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.
13
Nunziata e ‘r Caporale;
o contèntete de l’onesto
Titta, lasseme annà: che!, nun te bbasta
de scolà er nerbo cincue vorte e mmezza?
vò’ un bascio? tièllo: vòi n’antra carezza?...
Aà! da capo cor tastamme! oh ttasta.
Ma tte stai fermo? mica sò dde pasta,
che mme smaneggi: mica sò mmonnezza.
Me farai diventà ‘na pera-mezza!
Eppuro te n’ho data una catasta!
E pper un giulio tutto sto strapazzo?
Ma si mme vedi ppiú pe ppiazza Sora...
oh vvia, famme cropí, cc’ho ffreddo, cazzo!
Manco male! oh mmó ppaga. Uh, ancora tremo!
addio: lasseme annà a le cuarantora,
e oggi, si ddio vò, cciarivedemo.
l. 1 Titta: not a female name but the abbreviation of Gianbattista, John-Baptist.
l. 13 cuantora: the public exposition of the Eucharist on the high altar. “Women of all kinds are most devoted to this function”, Belli tells us in a note.
87
Er contratempo
Ecco cqui er bene come incominciò
co la cuggnata de Chicchirichí.
Fascemio a ggatta-sceca cor zizzi,
a ccasa de la sgrinfia de Ciosciò.
Toccava er giro a llei: me s’appoggiò
co cquer tibbi de culo a ssede cqui.
Nun zerv’antro: de sbarzo se svejjò
mi’ fratelluccio che stava a ddormí.
Sentenno quer lavoro sott’a ssé,
lei s’intese le carne a ffriccicà,
e arzò la testa pe ffà un po’ ccescé.
Io me diede a ccapí cch’ero io llà:
allora, a cquer c’ha cconfessato a me,
lei fesce in core: «Je la vojjo dà».
113
Le spacconerie
’Gni sordo-nato dice che ssei l’asso,
e vvòrti l’ammazzati co la pala!
Prz, te fischieno, Marco: tiette bbasso:
c’ereno certi frati de la Scala.
Te vedo, Marco mia, troppo smargiasso,
e cquarchiduna de le tue se sala.
Lassa de spacconà, nun fà er gradasso,
e aricordete er fin dé la scecala.
A ssentí a tté fai sempre Roma e ttoma:
e poi ch’edè? viè spesso e vvolentieri
chi tt’arizzolla e tte ne dà ’na soma.
Ognomo hanno d’avé li su’ mestieri:
chi ffa er boia, chi er re, chi scopa Roma:
sei bbraghieraro tu? ffà li bbraghieri.
l. 4 Belli’s note: “Part of what is said and sung to a boaster, i.e. C’ereno certi frati de la Scala, che dicevano cala cala.” There were certain friars of Santa Maria della Scala who said come down come down.
165
La creazzione der Monno
L’anno che Ggesucristo impastò er monno,
ché pe impastallo ggià cc’era la pasta,
verde lo vorze fà, ggrosso e rritonno,
all’uso d’un cocommero de tasta.
Fesce un zole, una luna, e un mappamonno,
ma de le stelle poi di’ una catasta:
sù uscelli, bbestie immezzo, e ppessci in fonno:
piantò le piante, e ddoppo disse: Abbasta.
Me scordavo de dì cche ccreò ll’omo,
e ccoll’omo la donna, Adamo e Eva;
e jje proibbì de nun toccajje un pomo.
Ma appena che a mmaggnà ll’ebbe viduti,
strillò per Dio con cuanta vosce aveva:
“Ommini da vienì, ssete futtuti”.
185
Er vino novo
Noè, vvedenno in ne la viggna sua,
ch’era cas’-e-bbottega ar zu’ palazzo,
la vita a spampanasse, c’un rampazzo
pesava armeno una descina o ddua,
se spremé in bocca er zugo de quell’ua,
e ddisse: “Bbono, propio bbono cazzo!”
Ma nun essenno avvezzo a sto strapazzo,
n’assaggiò ttroppo, e cce trovò la bbua.
Quer zugo inzomma fesce a llui lo scherzo
che ffa adesso a noantri imbriaconi
stramazzannosce in terra de traverzo.
E ccome llui cascò ssenza carzoni,
ne la sagra scrittura sce sta un verzo
che ddisce: E mmostrò er cazzo e lli cojjoni.
246
Er traghetto
Ahàggnola! a la fine te sciò ttrova
a ppreparamme er barzimo der corno!
Ma ttanto e ttanto me credevi ssciorno
de nun capillo cqua ccosa se cova?
Sputa: chi è cquello c’a la Cchiesa-nova
un quarto fà tte ronneggiava intorno?
eppoi entrò cco tté llí accant’ar forno
da quella donna c’arivenne l’ova?
Io ve vedevo, sai? lui chiotto chiotto
a vvienitte a le tacche, e ttu a gguardallo
co la coda dell’occhi pe dde sotto.
E mmó ccosa sarebbe sto bbarbotto?
Fussi quarche ttumore da riontallo
come jjeri coll’ojjo der cazzotto!
l. 5 Cchiesa-nova
: Santa Maria in Valicella, still today called the New Church, though built at the end of the 16th century
279
La papessa Ggiuvanna
Fu ppropio donna. bbuttò vvia ‘r zinale
prima de tutto e ss’ingaggiò ssordato;
doppo se fesce prete, poi prelato,
e ppoi vescovo, e arfine cardinale.
E cquanno er Papa maschio stiede male,
e mmorze, c’è cchi ddisce, avvelenato,
fu ffatto Papa lei, e straportato
a Ssan Giuvanni su in zedia papale.
Ma cqua sse ssciorze er nodo a la Commedia;
ché ssanbruto je preseno le dojje,
e sficò un pupo llí ssopra la ssedia.
D’allora st’antra ssedia sce fu mmessa
pe ttastà ssotto ar zito de le vojje
si er pontescife sii Papa o Ppapessa.
349
Lotte ar rifresco 3
Già a ssodema e gghimorra ereno cotte
tutte le ggente arrosto com’e ttrijje,
e dde tante mortissime famijje
pe ccaso la scappò cquella de Lotte.
Curze er Padriarca finamente a nnotte
senza mai pijjà ffiato e staccà bbrijje:
ma cqua, ssiconno er zolito, a le fijje
je venne fantasia de fasse fotte.
Ma ppe vvia che nun c’era in quer contorno
neppuro un cazzo d’anima vivente,
disseno: “È bbono tata”: e ll’ubbriacorno.
Poi fatteje du’ smorfie ar dumpennente,
lí dda bbone sorelle inzin’a ggiorno
se spartirno le bbotte alegramente.
362
Li soprani der Monno vecchio
C’era una vorta un Re cche ddar palazzo
mannò ffora a li popoli st’editto:
“Io sò io, e vvoi nun zete un cazzo,
sori vassalli bbuggiaroni, e zzitto.
Io fo ddritto lo storto e storto er dritto:
pòzzo vénneve a ttutti a un tant’er mazzo:
Io, si vve fo impiccà, nun ve strapazzo,
ché la vita e la robba io ve l’affitto.
Chi abbita a sto monno senza er titolo
o dde Papa, o dde Re, o dd’Imperatore,
quello nun pò avé mmai vosce in capitolo”.
Co st’editto annò er boja pe ccuriero,
interroganno tutti in zur tenore;
e arisposeno tutti: “È vvero, è vvero”.
419
Li du’ ladri
Hai da sapé cch’er povero Ghitano
è ffijjo de Chiappino er muratore,
e Llucantonio è ffijjo der decano
che sta co mmonziggnor governatore.
Bbe’, una notte li zzaffi ar Lavatore
li trovonno a ‘na porta ar primo piano,
cuello cor un cortello serratore
e cquesto cquà ccor grimardello in mano.
Li legonno un e ll’antro ar temp’istesso,
li portonno in guardiola, e in cap’a un mese
ar governo je fesceno er proscesso.
Com’è ffinita? a Lluca erba fumaria,
e Gghitano in galerra, ortr’a le spese:
e li scenci accusì vvanno per aria.
13
Nancy an’ the corporal;
or content yerself wiv ’onest pay
Tommy, lemme go, ain’t it enough, oh,
to drain yer rod five times an’ ’alf Ah swear?
Wanna kiss? Take it. Wanna stroke there?
Agh, touchin’ me up again, oh go go.
Will yer stay still? Ah’m not made o’ dough
needs kneadin’, Ah’m not worn out wi wear.
Yer’ll turn me into a bruised old pear!
While ain’t Ah give yer a right good throw!
An’ just one pony fer this jamboree?
If yer ever sees me again up Soho…
Geddoff, lemme get drest, Ah’m cold, fuck me!
That’s better! Now pay up. Ugh, still shiverin’.
So long: let me getta Mass, gotta go…
an’ God willin’, Ah’ll see yer later on this evenin’.
87
The cock-up
Well, ’ere is ’ow Ah got me big time win
wi the sister-in-law o’ Swollencap.
Playin’ “Blindman, Sit”, ’ow yer says “Me”,’s the trap,
in the pad Darkpantin’s slap is rentin’.
It were ’er go at bein’ “It”: she settles in
wi that lovely arse ov ’ers on me lap.
That were it: sudden ’e’s up an’ stirrin’
is me wee brother, fro’ a lengthy nap.
Feelin’ under ’er that gettin’ busy,
’er flesh goes into a wrigglin’ fidgit,
an’ she ups’er ’ead to snatch a quick peek.
Ah lets known it were on me she were sit:
then, as she lets out later in the week,
she tells ’ersell: “Ah wannna give ’im it”.
l. 3 Belli’s note runs: “A party game. A blindfold person goes around here or there sitting on the knees of this or that. He/she offers with a hiss through the teeth the two syllables zizzi, and with the same reply from him or her, must guess who it is. If he/she guesses, the blindfold is passed on to the person recognised, otherwise the round goes on”.
113
Over the top
As the ace o’ trumps ye’re known to every deaf-born chile,
an’ yer lays out thick wi a trowel evry kilt copper!
Phew, they’re squeezing farts at yer, Mark: keep a low profile:
Vaunt the bags ov ’ops yer’ve picked we see yer’ve come a cropper.
Ay knows yer, Mark, yer’re too much the braggart by a mile,
an’ lots o’folk ’ave bottled fer yer at least one whopper.
Stop all o’ this boastin’, don’t be so top crass, clamp yer style
an’ keep clear in mind the old proverb o’ yon grass’opper.
To ’ear you talk, evryone an’ evrythin’ is yer meat,
an’ then wot ’appens? Offen an’ gladly the yen is felt
by some ’ard knuckler to lump an’ bloody yer a real treat.
Each an’ all ov us ’as to play art the hand we’s dealt:
thissun works as ’angman, thissun king, thissun sweeps the street:
ye’re an ’ernia belt maker? Make ’ernia belts.
Title: Le spacconerie is too good a sonnet to miss, witty and pungent. However, the closure and climax runs: sei bbraghieraro tu? ffa’ li bbrahieri. Without changing the trade of Marco, the addressee - “in no way suited to unbeaten heroes” (Teodonio) - this will not fit into a pentameter. That, and the need at l. 4 to invent a proverb, lengthened the line to a fourteener, a measure not unknown to the sonnet in English. This is the only one of 429 sonnets of which the metre is not basically pentameter.
165
The creation of the world
The year Jesus gave the world its mould
– the dough ’e needed were on the spot –
’e went for green, big, and so it rolled,
more like to a water-melon than not.
’E made a sun, a moon, an’ earth wiv poles,
but wiv the stars ’e went for jackpot;
birds in the air, beasts on land, fish in shoals:
’e plants the plants an’ goes: “That’s yer lot”.
Oh, I forgotta say ’e created man
an’ wiv man woman, Adam and Eve;
an’ on eatin’ the apple ’e puts a ban.
But they’ve eaten it, ’aven’t they, when ’e looked
an’ by God don’t ’e bawl in a right peeve:
“Folks o’ the future, y’er fuckin’ fucked”.
185
New wine
Noah ’ad this vineyard of ’is own
next door to where ’is manor stood,
’e saw it ripen till one bunch would
weigh ten, twelve pound all alone.
’E squeezed it in ’is mouth to miss the stones
an’ said: “Good, bloody fuckin’ good!”
But not bein’ used to it from childhood
’e drank way too much an’ ended prone.
For this same sauce played on old Noah
the trick whereby it always sprawls
us drunkards senseless on the floor.
An’ seein’ ’e wasn’t wearin’ smalls,
it says in Genesis, at chapter four,
“’An’ ‘e did make a show o’ cock and balls”.
l. 13 Belli merely mentions “Holy Writ”. The episode occurs in fact in Genesis IX, 21-23.
246
Draggin’
Caught red-’anded! Fer you it’s right over,
I knows yer’ve just let yer knickers drop!
Did yer think, did ter think me such a slop
I would never click wot yer were a rover?
Spit it out: ’oo were that at the Chiesa Nova
’arf ’our ago, skippin’ round yer ’ippetty ’op
an ’e goes in wi’ yer next to baker’s shop,
in ’er place, wot sells up fish from Dover?
I saw yer, yer know, ’im creepin’ like a cat
beyind yer ’eels, an’ you under yer brim
squintin’ the come ’ither at yon prat.
An’ now what is it yer mutterin’ at?
Cun’t be yer feart I might just baste ’im,
like yesterday’s, wi’ a bit a knuckle fat!
279
Pope Joan
She were all woman. No apron-strings
for ’er, goes off to take a soldier’s pay,
gets made priest, an’ she’s on ’er way,
prelate, bishop, an’ a cardinal’s ring.
An’ when the ’e-pope starts ailin’,
drops down dead, poisoned some say,
she’s made pope, an’ then one fine day
they tote ’er the Lateran in that chair thing.
Well, that’s when it gets near the bone;
’cos all at once on comes these pangs,
she divulves this kid there on the throne.
Since when the throne is kinda seatless,
so they can grope an’ feel what ’angs,
an’ know if the pontiff’s pope or popess.
349
Lot outdoors 3
Sodom an’ Gomorrah was meant to cook,
the ’ole lot, like mullets on the flame,
for the mortitude of ’em was to blame -
only Lot an’ ’is lot got out by luck.
The patriarch galloped till darkness struck,
stuck in the saddle till the ’orse went lame,
an’ then ’is daughters, their usual game,
felt the itch come on ’em to get a fuck.
Now since there weren’t a fucker in sight,
out of all the pricks not one manjack,
they says: “Dad ’as one”, an’ got ’im tight.
As for ’is tackle, well, they made a crack,
but the fair sisters then spent the night
right ’andsomely sharin’ out the whacks.
362
The old time monorchs
This king once from the palace gates
gave out to the people this remit:
“I am I, an’ y’er shite, mates,
just buggered-up serfs, so shut it.
I makes the straight bent an’ the bent legit:
I can sell the whole lot so much the crate:
me, should I ’ang yer, ’sthe goin’ rate,
since yer gear an’ yer life, I rents you it.
Live in the world without the clout
what we ’as, emperor or pope or king,
I mean, you ain’t entitled to say nowt”.
’Angman it was took around the news:
an’ when ’e quizzed ’em on the meanin’
didn’t the lot of ’em say: “Fair dos, fair dos”.
419
The two thieves
I just gotta tell yer abart poor Noah
ve brickie’s son, vat’s it, Grimshaw,
an’ Luke, vat’s son o’ the ’ead gofer,
’im verks close viv ve Sergeant-at-Law.
Vell, one night rozzers arta Pershore
finds ’em ve flats, right in front a door,
’im vat’s ’oldin’ this sharp-tooth saw
an’ t’other got this jemmy in ’is paw.
Vey cuffs ’em afore vey can even speak,
down to the cells, a four-veek spell,
an’ vey’re up the Bailey viv ve beak.
Ferdicht? For Luke ain’t no charge at all,
an’ fer Noah, it’s jug, viv costs as vell:
an’ so the ragged-arsed go to ve vall.