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 

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

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