Becoming Italian Word by Word

Getting Emotional in the Italian Language

Le emozioni

Emotions

Are Italians more emotional? (Sono più emotivi, gli italiani?)

I cannot speak for Italy’s 60 million citizens, but l’italiano certainly echoes with emotionalism (a word with several Italian equivalents: emotività, emozionalità, temperamento emotico). In Italian the verb emozionare translates as "to thrill or excite." And la bella lingua certainly does.

While English-speakers “feel” an emotion, Italians use, not just the verb sentire, but also provare, which can translate as try, test, prove, experience—and try on (as in clothes). The first time I heard an Italian exclaim, “Provo disgusto!”(I feel disgust), I thought she was “trying on” a sense of outrage— quite effectively. You can also “have” emotions in Italian, as in avere paura (to have fear, which implies a sense of both possessing and being possessed).

As in English, le emozioni can be positive o negative. Simply reciting a sampling of positive feelings—coraggio (courage), felicità (happiness), gioia (joy), ottimismo (optimism), soddisfazione (satisfaction), sollievo (relief), speranza (hope)—creates a profound sense of calma (calm). Negative emotions like agitazione (agitation), disperazione (despair), irritazione (irritation), odio (hate) and rabbia (anger) practically whip the soul into a frenzy (which translates into the delectable word forsennatezza).

For students of Italian, emotions are great vocabulary builders because when you learn a noun, such as frustrazione, you can usually figure out the corresponding adjective (frustrato). But stai attento (pay attention)!

You may feel noia (boredom), but you are annoiato (bored). You may experience piacere (pleasure) but you are compiacuto (pleased). And when you respond with compassione, you become compassionevole. Essere vergognoso means to be shy if referring to someone but shameful if referring to something.

So how else might you feel in Italian? Here are some possibilities:

arrabbiato -– annoyed or angry

contento –- content or happy

deluso -- disappointed

eccitato -- excited

imbarazzato –- embarassed

orgoglioso -– proud

scandalizzato -- shocked, outraged

sconvolto -- upset

sentimentale -- romantic, sentimental

sorpreso –- surprised

spiacente –- sorry

triste -- sad

If someone points out that you’re being sensibile, this doesn’t mean you’re practical and level-headed. In Italian, sensibile translates as "sensitive"—which is not such a bad thing to be. You can find a useful lesson and audio guide to the emotions at dante-learning online language school.  

Words and Expressions

Meglio aver paura che buscarne –- better to be afraid than to be sorry.

Esserci del tenero –- “to be some tender in it,” a way of describing a romantic bond between two people

Contento lui, contenti tutti -– “happy he, happy everyone”; as long as he’s happy

Ferire i sentimenti di qualcuno –- to hurt someone’s feelings

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

Click below  for a lilting ode to the emotions:

 

Can the Italian Language Change Your Personality?

La lingua e la personalità

Language and Personality

“Learning a new language is like growing a new head,” a European friend told me long ago. “You see with new eyes, hear with new ears, speak with a new tongue.” Neuro-imaging has proved her right: The mental gymnastics of groping for even the simplest words in a different language ignites brand new clusters of neurons and synapses.

But can a foreign language (una lingua straniera) also change your personality (cambiare la tua personalità)? Scholars, who have debated this topic (l’argomento) for decades, distinguish between being bilingual (bilingue) and being bicultural (biculturale). One is about vocabulary (vocabolario) and grammar (grammatica); the other, about absorbing a deeper dimension of life in a country and culture other than your own.

Even “crib” bilinguals raised in two languages or those who live in a foreign nation for many years may show different aspects of their personalities in their two tongues. For an Italian who emigrates to the United States, for instance, speaking his mother tongue (madrelingua) may conjure feelings of family and home, whereas English may “prime” him to think of school and work. And so the same person may seem warmer (più caldo) and more emotional (più emotivo) in Italian and colder (più freddo) and more reserved (cauto, chiuso) in English.

When tested in different languages, people are more likely to fall into a “cognitive trap” (una trappola cognitiva) and answer with an obvious-seeming but wrong answer in their native language—in part because working in a second language focuses and slows down thinking. As you’d expect, people feel more spontaneous, more free and easy -- disinvolta, in Italian—in the language they were reared in from childhood. But often without realizing it, a second language (seconda lingua), even when acquired in adulthood, can transform speakers (parlanti).

In a recent essay  Filomena Fuduli Sorrentino, an Italian teacher in New York State, observed that when Italians who have left Italy for years return on vacation, Italians recognize them as ex-pats as soon as they enter a store or restaurant (appena entrano in un negozio o in un ristorante) even when they speak perfect Italian or speak in their dialect of origin (anche se parlano un italiano perfetto oppure parlano il loro dialetto di origine.) The reason: their subtly transformed “Americanized” personalities reflect another culture (riflettono un’altra cultura).

I’ve seen different transformations in Italian classes. Quiet Cathy blossoms into charming Caterina; tough-talking Tony morphs into tender-hearted Antonio. As for me, when I trade in Dianne for Diana, I enter a parallel universe (un universo parallelo) where I wear my heels higher and my necklines lower, dance barefoot under the Tuscan moon, and chat (chiacchiero) about anything with anyone. And Diana, the inner Italian, definitely has more fun than Dianne, the American workaholic.

What about you? Does speaking Italian change your personality? Dimmi come. (Tell me how.)

Words and Expressions

linguaggio — language, speech, idiom

avere il dono delle lingue — have the gift of languages

lingua di terra — tongue of land, spit of land

padroneggiare una lingua or avere padronanza di una lingua — to master a language 

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

The Little Words that Spice Up the Italian Language

 

 

Intercalari

Casual words and phrases inserted into sentences

“Your Italian is good” (“E buono, il tuo italiano”), a Roman friend once told me, “but it doesn’t sound Italian” (“ma non suona italiano”). I now know why: a lack of “intercalari.”

I may have amassed an impressive vocabulary (vocabolario), mastered the basic verb conjugations (conjugazioni), and even wrangled some sense of the elusive subjunctive (congiutivo). But I hadn’t mastered the words that add zest to everyday Italian.

In an enlightening post , Riccardo Cristiani, creator of the dante-learning online language school, defines these Italian inventions as “fragments, specific words used outside the canonical structure of a sentence, very common in the Italian spoken language.”

“Intercalari,” he explains, “are like parsley (prezzemolo).” The trick is using just enough to spice up a conversation but not so many that they overwhelm what you’re trying to say.

Allora, for instance, serves as a way to grab someone’s attention or prompt a response or reaction, as in “Allora, che fai?” (Hey, what are you doing?) or “Allora, andiamo!” (Well, let’s get going!).

At the beginning of a sentence, dunque serves as a way of buying time and filling the silence when you don’t know what to say or need a moment to collect your thoughts. However, in a phrase like “Penso, dunque sono” (I think, therefore I am), it takes on a completely different meaning.

“Insomma, basta! Smettetela di urlare!” I’ve heard exasperated mothers snap. "Enough already! Stop screaming!" In addition to irritation or impatience, insomma serves as a laconic reply to something you don’t agree with or like. If you ask a friend if he enjoyed a party, and he responds, “Insomma…” he's telling you, “Not really.”

Other intercalari, such as capito (understood) or proprio (indeed), function like “you know” in English, a way of making sure that the other person is listening and understanding what you’re saying.

Interiezioni are a type of intercalari, usually shorter ways of expressing an emotion. I find them even trickier because the same sound can have different meanings, depending on intensity and intonation.

Take the little word  boh, which seems to serve as an alternative to the standard trio of yes, no, and maybe (si, no e forse). Yet when I tried dropping a boh into a casual conversation, an American living in Italy suggested that I probably meant beh. More or less the equivalent of “who knows," "no idea" or "dunno," boh can express indifference, doubt, confusion, disbelief, scorn or contempt, depending on the situation and the intonation.

Just like “well," "then," "so" or "the fact is,” beh reinforces a sense of reluctance or hesitation in expressing a different opinion. If you comment that Angelina Jolie is a terrific actress, an Italian might say, “Beh, è senz’altro bellissima, ma a me non sembra mica così brava” (Well, she’s certainly beautiful, but to me she doesn’t seem all that good).

Words and Expressions

ahimè --“Alas!” A sigh that says it all

infatti -- this sounds like “in fact” and means the same

mah! -- this singular syllable gives voice to doubt, uncertainty, disapproval, disbelief or perplexity.

mica -- this adverb generally means “not at all” or “not in the least

uffa! –- phooey!

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

Why So Many People Want to Learn the Italian Language

Perché si studia l’italiano?

Why study Italian?

Many years ago when I began my Italian education, an entrepreneur in San Francisco asked if I could have chosen a less practical language. I could see his point. Only four countries other than Italy—Switzerland, Croatia, San Marino, and Slovenia—recognize Italian as an official language. No scientific society, multinational trade association, or global enterprise, even if based in Italy, requires Italian as its lingua franca. And certainly tourists in Italy can get by with a smile and a ciao in a country that has been serving, seducing, and satisfying foreigners for centuries.

With only an estimated 60 million native speakers (compared to a whopping 1.8 billion who claim at least a little English), Italian barely eclipses Urdu, Pakistan’s official language, for nineteenth place as a spoken tongue. Yet Italian ranks fourth among the world’s most studied languages—after English, Spanish, and French.

Why do so many people want to learn Italian? Recently Riccardo Cristiani, founder of the online school Dante-Learning, posed this question to his Internet followers. Here are some of the answers:

*“L’italiano è la lingua dei miei parenti.” Italian is the language of my relatives.

*"Perché voglio vivere in Italia” Because I want to live in Italy.

*"Perché l’italiano è la lingua più romantica nel mondo.” Because Italian is the most romantic language in the world.

*"Perché posso.” Because I can.  

*"Perché sono pazza.. Chi studia italiano è un po’ pazzo perché la grammatica italiana fa impazzire!” Because I’m crazy. Those who study Italian are a little crazy because Italian grammar makes you crazy.

In her blog “not just another dolce vita” Sarah Mastroianni  eloquently captured the real reason so many of us learn Italian:

“We don’t study Italian because we need to, like everyone who studies English does … Our jobs, (well, most of them), our livelihoods, our families don’t depend on our knowledge of la bella lingua. But maybe that’s just it, the beautiful part of it all. We study Italian because we want to, not because we need to. Because the music of the language moves us to learn it, to engage in this ‘impracticality,’ to throw some of our precious time to the wind and do something simple for the pleasure of being able to pronounce words like piacere.”

She also describe a conversation she had last summer with the owner of a language school in Rome:

“‘Sarah,’ he said, cigarette in hand, leaning casually on the railing of one of the school’s small balconies. ‘In this Italian school, we used to share space with an English school. Our two sets of students were completely different. The English ones, well, they didn’t want to come to class, they walked around with their heads down, all gray, you know.

'But the ones who were studying Italian,’ his eyes lit up and his voice took on a breathy quality. ‘Sarah, the ones who were studying Italian were just more…’ He waved his hand casually as he searched for the word. It didn’t take him long before he plucked it out of the Roman sunshine and gave it to me through a slow smile.

'Beautiful!’”

Sono d’accordo. (I agree.) La bella lingua makes a soul bella too.

Why do you want to learn Italian? I’d love to hear from you, either with a comment here or on the LA BELLA LINGUA Facebook page.  Viva l'italiano!

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 a lovely tribute to la lingua italiana and here for the lyrics:

Learning from Mistakes in the Italian Language

Sbagliando si impara

You learn from mistakes

by Kevin Lomas

I remember it well: Easter 2003. Armed with only the basics of Italian, I found myself at a family lunch, but not just any old family lunch -- lunch with the Sicilian family of my partner Gaetano. Having just recently welcomed me into its midst, the family treated me with the upmost respect and kindness.

Gaetano's mother had cooked my favorite-- huge pink prawns called gamberoni. I sat there staring into my plate and daring only to utter the occasional "'per favore" and "grazie" when I realized I was in the perfect situation to say something more than "Passami il sale."

I muddled over several possible comments, when suddenly I had an epiphany. As in many Sicilian families, who had been through lean times, hardship and a world war or two, when it came to food, nothing was wasted. I was a little perturbed to see the family merrily sucking away at what I was assured was "the best part" of the prawn: its head!

Typically British, I flayed my prawn to within an inch of its life until I was left with only the succulent sweet rosy flesh. I had no intention of trying this "brain food," but that didn't mean somebody else might not like mine.

I pieced together what I thought was the correct and polite way of offering Gaetano's mother my prawn heads. I sort of knew I had to use the formal. I sort of knew the word for "suck" but was completely stumped with the word for "head." Having done French at school some 20 years before, I deduced that the root of the word must be the same in both Romance languages.

Imagine the scene: Fifteen people all trying to be heard above each other when a well-timed cough brings the entire table to a standstill. Fifteen heads turn towards me. I clear my throat, prawn head held aloft, and, turning to face Mamma Giglio. confidently blurt: "Mi scusa, signora, vuole succhiare le mie tette?"

Complete pandemonium ensued! Signor Giglio spat a well-timed olive pit, which pinged off a group of wine bottles as all the kids dived under the table howling with laughter. The adults whooped and clapped as Signor Giglio banged his gnarly fist on the table top, making the cutlery and glasses clatter and shake. And there sat Gaetano's kindly seventy-something mother, red faced, with tears streaming down her cheeks, laughing and laughing like there was no tomorrow!

I couldn't understand what was wrong until Gaetano declared, through feigned smile and gritted teeth, that I had just asked his dear sweet old mother, in front of all the family, if she would like to "suck my nipples!"

As I swiftly learned and will never forget, teste should have been the word of choice. Of course, all was forgiven, although the family never fails to remind me of that unforgettable lunch every time we sit down to a plate of frutti di mare.

[Thank you, Kevin, for this guest post. I confess to a similar embarrassing error: At a crowded restaurant, I described the wonderful view from our apartment of the roofs of Rome. But instead of the masculine tetti (pronounced tet-tee), I too used  tette (tet-tay--and slang for "tits"). If other students of Italian  have learned from linguistic mistakes, I’d love to hear from you.]  

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