{"id":230,"date":"2012-04-14T14:52:06","date_gmt":"2012-04-14T14:52:06","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.sandralangston.com\/?p=230"},"modified":"2012-04-14T14:58:06","modified_gmt":"2012-04-14T14:58:06","slug":"what-did-you-say","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.sandralangston.com\/?p=230","title":{"rendered":"What did you say?"},"content":{"rendered":"

I always think it is incredible when someone asks me if I speak Italian, forgetting that they might not know that I have been here for \u00a0thirty years. \u00a0 Of course I speak Italian; I had to learn it to get along when I first stayed behind in 1982 after the excavations group flew back to the States without me. \u00a0And then I remember that there are people living here, people who claim to adore the local culture and society, who after almost as many years\u00a0still<\/strong>\u00a0do not speak the language.<\/p>\n

How can you live in a place and not learn the language? \u00a0 I know the answer. \u00a0You form your own small comfortable ghetto comprised of people just like you and continue to live in the bubble. \u00a0The culture “outside” is a cinematic illusion, to be sampled on outings, a kind of \u00a0resident tourism. \u00a0You are able to conserve your romantic views of the culture without getting your hands dirty, and without truly understanding what the hell is going on around you. \u00a0Good luck with that.<\/p>\n

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“Castello di Oriolo, Isolato” pencil and metallic pigment on paper<\/dd>\n<\/dl>\n<\/div>\n

Down where we live, they proudly speak a dialect. \u00a0“V’rnallese” is its name, or “Bernaldese” in Italian. \u00a0It is one of hundreds, each uniquely-evolved on top of \u00a0crowded hilltops \u00a0in\u00a0tiny anthill-like communities\u00a0over three thousand years or more. \u00a0And yet these dialects are sprung from common roots: \u00a0Greek of course, as this area was Magna Graecia after all, \u00a0and Arabic. \u00a0Neopolitan, the “real” \u00a0Italian language, not that flat and colorless version spoken in Florence, which, thanks to television and the Republic, is today considered the standard version. \u00a0And smatterings of other languages as well. \u00a0Near us there are towns which conserve their Albanian language, including their street signs. \u00a0There are also towns which still have strong Aramaic roots in their dialect. \u00a0French, Spanish, even recent English contributions: In Bari they say “celery<\/em>” for the Italian\u00a0sedano<\/em>, I am sure because of the second world war and the number of American servicemen there. \u00a0 In Bernalda there are many oldsters who are known as “Shoomak<\/em>” which reflects their experience as emigrants to the USA where they worked at making and repairing shoes to survive. \u00a0 All these cultural contributions are smudged together in each small town to create a particular version unique to that town.<\/p>\n

My learning curve was a little steep, because all my friends here typically spoke this dialect among themselves, although they could be prevailed upon to translate for me into Italian. If I had known Italian at that point I would have had it made! \u00a0 However I spent many an evening laughing along with the group in utter ignorance of what was going on. \u00a0But I can be perceptive, and this saved me on many occasions in following the gist of things by observing body language and context in order to muddle through. \u00a0 In the 1980’s, being young and blonde, it wasn’t hard to get along on nods and \u00a0smiles.<\/p>\n

Notice I said “they” speak a dialect. \u00a0This is to say, while I understand almost everything (although I still encounter an obscure term every few days or so, and have to learn it) I do NOT speak it. \u00a0I think it. \u00a0So my cerebral routing procedure is as follows: \u00a0English to dialect, dialect to Italian. \u00a0The reason I don’t speak dialect I suppose comes from a sense of pride in my almost-perfect Italian pronunciation (people may or may not know that I am “not from around here”)…and it is also because I don’t relish the smirks and ironic comments which so often greeted my attempts at formulating thoughts in dialect. \u00a0OK, I learn. \u00a0In my mind, I speak it acceptably, but I still trust my Italian interlocutor to express my ideas. \u00a0And that Italian, in my case, is heavily-inflected with the southern accent of these parts, of which I am proud. \u00a0I ignore smirks from northerners as well.<\/p>\n

I have spoken American English to my kids ever since they were in the womb. \u00a0They had to deal with the two most important people in their lives speaking entirely different languages to them at all times. \u00a0The conversations between myself and my husband are invariably in Italian, unless we are in the USA and he is required to use English, in which case he may surprise us all with his ability. \u00a0 My kids and I speak English to each other, and they speak Italian with my husband. \u00a0It can get interesting at times, as we lapse into a strange patois \u00a0without realizing it! \u00a0“Ma! \u00a0 Puozz’mangnia’ some of those biscuott’ you bought stamattina dal forno over by the ufficio postale?<\/em>” * \u00a0 \u00a0The upshot is that my kids are truly native speakers, and by that I mean indistinguishable from natives, in both languages. \u00a0Of course we hope that this brain re-wiring will do us all good in some way. \u00a0We are flexible, and sometimes we are also confused!<\/p>\n

I have my favorite examples, of course, of the incredible disparity between classic Italian and our jealously-preserved dialect. \u00a0My spellings are the best I can do to approach a\u00a0phonetic\u00a0\u00a0definition. \u00a0I enjoy following the town discussions on Facebook, where people’s attempts to write in dialect can be quite amusing. \u00a0Traditionally it has not been a written language, although scholarly types have published a couple of books on it recently.<\/p>\n

Directly from the Greek is the orange, or\u00a0arancia<\/em>, which is the\u00a0portaialla<\/em>\u00a0in Pisticci, the next town over, and\u00a0l’ammaranch’\u00a0<\/em>in Bernalda.\u00a0 \u00a0Need some wine, or\u00a0vino<\/em>? \u00a0Ask for “na zicca d’mieeruh.”\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0A napkin, or\u00a0tovagliolo<\/em>, \u00a0is “ooh shtiavruccula<\/em>.”\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0 \u00a0Snails, or\u00a0lumache<\/em>? \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Cozzaiuffula<\/em>.”\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

O<\/em>ver in Pisticci, they came up with a relatively new expression–in the last century– to designate the mirage which sometimes forms over \u00a0asphalt, and I absolutely love it. \u00a0 “Ooh marawall<\/em>” means, roughly translating into Italian and English, “uguale al mare<\/em>” which is, poetically, “the same as the sea<\/em>.” \u00a0 \u00a0And it is!<\/p>\n

In Italian, to ask, “If you are ready to go, let’s go, and if you’re not, we’ll stay” you might say, “Se dobbiamo andare, andiamo. \u00a0Se no, non ce ne andiamo piu<\/em>‘. \u00a0 \u00a0In Vrnallese: \u00a0“Se ‘na ma shee, sha ma nneen. \u00a0Se nun a ma shee, nunn’ a shiamma shenn.” \u00a0<\/em>It really does roll \u00a0musically off the tongue.<\/p>\n

It is important to know which day you are speaking about, so “today,” \u00a0or “oggi”<\/em>, \u00a0is ”\u00a0iosh<\/em>‘.”<\/p>\n

Tomorrow, or “domani,”<\/em>\u00a0is “cra<\/em>.”<\/p>\n

The day after tomorrow, “dopo domani<\/em>,” \u00a0is “p’scra<\/em>,” and the day after that is “p’screedd<\/em>.” \u00a0 \u00a0 (The double consonant indicates a firmer pressure of the tongue against the palate.)<\/p>\n

And the day after that? \u00a0 “P’scruofula<\/em>!”<\/p>\n

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What (She Says) He Said oil on canvas<\/p><\/div>\n

*”Mom, can I eat some of the cookies you bought this morning from the bakery near the post office?”<\/p>\n

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