LI FRATI D'UN PAESE (The Friers of The Village)
Senti sto fatto. Un giorno de st'istate
Lavoravo ar convento de Genzano,
E ssentivo de sopra ch'er guardiano
Tirava giù biastime a carrettate;
Perché, essenno le gente aridunate
Per cantà la novena a ssan Cazziano,
Cerca qua, chiama là, quer zagristano
Drento a le celle nun trovava un frate.
Era vicino a notte, e un pispillorio
Già se sentiva in de la chiesa piena,
Quanno senti che ffa ppadre Grigorio.
Curze a intoccà la tevola de cena,
E appena che fu empito er refettorio
Disse: "Alò, frati porchi, a la novena!".
English
Listen to this story. During last summer one day
I was working at the monastery in Genzano [1] ,
When I heard upstairs the sacristan
Swearing like a trooper.
Because while the people had gathered
To sing the novena [2] for St.Cassian,
The sacristan, looking for the friars high and low,
Could not find any of them in their rooms.
Night was approaching, and a whispering
Already came from the crowded church,
So listen what Father Gregory did.
He ran to sound the dinner bell
And as soon as the refectory was full
Said: "Hurry up, lousy friars, to the novena!"
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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ER LOGOTENENTE (The Lieutenant)
Come intese a ciarlà der cavalletto,
Presto io curze dar zor Logotenente:
"Mi' marito... Eccellenza... è un poveretto
Pe carità... Ché nun ha ffatto gnente".
Dice: "Mettet'a ssede". Io me ce metto.
Lui cor un zenno manna via la gente:
Po' me s'accosta: "Dimme un po' gruggnetto,
Tu' marito lo vòi reo o innocente?"
"Innocente", dich'io; e lui: "Ciò gusto"
E detto-fatto quer faccia d'abbreo
Me schiaffa la man-dritta drent'ar busto.
Io sbarzo in piede, e strillo: "Eh sor cazzeo..."
E lui: "Fijola, quer ch'è giusto è giusto:
Annate via: vostro marito è reo".
English
As soon as I heard about the judicial punishment [1]
I hurried to the Lieutenant:
"Your Excellency, my husband is a poor fellow...
For goodness sake...he didn't do anything wrong".
He says: "Sit down". I sit.
He waves the other people away:
Then he comes close to me: "Now tell me, pretty face,
Do you want your husband guilty or innocent?"
"Innocent" I say; he says: "I'm glad";
And straight away that loathsome fellow [2]
Tucks his right hand inside my corset.
I jump up, and shout: "Hey you fool..."
He says: "My dear, fair's fair:
Go away: your husband's guilty".
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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LA PORTERIA DER CONVENTO (The Monastery's Porter)
Dico: "Se pò pparlà cor padr'Ilario?"
Dice: "Per oggi no, perché confessa". --
"E doppo confessato?" -- "Ha da dì messa". --
"E doppo detto messa?" -- "Cià er breviario".
Dico: "Fate er zervizzio, fra Maccario,
D'avvisallo ch'è cosa ch'interessa".
Dice: "Ah, qualunque cosa oggi è l'istessa,
Perché nun pò lassà er confessionario".
"Pacenza", dico: "j'avevo portata,
Pe quell'affare che v'avevo detto,
Ste poche libbre qui de cioccolata...".
Dice: "Aspettate, fijo benedetto,
Pe via che, quanno è ppropio una chiamata
De premura, lui viè: mo ciarifretto".
English
I said [1] : "May I speak to father Hillary?"
He said: "Not today: he administers confession". --
"And after confession?" -- "He must say mass". --
"And after saying mass?" -- "He'll say the breviary".
I said: "Do me a favour, friar Maccario,
Tell him it's something that might interest him".
He said: "Ah, today anything would be just the same,
Because he can't leave the confessional".
"Never mind", I said: "because of that
Business I had mentioned you, I had brought him
These few pounds of chocolate..."
He said: "Wait, my dear,
Because when it's really an urgent matter
He does come, I'll think about it".
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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ER ZAGRIFIZZIO D'ABBRAMO III (Abraham's Sacrifice 3)
"Pacenza", dice Isacco ar zu' padraccio,
Se butta s'una pietra inginocchione,
E quer boja de padre arza er marraccio
Tra cap'e collo ar povero cojone.
"Fermete, Abbramo: nun calà quer braccio",
Strilla un Angiolo allora da un cantone:
"Dio te vorze provà co sto setaccio..."
Bee, bee... Chi è quest'antro! è un pecorone.
Inzomma, amici cari, io già sso' stracco
D'ariccontavve er fatto a la distesa.
La pecora morì: fu sarvo Isacco:
E quella pietra che m'avete intesa
Mentovà ssur più bello de l'acciacco,
Sta a Roma, in Borgo-novo, in d'una chiesa.
English
"I resign myself", said Isaac to his evil father,
Dropping to his knees over a stone,
And that wicked father raised the knife [1]
Over the neck of the poor fool.
"Stop, Abraham: don't let your arm down",
Cried an Angel from a corner:
"God wanted to put you to the test..."
Baa, baa... Who's there! a ram.
In conclusion, dear friends, I'm now tired
of telling you the story in full.
The ram died: Isaac was saved:
And that stone you heard me mention
At the crucial stage of this abuse,
Is in Rome, in Borgo Nuovo, in a church [2] .
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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ER ZAGRIFIZZIO D'ABBRAMO II (Abraham's Sacrifice 2)
Doppo fatta un boccon de colazzione
Partirno tutt'e quattro a giorno chiaro,
E camminorno sempre in orazzione
Pe quarche mijo ppiù der centinaro.
"Semo arrivati: alò", disse er vecchione,
"Incollete er fascetto, fijo caro",
Poi, vortannose in là, fece ar garzone:
"Aspettateme qui voi cor zomaro".
Saliva Isacco, e diceva: "Papà,
Ma diteme, la vittima indov'è"?
E lui j'arisponneva: "Un po' ppiù in là".
Ma quanno finarmente furno sù,
Strillò Abbramo ar fijolo: "Isacco, a tte,
Faccia a tterra: la vittima sei tu".
English
II
After having a little breakfast
All four of them left at dawn,
And walked in prayer
A bit further than one hundred miles.
"Here we are: come on", said the old man,
"Take the bundle, dear son",
Then, turning towards the servant, he told him:
"You wait here with the donkey".
While climbing, Isaac asked: "Daddy,
Tell me, where's the victim?"
And he answered: "A bit further on".
But when they finally reached the top,
Abraham cried to his son: "Isaac, it's up to you,
Lay face down: you are the victim".
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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LI SPIRITI III (Ghosts 3)
Tu conoschi la moje de Fichetto:
Bè, lei giura e spergiura ch'er zu' nonno,
Stanno una notte tra la vej'e 'r zonno,
Se sentì ffà un zospiro accapalletto.
Arzò la testa, e ne sentì un siconno.
Allora lui cor fiato ch'ebbe in petto
Strillò: Spirito bono o maledetto,
Di' da parte de Dio; che cerchi ar monno?"
Dice: "Io mill'anni addietro ero Badessa,
E in sto logo che stava er dormitorio
Cor un cetrolo me sfonnai la fessa.
Da' un scudo ar piggionante, a don Libborio,
Pe ffamme li sorcismi e dì una messa,
Si me vòi libberà dar purgatorio".
English
III
You know Fichetto's [2] wife:
Well, she swears that her grandfather
One night while half-asleep
Heard a sigh coming from his bedhead.
He raised his head, and he heard a second one.
So with all his breath
He cried: "Good or evil spirit,
Tell me for God's sake; what are you looking for?"
It said: "A thousand years ago I was an Abbess,
And in this place where the dormitory stood
I was penetrated by a gherkin [3] .
Give one shilling to Father Liborio, the lodger,
To perform an exorcism and to say mass,
If you want to free me from purgatory".
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
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ER VOTO (The Vow)
Senti st'antra. A Ssan Pietro e Marcellino
Ce stanno certe moniche befane,
C'aveveno pe voto er contentino
De maggnà ttutto-quanto co le mane.
Vedi si una forchetta e un cucchiarino,
Si un cortelluccio pe ttajacce er pane,
Abbi da offenne Iddio! N'antro tantino
Leccaveno cor muso com'er cane!
Pio Ottavo però, bona-momoria,
Che vedde una matina quer porcaro,
Je disse: "Madre, e che vò dì sta storia?
Sete state avvezzate ar monnezzaro?!
Che voto! un cazzo. A dio pò dasse groria
Puro co la forchetta e cor cucchiaro".
English
Listen to this one. At San Pietro e Marcellino's church
There are such nasty nuns,
Who, as a vow, had the bad habit
Of eating food using their bare hands [1] .
Just imagine if a fork and a spoon,
A small knife for cutting bread,
Could be an offence to God! They almost
Licked the dish like dogs!
But the late Pius the Eighth,
Who one day saw that filth,
Told them: "Mother, what does all this mean?
Have you been brought up in a dump?
Damn that vow! God can be praised
Although using a fork and a spoon".
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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What is—
215
What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—
Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—
You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
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Intimacy
I hear people say, "I love my iPhone, "
Or, "I love drinking a Starbucks coffee."
Sometimes: "I love my Versace cologne, "
And also: "I love having this money."
I hear people say, "I love my Walmart, "
Or, "I love the drive-thru at Taco Bell."
"I love my TV. It's state of the art."
"I love the shoes that Nike has to sell."
I hear this: "I love American Idol, "
And, "I love a nice, cold Budweiser."
"I love medicines such as Demerol."
And, "I love my internet provider."
Yet, one thing I don't hear is, "I love you."
Saying that is too intimate to do.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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L'INNUSTRIA (Striving)
Un giorno che arrestai propio a la fetta,
Senz'avé manco l'arma d'un quadrino,
Senti che cosa fo: curro ar camino
E roppo in quattro pezzi la paletta.
Poi me l'invorto sott'a la giacchetta,
E vado a spasso pe Campovaccino
A aspettà quarche ingrese milordino
Da daje una corcata co l'accetta.
De fatti, ecco che viè quer c'aspettavo.
"Siggnore, guardi un po' quest'anticaja
C'avemo trovo jeri in de lo scavo?"
Lui se ficca l'occhiali, la scannaja,
Me mette in mano un scudo e dice: "Bravo!"
E accusì a Roma se pela la quaja.
English
One day, I had really gone penniless,
I had no money at all,
And this is what I did: I ran to the fire-place
And broke the shovel into four pieces.
Then I wrapped it up in my jacket,
And went walking along Campo Vaccino [1] ,
Waiting for some sofisticated English gentleman [2] ,
So to swindle him well.
And what I was waiting for, actually happened.
"Sir, would you take a look at this antique
We found yesterday while excavating?"
He wears his glasses, examines it,
Gives me a shilling and says: "Good job!"
In Rome, this is how we scrape a living.
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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You're right—
234
You're right—"the way is narrow"—
And "difficult the Gate"—
And "few there be"—Correct again—
That "enter in—thereat"—
'Tis Costly—So are purples!
'Tis just the price of Breath—
With but the "Discount" of the Grave—
Termed by the Brokers—"Death"!
And after that—there's Heaven—
The Good Man's—"Dividend"—
And Bad Men—"go to Jail"—
I guess—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The New Knighthood
Who gives him the Bath?
"I," said the wet,
Rank-Jungle-sweat,
"I'll give him the Bath!"
Who'll sing the psalms?
"We," said the Palms.
"Ere the hot wind becalms,
"We'll sing the psalms."
Who lays on the sword ?
"I," said the Sun,
Before he has done,
"I'll lay on the sword."
"Who fastens his belt?
"I," said Short-Rations,
" I know all the fashions
"Of tightening a belt!"
Who gives him his spur?
"I," said his Chief,
Exacting and brief,
"I'll give him the spur."
Who'll shake his hand?
"I," said the Fever,
"And I'm no deceiver,
"I'll shake his hand."
Who brings him the wine?
"I," said Quinine,
"It's a habit of mine.
"I'11 come with his wine."
Who'll put him to proof?
"I," said All Earth.
"Whatever he's worth,
"I'll put to the proof."
Who'll choose him for Knight?
"I," said his Mother,
"Before any other,
"My very own Knight."
And after this fashion, adventure to seek,
Sir Galahad was made--as it might be last week!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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You Are Old Father William
"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head --
Do you think, at your age, it is right?
"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."
"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And you have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door --
Pray what is the reason for that?"
"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment -- one shilling a box --
Allow me to sell you a couple?"
"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak --
Pray, how did you mange to do it?"
"In my youth," said his fater, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."
"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as every;
Yet you balanced an eel on the tend of your nose --
What made you so awfully clever?"
"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs.
poem by Lewis Carroll
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Us Two
Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.
Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.
"Let's go together," says Pooh.
"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.
("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."
"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,
But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what it is," said Pooh.
"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.
"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what they are," said Pooh.
"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.
"That's right," said Pooh to Me.
"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.
"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,
"I'm never afraid with you."
So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,
"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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I like your books
In the betting line the other
day
man behind me asked,
"are you Henry
Chinaski?"
"uh huh," I answered.
"I like your books," he went
on.
"thanks," I answered.
"who do you like in this
race?" he asked.
"uh uh," I answered.
"I like the 4 horse," he
told me.
I made my bet and went back
to my seat....
the next race I am standing in
line and here is this same man
standing behind me
again.
there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but
he has to find mine
again.
"I think this race favors the
closers," he said to the back of
my neck. "the track looks
heavy."
"listen," I said, not looking
around, "it's the kiss of death to
talk about horses at the
track..."
"what kind of rule is that?"
he asked. "God doesn't make
rules..."
I turned around and looked at him:
"maybe not, but I
do."
after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind
me:
he was not there:
lost another reader.
I lose 2 or 3 each
week.
fine.
let 'em go back to
Kafka.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Another Acrostic ( In the style of Father William )
"Are you deaf, Father William!" the young man said,
"Did you hear what I told you just now?
"Excuse me for shouting! Don't waggle your head
"Like a blundering, sleepy old cow!
"A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town,
"Is my friend, so I beg to remark:
"Do you think she'd be pleased if a book were sent down
"Entitled 'The Hunt of the Snark?'"
"Pack it up in brown paper!" the old man cried,
"And seal it with olive-and-dove.
"I command you to do it!" he added with pride,
"Nor forget, my good fellow to send her beside
"Easter Greetings, and give her my love."
poem by Lewis Carroll
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My Future
"Let's make him a sailor," said Father,
"And he will adventure the sea."
"A soldier," said Mother, "is rather
What I would prefer him to be."
"A lawyer," said Father, "would please me,
For then he could draw up my will."
"A doctor," said Mother, "would ease me;
Maybe he could give me a pill."
Said Father: "Lt's make him a curate,
A Bishop in gaiters to be."
Said Mother: "I couldn't endure it
To have Willie preaching to me."
Said Father: ""Let him be a poet;
So often he's gathering wool."
Said Mother with temper: "Oh stow it!
You know it, a poet's a fool."
Said Farther: "Your son is a duffer,
A stupid and mischievous elf."
Said Mother, who's rather a huffer:
"That's right - he takes after yourself."
Controlling parental emotion
They turned to me, seeking a cue,
And sudden conceived the bright notion
To ask what I wanted to do.
Said I: "my ambition is modest:
A clown in a circus I'd be,
And turn somersaults in the sawdust
With audience laughing at me."
. . . Poor parents! they're dead and decaying,
But I am a clown as you see;
And though in no circus I'm playing,
How people are laughing at me!
poem by Robert William Service
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The Subalterns
I
"Poor wanderer," said the leaden sky,
"I fain would lighten thee,
But there are laws in force on high
Which say it must not be."
II
--"I would not freeze thee, shorn one," cried
The North, "knew I but how
To warm my breath, to slack my stride;
But I am ruled as thou."
III
--"To-morrow I attack thee, wight,"
Said Sickness. "Yet I swear
I bear thy little ark no spite,
But am bid enter there."
IV
--"Come hither, Son," I heard Death say;
"I did not will a grave
Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,
But I, too, am a slave!"
V
We smiled upon each other then,
And life to me had less
Of that fell look it wore ere when
They owned their passiveness.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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LA DISPENZA DER MADRIMONIO (The marriage Licence)
Quella stradaccia me la sò lograta:
Ma quanti passi me ce fussi fatto
Nun c'era da ottené pe gnisun patto
De potemme sposà co mi' cuggnata.
Io c'ero diventato mezzo matto,
Perché, dico, ch'edè sta baggianata
C'una sorella l'ho d'avé assaggiata
E l'antra no! nun è l'istesso piatto?
Finarmente una sera l'abbataccio
Me disse: "Fijo se ce stata coppola,
Pròvelo, e la licenza te la faccio".
"Benissimo Eccellenza", io jarisposi:
Poi curzi a casa, e, pe nu dì una stroppola,
M'incoppolai Presseda, e ssemo sposi.
English
I've worn out that damned street [1] :
But in spite of all this walking
There was no way to obtain the permission
To marry my sister-in-law.
It was driving me crazy
Because, I say, what a nonsense
That I already had a taste of one sister [2] ,
But not the other! Isn't it just the same?
Finally one evening the damned abbot
Told me: "My dear, if there has been copulation,
Prove it, and I'll give you the licence".
"Very well, Excellency", I answered:
Then I rushed home and, not to tell a lie,
I had sex with Praxedes [3] , and we got married.
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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