Giuseppe Gioachino
Belli
This site is devoted to the vernacular romanesco sonnets of Belli, one of Italy's greatest poets, 50 of the 429 translated by Michael Sullivan.
1299
Lo stufarolo appuntato
A tajjà in linci e squinci fra ccompaggni
panze-nere par mii cosa sciabbusco?
Viè la sera però ttra er lusch’e ’r brusco
mentre servo li nobbili a li bbaggni.
Sentirai llí che pparoloni maggni!
Llí tte n’accorgerai come m’infusco
a sfoderà ssentenze e a pparlà ttrusco
quanno me pò ffruttà bbravi guadaggni!
Senti che rrispostina arimbrunita
appricai jjer a ssera a un Cardinale
che ddimannò ssi ll’acqua era pulita.
«Questo, Minenza, è un barzimo illustrale,
che annetterebbe ir pelo in de la vita,
senza fà ttorto a llei, puro a un majale».
l. 2 panze-nere: Belli’s note: “Common people, so called black bellies because always exposed to the sun”.
1310
Zia
Che sse vojjino bbene, che da un mese
lui se la porti a spasso oggni matina,
che vvadino a ffà cquarche scappatina
pe li macchiozzi de villa-bborghese,
sin qui cce sto: mma cche sse siino prese
scert’antre libbertà, nnun me cammina.
Questo, credete scerto, sora Nina,
sò ttutte sciarle e invidie der paese.
Pe llui, ppò ddarzi che jje l’abbi chiesta:
ciaverà fforze provo: nun zaprei:
ma in quant’a mmi’ nipote, è ttroppa onesta.
E cche llui né ttant’antri sciscisbei
j’abbino mai potuto arzà la vesta,
questo è ssicuro, e mme l’ha ddetto lei.
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c6/Rome-VillaBorghese-TempleEsculape.jpg
1317
La caccia der Padre Curato
Va’ a ccérca com’er frate abbi saputo
der mi traghetto co la fía d’Ugusto!
Vàll’a ccapí chi sse sii preso gusto
de dàjje er grimardello per ajjuto!
Io so cche mm’entrò in casa muto muto,
e cce comparze in de la stanzia, ggiusto
ner mentre ch’io j’arillacciavo er busto,
che cce fesce stremí, ffrate futtuto!
Visto che mm’ebbe in quer frangente, er frate,
co un voscion da caggnaccio de mascello,
strillò: “Bbestia bbú e vvia, che ccosa fate?”
“Padre curato mio, lei nun ze studi
de famme spaventà”, ddico: “fo cquello
che prdicate voi. Vesto l’iggnudi.”
1389
Er bordello scuperto
Entrato er brigattiere in ner bordello
je se fa avanti serio serio un prete.
Disce: «Chi ssete voi? cosa volete?»
Disce: «La forza, e pportà llei ’n Castello».
Disce: «Nu lo sapete, bberzitello,
co cchi avete da fà? nnu lo sapete?
Aspettate un momento e vvederete,
e ttratanto cacciateve er cappello.
Appena poi che ll’averete visto,
dite a quer zor Vicario der guazzetto
ch’io nun conosco for ch’er Papa e Ccristo».
Detto ch’ebbe accusí, sse scercò addosso,
arzò la su’ man dritta sur zucchetto,
se levò er nero e cce se messe er rosso.
l. 10 Vicario The pope’s vicar as governor of the city of Rome, responsible for public order.
1494
Tòta dar mercante
Dateme un telo de muerre onnato
d’una canna, pe ffà ’na pollacchina
come le scarpe che ss’è mmessa Nina
la dimenica in arbis c’ha sposato.
Eppoi vorebbe doppo una ventina
de parmi de robbetta a bbommercato
de gran figura cor fonno operato
pe ffà ’na bbuttasú de bbammascina.
Eppoi vorebbe puro quarche pparmo
de fittuccia compaggna arta du’ dita
com’e cquella c’ho vvista a Ppiedemarmo.
Ôh, eppoi... ch’edè? nun m’avete capita?
E io bbestia è da un’ora che mme scarmo!
Oh annate annate a vvenne l’acquavita.
1573
Lo scordarello
Di’, tt’aricordi ggnente, Fidirico,
chi era quello ch’er mastro de scòla,
disce c’a ttempi sui fesce sciriola
ar Papa e lo trattò ccome nimmico?
L’ho ssu la punta de la lingua dico,
eppuro... Aspetta un po’, ffiniva in ola.
Andrea? no Andrea; ’na spesce de Nicola
co un antro nome de casato antico.
Cristo! sarà ddu’ ora che cce penzo!
Zitto, zitto ché vviè: Cola da... Ccazzo!
L’ho ttrovo, eccolo cqua: Ccola d’Arienzo.
Sto Cola era ’na bbirba bbuggiarossa:
co ttutto questo, io sciannerebbe a sguazzo
c’ariarzassi la testa da la fossa.
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/c2/ColaDiRienzo.jpg
l. 11 Ccola d’Arienzo: Cola di Rienzo. The late Muzio Mazzocchi Alemanni, one of the great recent scholars of Belli, has suggested that this sonnet is the hinge of Belli’s work, taking Cola di Rienzo as emblematic of the struggle against the forces of oblivion and suppression and of Belli’s effort to build an authentic monument to the commoners of Rome.
1598
Er legge e scrive
E a cche tte serve poi sto scrive e llegge?
Làsselo fà a li preti, a li dottori,
a li frati, a li Re, all’Imperatori,
e a cquelli che jje l’obbriga la Lègge.
Io vedo che cce sò ttanti siggnori
che Ccristo l’arricchissce e li protegge,
e nnun zann’antro che rròtti, scorregge,
sbavijji, e strapazzà li servitori.
Bbuggiarà ssi in ner cor de le famijje
l’imparàssino ar piú li fijji maschi;
ma lo scànnolo grosso è nne le fijje.
Da ste penne e sti libbri mmaledetti
ce vò ttanto a ccapí ccosa ne naschi?
Grilli in testa e un diluvio de bbijjetti.
1622
Chi ccerca trova
Se l’è vvorzúta lui: dunque su’ danno.
Io me n’annavo in giú pp’er fatto mio,
quann’ecco che l’incontro, e jje fo: “Addio”.
Lui passa, e mm’arisponne cojjonanno.
Dico: “Evviva er cornuto”; e er zor Orlanno
(n’è ttistimonio tutto Bborgo-Pio)
strilla: “Ah ccaroggna, impara chi ssò io”;
e ttorna indietro poi come un tiranno.
Come io lo vedde cor cortello in arto,
co la spuma a la bbocca e ll’occhi rossi
cùrreme addosso pe vvenì a l’assarto,
m’impostai cor un zercio e nnun me mossi.
Je fesci fà ttre antri passi, e ar quarto
lo pres’in fronte, e jje scrocchiorno l’ossi.
http://www.lapuntasecca.it/files/frommel-lite-grande.jpg
1641
Er vistí de la ggente
Nun concrude: vedete Sarafina?
Co cquella bbella su’ disinvortura
lei un straccio ch’è un straccio je figura:
se mette un corno e ppare una reggina.
A l’incontrario poi sc’è la spazzina
che, ppò pportà cqualunque accimatura,
è un pajjaccio vistito, fa ppavura,
la pijjate pe un sacco de farina.
S’intenne: tutto sta nne la perzona.
chi è svérta com’e nnoi, la peggio robba
je s’adatta e jje sta ccome la bbona.
Dateme invesce un tripponaccio grosso,
una guercia, una ssciabbola, una gobba:
oggni galantaria je piaggne addosso.
1663
Er bon core de zia
Sentite bben’ a mmé, bbella zitella.
Mó cc’a vvoi padre e mmadre ve sò mmorti,
Vostro zzio s’è incornato che vve porti
co mmé cche ppotrebb’esseve sorella.
Dunque volenno voi ch’io ve sopporti,
stamo in tono e nun famo la ggirella;
perch’io nun vojjo né sservì dd’ombrella
né rraddrizzà li scervellacci storti.
Ggià cche la sorte nun m’ha ddato fijji,
Piuttosto che de fà la guardia a vvoi
è mmejjo ch’er ziggnore v’aripijji.
Ce sem’intesi? Aringrazziam’Iddio.
E ssoprattutto nun ze scordi poi
che cqui in sta casa sce commanno io.
1299
The la-di-da sauna attendant
Yer fink puttin’ me qs before me ps
fer me estate mates make me pay boomin’?
Nah, it’s ’twixt the gloamin’ and the gloomin’
when in the sauna Ah serves VIPs.
It’s there yu’d ’ear the ’ighflutinese!
There yu’d notice the lingo go bloomin’,
brandishin’ the wit an’ talkin’ Moomin,
when it can’t ’elp but fatten up me fees!
Get this ’ere repostee, lean as it’s mean,
Ah gave to a cleric last night came on line
wantin’ to know if the water were clean.
“This ’ere, Rev. Dean, is a balsamic brine
wot ’ud shamperoo the ’air on the bean,
nart personal, ov a pampas swine.”
1310
Auntie
Wot they’re fond, wot it’s a month sin’ ’e firs
picked ’er up after ’er mornin’ coffee,
fer a stroll, a bit o’ innocent glee,
right up be’ind the golf club frew the furze,
Ah’m wiv yer, but wot they done anythin’ worse,
takin’ liberties, there Ah don’t agree.
That, believe you me, Missus Chatterley,
it’s all gossip, an’ the envy folk nurse.
’Im, well, mebbe ’e asked ’er, just to test:
mebbe even ’ad a go: Ah wun’t know:
but as fer my niece, she’s just too ’onest.
An’ not this ’un, nor any of ’er beaux
’as ever managed to ’oik ’er dress,
that is dead certain, ’cos she told me so.
1317
The curate’s manhunt
How on earth did the priestie get to know
o’ me fling with the daughter of O’Marr!
Who on earth had a good old guffaw,
an’ went lend him a jemmy or a crow!
I know he creeps in the house on tip-toe,
an’ bursts into the room, an’ there we are,
me hands busily doin’ up her bra.
He made us jump, that hellfire Holy Joe!
Since he’d got me dead to rights, the priestie,
loud now as the banshee bringin’ ruin,
he howls: “Hwhat’s this? The back wi two beasties?”
“Ah, Father Curate, don’t you go make it
yor work to scare me,” I says: “I’m doin’
what you just preach. I’m clothin’ the nakit.”
l. 14 clothin’ the nakit: to cloth the naked is the third of the “Corporal Works of Mercy”.
1389
The raided brothel
Hwhen in de brothel de Garda was let,
steps forward dis po-faced priest, very po.
He goes: “Hoo are you? To hwot do Oi owe..?”
He goes: “Voice, an’ to follow me get set”.
He goes: “Don’t yer know, young feller well met,
hoo ’tis yer dealin’ with now? Don’t you know?
Well, it won’t be taking me long to show,
meantime you’d do well to doff de helmet.
An’ den when you’ve given me a good scope,
tell de Chief Garda, dat pan o’ wet pap,
Oi only follows Christ and de Pope”.
Den he pats an’ taps about his person,
raises his roit hand to his skullcap,
hwhips off de black, an’ claps de purple on.
l. 4 Voice: in an Irish accent, Vice, from the Vice Squad.
1494
Gwenny at the draper’s
Give me some watered mohair canvas, wide,
no, long a perch, to make a gaberdine
just like to those slippers she wore, Eileen
when she got herself wed at Whitsuntide.
Then what it would take is maybe nineteen
handspans of some fabric on the cheap side
with showy pattern an’ underlay dyed
to make up a slipcoat of bombazine.
An’ then I’d like two handspans of ribbon
same shade two fingers thick with matching grain,
exactly like what I saw in Avon.
Oh, an’ then… you what? I’m not speaking plain?
An’ an hour like an ass I’ve rattled on!
Oh go way go way an’ sell crack cocaine!
1573
A slip o’ memory
Tell us, do yer not remember nowt, Shand,
abart yon chap ower schoolmaster ’ud
’ammer at us wot in ’is time ’e stood
agin the king an’ fought to free the land?
It’s on’t tip o’ me tongue, won’t come to ’and,
an’ yet… Wait a mo’, it ended in ’ood.
Robin? Not Robin: sorta ’Eroblood
an’ a bit more, like ’e belonged a band.
Christ! Two ’ours it’s been makin’ me ache!
’Ush, ’ush it’s comin’: ’Ereward… Blimey!
Got it, that’s it: ’Ereward an’ the Cakes.
This ’Ereward was a right dodgy knave:
no odds, it’d be a famous thing by me
if ’e’d stick ’is ’ead up arta the grave.
l. 5 it ended in ’ood: As in the Italian, the speaker strains to remember a particular rebel against oppression, confusing him, in the shifted context, with various others. Cola di Rienzo, who claimed to be di casato antico - scion of an ancient noble house - was the subject of a play by Engels and of Bulwer Lytton’s novel Rienzi, turned into an opera by Wagner. He attempted to establish a republic in papal Rome, declaring himself tribune in 1347, for which he was declared a heretic.
1589
The three Rs
Now these three Rs, why do yer wanna start?
Stuff fer scholars an’ preachers, it’s their scoff,
an’ Rasputins, Royals’, an’ Romanovs’,
an’ those the law obliges learn the art.
Ah ’ave shook ’ands wiv evry kind o’ toff
- may God keep ’em rich an’ close to ’is ’eart -
an’ they knows no more than to belch an’ fart,
yawn, an’ give the servants a tellin’ off.
It’s a bugger in the ’ome of a nearl
fer ’im to learn ’em to ’is son an’ ’eir:
but the shockin’ scandal is wi’ a girl.
Arta these phones, blogs an’ chatrooms ’ails
- it’s right obvious, don’t it bloody glare? -
celebrity cult an’ filthy e-mails.
1622
Go lookin’, ye’ll find it
It’s him wanted it: his is all the blame.
I’d gone for a stroll, out for a wee dram,
when I comes across him and I go: “Hey, man”.
He shoves right on passed an’ calls me a name.
I says: “Soft, cocky”, an’ Mr Hall-o’-Fame
(they’ll all tell you, the people off the tram)
he screams: “You shite, I’ll larn you who I am”,
an’ like some old damn tyrant, back he came.
When I saw him with that knife in his mitt,
foamin’ at the mouth an’ his eyes all red,
chargin’ at me like a man in a fit,
I sets meself wi a brick, stands my stead,
I let him take three paces, four, that’s it,
at him, an’ mash the bones into his head.
1641
The way people dress
No, it don’t compute: d’yer know Jean Gower?
Wi ’er je ne sais quoi, fascination,
puts a rag on, a dishcloth, she’ll still stun,
she throws on zilch an’ she’s dressed fer power.
As agin ’er, that modiste’s a shower,
she dolls up in one of her creations
she’s a clown in drag, she makes the men run,
think they’re dancin’ wi’ a sack o’ flour.
’S’not ’ard: all depends on ’oo you are.
Chic chicks like us can put on any tat
an’ it looks hand-made for yer by Dior.
I mean, if you take some fat, frumpy dowd,
a bow-legged ’unchie, a squintin’ bat:
anythin’ slinky on ’em just cries aloud.
1663
Auntie’s good ’eart
You best pay ’eed to me, me ’andsome miss.
Nah wot yer dad’s dead an’ yer mam’s gone too,
yer uncle is insistin’ till ’e’s blue
Ah take yer in, me, cud pass fer yer sis.
So if yer want me to put up wi’ you,
let’s be toein’ the line, no take the piss,
’cos Ah won’t provide yer no excuses
nor straighten nobody wot’s lost a screw.
Since Ah ain’t ’ad no kids, an’ seems me fate,
sooner than me watch out fer uncle’s pet
best pop off yersel an’ make a clean slate.
Is that quite straight? Let’s thank God we agree.
An’, to put first things first, never forget
that ’oo commands in this ’ere ’ouse is me.