu":

Where Are You Going "to" in the Italian Language?

to

a, in, da

In English just two little letters –- to -- take you everywhere. You can go to church or school, to a shop or a movie, to your home or a friend’s, to a village, city, state, region, island, continent, even to the moon. In Italian, it’s not that simple.

Say you want to go to Italy. Forget “a,” even though it translates as “to.” When heading for a large land mass—a continent, country, or a very big island—you go “in” it, for instance: “Vado in Europa.” (I am going to Europe.) “Andiamo in Italia.” (We are going to Italy). “Vorrei andare in Sardegna.” (I want to go to Sardinia.) Once in Italy, you use “a” for going to Rome, Florence, Pisa, Naples, or other cities—unless you are going “to the city,” in which case you use “in città.” If you’re heading for “the village” (il paese), you say, “Vado in paese.”

You go a casa (to home) or a letto (to bed). But you must include the article when you go “to the” supermarket (al supermercato), the movie theatre (al cinema) or the park (al parco). It’s perfectly correct to go alla banca or in banca (both translate as "to the bank"). With words that end in ia, you go “in”-- in pizzeria, farmacia, salumeria or trattoria. However, if you specify a name, you switch to “a,” as in, “Vado alla pizzeria Tre Pini."  (I am going to the Three Pines Pizzeria.) On Sunday you may go in chiesa (to church) but alla Chiesa di Santa Maria Novella.

If you’re going to see a person rather just to a particular place, you  switch to “da” (translated in my dictionary as a truly all-purpose preposition: “from, by, to, at, for; like, as a; for the purpose of, because of”.) So I make my way da Cinzia (to Cinzia’s) for dinner or invite her to come da noi (to our house). If your tooth aches, you go dal dentista (to the dentist’s). If you get the flu, you get yourself al medico (to the doctor's).  

“A” pops up in many idiomatic expressions. If someone takes a liking to you, Italians say you “andare a genio” or “andare a fagiolo” (you go to his genius—or his bean). Something that’s selling like hot cakes is said to andare a ruba (go at a steal). If a plan falls through, it goes “all’aria” (to the air) or a monte (to the mountain). When you die, you go all aldila (to the hereafter). And, of course, the only way to cook pasta is  al dente (literally, to the tooth).

Words and Expressions

andare all’ inferno -- go to hell

venire al dunque –- to come to the point

andare a zonzo -- to wander about

andare a Canossa –- to eat crow or humble pie, a reference to Henry IV, who travelled to Canossa and stood outside for days awaiting the chance to make amends with Pope Gregory VII

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

"Aloha" Means "Ciao" in the Italian Language

aloha, ciao

hello, goodbye

Both Italian and Hawaiian use a single word for hello and goodbye: ciao and aloha. But that’s not all these two belle lingue have in common. Rich in vowels, lyrical and lovely to listen to in local melodies (preferably on a moonlit beach in either location), both were carefully crafted to capture the souls of their speakers.

In the late Renaissance, wordsmiths in Florence formed l’Accademia della Crusca (Academy of the Bran) to merge their love of food with a passion for the Tuscan vernacular (il volgare toscano) that Dante, Boccaccio and Petrarca had elevated to a fine literary tongue. Determined to separate the linguistic wheat from the chaff,  the Crusconi (Crusty Ones, as they called themselves)  created the first Vocabolario (official dictionary) of any Western society.

At the time no one in the West knew that the necklace of Pacific islands (le isole) even existed. It wasn’t until 1778 that Captain James Cook landed in Kauai and discovered a people with an ancient culture (una cultura antica) but no written language.  The original Hawaiians transmitted their history, genealogy, religion and values through stories (racconti) that one generation told to another and  the intricate dance movements of the hula.

I learned about the origins of the Hawaiian language while enjoying both this classic view of Diamond Head (above) and Sarah Vowell’s Unfamiliar Fishes, a quirkily entertaining account of how New England missionaries transformed an island paradise.   

In order to spread the  word of the Lord (la parola del Signore), the ardent mikanele (missionaries in Hawaiian) needed a bible that the natives (gli indigeni) could study and read. Since there was no written form of their madrelingua (mother tongue), the missionaries had to create one.  Working on the assumption that fewer letters would be easier to learn, they whittled down the standard 26 characters of the English alphabet (alfabeto) to twelve letters: A, E, I, O, U, H, P, L, K, M, N and W.  

Over the next 17 years,  missionaries translated the original Hebrew of the Old Testament and the Greek of the New Testament into the 2,333-page  Ke Kauoha Hou, the Holy Scriptures. They printed 10,000 copies and taught so many men, women and children to read that by 1863, the end of the missionary era, 75 percent of Hawaiians had become literate in their native language.

Like Italian, Hawaiian has words (parole) with multiple meanings that don’t translate easily into English. One is haole, which means ‘foreigner” but, according to Vowell, also refers to “all the pasty-faced explorers, Bible thumpers, whalers, tycoons, con men, soldiers  and vacationers who have washed ashore” over the years (my husband and I, who met in Hawaii, among them).

Haole literally means  " without ha” (breath) while aloha  means “the presence of breath” or the “breath of life.” Foreigners  came to be known as haole because they refused to engage in the traditional Polynesian greeting in which two people touch noses and embrace while breathing in each other’s essence.    

Even though I’ve never had the opportunity for such genial nose-pressing, I’m always happy to return to Hawaii, listen to its lilting language and breathe in its gracious aloha spirit.

Words and Expressions

lingua scritta –- written language

saluti –- greetings

missionario –- missionary

analfabeta -- illiterate

tradizione orale –- oral history

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

Click below to sample the sights and sounds of Hawaii:

 

An Invitation in the Italian Language

invitare

to invite

“Ti va di prendere un caffè?”

I stared blankly at my Italian friend as I tried to translate the simple sentence: taking a coffee goes to you. Huh?

She repeated the question in a more formal way: “Vuoi andare al bar per un caffè?” (Would you like to go to the bar for a coffee?”) I was embarrassed that I hadn’t recognized an invitation when I heard one, but she quickly reassured me that “ti va” is idiomatic, the Italian equivalent of asking, “Do you feel like a coffee?”

As in English, Italian invitations run the gamut from the ultra casual to the punctiliously proper. Here are some of the ways you might ask someone to get something to eat:

    *Hai voglia di mangiare qualcosa con noi? (Literally, do you wish to eat something with us?)

    *Ti piacerebbe mangiare qualcosa con noi? (Would it be pleasing to you to…)

    *Che ne dici di mangiare qualcosa con noi? (What do you say to….)

    *Perché non mangi qualcosa con noi? (Why not….)

Accepting an invitation is straightforward. A simple “si, grazie!” will do, but you can show your delight in being asked by adding, “Certo!” (Sure!) “Con piacere!" (with pleasure) “Volentieri!”(Gladly) “Che bella idea!” (What a lovely idea!) or “Perché no?” (Why not?)

If you’re not sure if you can or want to go,  you have to choose words that convey l’incertezza (uncertainty). “Mah, non so!” (Gee, I don’t know.) “Non sono sicuro” (I’m not sure.) “Può darsi.” (Could be.) "Forse!" (Perhaps)  Or the ubiquitous  "Vediamo." (We’ll see.)

Declinare un invito (declining an invitation) always requires tact. Here are some possiblities:

    *“Mi dispiace, ma non posso.” (I’m sorry but I can’t)

    *“Mi piacerebbe tanto, ma ho già preso un impegno.” (I would love to, but I’ve already made another arrangement.)

    *“Peccato, sarà per la prossima volta!" Too bad, maybe next time!

With a very good friend, you can casually say, “No, grazie, non mi va!” (No, thanks, I don’t feel like it)

An informal invitation to a few close friends (pochi intimi) may be made face to face (di persona) by phone (al telefono) or via e-mail (attraverso la posta elettronica) or text (un messaggio sul cellulare). But certain events == such as a party for a birthday (compleanno), anniversary (anniversario di matrimonio), graduation (laurea), baptism (battesimo) or engagement (fidanzamento) -- require a written invitation.

The text, say Valeria della Valle and Giuseppe Patoto, authors of Le parole giuste (The Correct Words), should be limited to the essentials, centered as follows:

il nome e il cognome di chi fa l’invito (the name and surname of who makes the invitation)

il luogo, la data e l’ora del ricevimento (the place, date and time of the reception)

l’occasione particolare (the special occasion)

Just as in English, an Italian invitation may ask you to“R.S.V.P.”-- from the French répondez s'il vous plaît, meaning “reply please” -- or use the italian equivalent, “È gradita gentile conferma.” Not to respond is brutta figura (bad form), and you might never get invited anywhere again.

Words and Expressions

biglietto d’invito -- invitation card

invitato -- guest

dare un ricevimento -- give a party

un invito a nozze -- literally an invitation to a wedding, used for a great opportunity or a chance to do something easily

Dianne Hales is the author of La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language.

Driving "Il Topolino" in the Italian Language

La Cinquecento

The 500

A few years ago, as my husband and I strolled through Massa Marittima on a quiet Sunday, we realized that the stately Tuscan hill town was being invaded -– by the most adorable little automobiles (le più adorabili automobiline) that we’d ever seen.

From every direction variations on the Fiat Cinquecento (500) — which the Italians fondly call “Il Topolino” ("Little Mouse") -- spun up the winding roads and filled the main piazza. We had inadvertently stumbled upon un raduno delle 500, a meeting of the Fiat 500 enthusiasts who call themselves “cinquecentisti.” Horns (i clacson) honked. Drivers (i guidatori) waved. And then gli innamorati della 500 (the lovers of the 500) sped off into the countryside in a long colorful line (una fila lunga e colorata).

The Cinquecento, Italy’s iconic answer to the Volkswagen beetle, was introduced in 1957 to meet the demands of the burgeoning post-war market created by “il miracolo” (the Italian boom of the 1950s). With its 27-horsepower rear engine (motore) and fuel-efficient design, the car was hailed as "un capolavoro di economia” (a masterpiece of economy).

In addition to the enormously popular two-door coupe (coupé a due porte), Fiat also produced a Giardiniera station wagon, which was longer and provided a usable back seat and a full-length sun roof (tetto apribile). Some of its sports models, such as  the Moretti coupé, la Spiaggina (aka Jolly), and la Bianchina,  became household words. The irresistible signature colors included rosso corallo scuro (dark coral pink), blu scuro (navy blue), avorio antico (antique ivory), azzurro chiaro (light blue), turchese farfalla (butterfly turquoise), giallo Thaiti (Tahitian yellow), and giallo Pechino (Peking yellow).

Over the years Il Topolino appeared on the big screen in many classic Italian films, including Ladri di Biciclette (Bicycle Thieves) and I soliti ignoti (The Usual Unknowns). More recently a Fiat 500 named Luigi, described as “a free-wheeling Italian,"  revved its way into Disney's animated Cars. 

The “Little Mouse” -- called “Bambino” in Australia -- stole hearts around the world. However, the high-maintenance Cinquecento didn’t win over American buyers, and Fiat stopped distributing the cars in the United States in 1983. 

Now that Fiat and Chrysler have joined together in a potentially profitable alliance, the 2012 Fiat 500—hailed by critics as “arguably the cutest small car in the United States”— is taking sull’asfalto Americano (to the American road). Its compact 101-horsepower, four-cylinder engine boasts mileage ratings of 30 mpg in the city and 38 mpg on the highway.

Prices start at $16,000 for a five-speed manual (cambio a cinque marce) and $17,000 for an automatic transmission (cambio automatico). A convertible (decappottabile) will make its American debut by the end of the year.

For more images and information, visit the official English language website. You can read blogs from English-speaking fans here and from Italian cinquecentisti here.

Words and Expressions

il parabrezza -- windshield

gli spruzzatori lava parabrezza –- windshield washers

la portiera –- car door

Il freno -– brake

la targa –- the license plate

Dianne Hales is the author of LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language. A Fiat 500 appears on the cover of the Australian edition:

For a virtual prova su strada (test drive) of the new 2012 Cinquecento on the Motor Trends track, click here. 

Sex Matters in the Italian Language

maschio, femmina

masculine, feminine

“Non vedo l’ora di vedere il mostro!” I declared to a friend in Florence.

When she broke out laughing, I knew I had done it again. I had meant to say, “I can’t wait to see the exhibit (la mostra).” Instead I said I couldn’t wait to see the monster.

This is the difference gender can make in Italian.   I walked into a florist’s and asked for a bunch of flowers. Or so I thought. Instead of un mazzo, I could have ended up with una mazza (a sledgehammer or club). I once said that I adore the scent of lavender—but instead of lo spigo, I said la spiga (ear—as in corn). I’ve complained about a pain, not in the neck (il collo), but in the glue (la colla). I’ve asked for una foglia (leaf) when I wanted un foglio (sheet of paper) to write something down. In my most mortifying strafalcione (linguistic blunder), I proclaimed in a crowded restaurant that my husband and I were enjoying our apartment's view of  the roofs  of Rome—except that instead of the masculine tetti I used the feminine slang tette, which translates as “tits.”

If these transformations weren’t confusing enough, body parts tend to change gender in the plural. Il braccio (arm) becomes le braccia; il sopracciglio (the eyebrow), le sopracciglia; il dito (finger), le dita; il ginocchio (knee), le ginocchia; il labbro (the lip), le labbra; l’osso (the bone), le ossa.

Other words, for no reason I can decipher, also do a gender flip in the plural. A wall, for instance, is masculine: il muro. But put two walls together and they become feminine: le mura. The sheet (il lenzuolo) I put on the bed may be masculine, but the sheets (le lenzuola) I hang up to dry are feminine. I break un uovo (an egg) but scramble le uova (the eggs).

While the words for trees (alberi) are masculine, the names of their fruit are feminine. La mela (the apple) comes from il melo (the apple tree); the cherry (la ciliegia) from il ciliegio (the cherry tree); the peach (la pesca) from il pesco (the peach tree)--but the limone from l'albero di limone. If you want un’arancia but ask for un arancio, you could end up with an orange tree on your plate.

A conversation about animals can be equally confounding. A male cat is a gatto and a female one a gatta, but some animals are always masculine, such as coniglio (rabbit), delfino (dolphin), topo (mouse), corvo (crow),  scoiattolo (squirrel), and  serpente. Others are always feminine: aquila (eagle), balena (whale), pantera (panther), rondine (sparrow), scimmia (monkey), tigre (tiger), vipera (viper), and volpe (fox). A male monkey is una scimmia maschio; a female bunny, un coniglio femmina.

It’s enough to make me want to press la mia fronte (my forehead) against il fronte (front) of the nearest building and sigh.

Gender-Bending Words

Masculine                   Feminine

Il ballo (dance)           la balla (bale, bundle)

il colpo (blow)            la colpa (fault)

il costo (cost)             la costa (coast)

il filo (thread)            la fila (line)

il mento (chin)           la menta (mint)

il pizzo (lace)             la pizza

il porto (port)             la porta (door)

il testo (text)             la testa (head)

il velo (veil)               la vela (sail)

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

Words of and for Women in the Italian Language

Parola di donna

Woman’s word

In English a lawyer — man or woman -- is always a lawyer. In Italian only a male lawyer is an avvocato. Linguists are still debating whether a female with the same credentials should be called an avvocata (a term used in prayers to the Madonna in her role as advocate or protector), avvocatessa (“essa” being the feminine ending in words like dottoressa for a female university graduate), avvocato donna (lawyer lady) or donna avvocato (lady lawyer). The same holds true for architetto (architect), chirurgo (surgeon), magistrato (judge) and other traditionally male professions.

The problem of gender in Italian runs deep, says Professoressa Valeria della Valle in an essay on “Linguaggio” (idiom, language) in the fascinating new book Parola di donna, edited by Ritanna Armeni. 

An ancient proverb declares, “Le parole sono femmine; i fatti sono maschi.” (Words are feminine; deeds are masculine.”) In fact, the Italian language, she contends, is fortemente androcentrica (strongly male-centered), reflecting centuries of disprezzo per le donne (contempt for women.)

The use of feminine endings, which began centuries ago, often reflected ironia e sarcasmo (irony and sarcasm). In the Settecento (1700s), for instance, men coined the term “filosofessa” (female philosopher) to describe, with undisguised scorn, a woman who pretendeva di ragionare e dire la sua (thought she could reason and have her own say ) The same sarcasm appears in more recent terms, such as sindaca (female mayor) and ministra (female minister) as women took on new roles.

This ”lingua del disprezzo” (language of disdain), della Valle notes, is based on a vision of a masculine-centered world. La lingua rispecchia e segue la realtà (language reflects and follows reality). Rather than debating and legislating politically correct terms for male and female professionals, she notes, it is more important to modify and improve the situation (modificare e migliorare la situazione).

In time sexist terms will run their course (esaurire il loro corso), she predicts, remaining only as a historical testament to the past. When the reality (and then the language) change, words will no longer be only feminine and deeds only masculine (le parole non saranno più solo femmine, i fatti non più solo maschi).

I was delighted to find myself living proof of how Italian is moving beyond sexist distinctions. When I was honored recently by the Italian government, I became un cavaliere (knight)—a term that has always been masculine and  now applies to both sexes, with no feminine equivalent of the English “Dame” rather than “Sir.”

“Why should there be?” asked an Italian friend, who quoted another old proverb, one that indicates a fuller appreciation of women: “The arm is masculine, but the head is feminine.” (Il braccio è maschio, ma la testa è femmina.)

Words and Expressions

Il genere umano -- humankind, mankind

Il femminismo -- feminism (masculine), but la femminista (feminist)

Il gentil sesso –- the fair sex (masculine)

il sessismo -- sexism

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