Let me begin from a couple of club liberating considerations: you should not let your level of language proficiency intimidate you. Your good intent is what counts at our meetings. You will be enticed to speak by empathy and by others. That’s is enough to us. Using English as the basis of your communication defeats the purpose of our club, which is to train your ear to a different speech. If you are a beginner, we expect that you make a sincere effort to speak Italian, or to let other willing participants help you. Now let me add a proposition to this: if you have not figured out how you are going to teach yourself some Italian, tapes or CD’s are the answer. A beginner course is inexpensive in comparison to a class. Atlanta is designed by incident and by narrow-minded engineers: I am sure that you commute or drive an hour or so a day to go to work. You could put to use such time instead of listening to mind-numbing local programs, most of which are all talk and no music, and with two exceptions (Public Radio and Atlanta Clark University), are poor, even in terms of music choice. You will be surprised to see what a couple of short sessions a week can do to your mind. Remember, practicing afterwards at our club is free. Better: you don’t have assignments, fees, classes or long-term commitments. You make it if you can. Make a small commitment. Impress us and, ultimately, impress yourself!
This takes me to the subject of this editorial: the experience of the Italian language. I might have used the title: experiencing the Italian language, but it sounded too subjective. By no means may I be exhaustive about Italian in this forum, for entire encyclopedias and treaties have been written about it. I am just an architect. But the classics are engraved in the experience of anyone who went through the old school system, at a time when using street-language was unacceptable within the school walls, and when studying meant no playtime, no TV, and long winters curved on the books, pale-faced, worrying about grades and passing to the next class. It was not altogether healthy, though, thirty five years after, I can still recite Pascoli and Leopardi. The so called classics kept me away from the street culture. I spent numerous sleepless nights over them, but I have no regrets for they gave me more than I gave them.
I never stopped scanning books and magazines, or the internet, in search for the perfect definition of our language. I found a number of technical treaties, with the on-line Wikipedia being one of the most succinct and informative. Nevertheless, I have not run into an article that adequately describes the fascination of the world with the Italic language. I confess, I did not look into the archives of light-weight magazines such as Cosmopolitan. But the world’s fascination with Italian is unquestionable. Is it probably because Italian language is reminiscent of beauty, inseparable form the images of our land, from our amazing food, fashion, design, sport cars, our opera and so many talented artists? But is it the Italian language intrinsically beautiful? I shall leave the answer to your judgment. I would, nonetheless, argue about the ins and outs of character, and put a modern spin on this century-old question.
Italy has considerably changed in recent years and so has its language. Italian was never a well-defined language to begin with. As many as forty different dialects were spoken in the 14th Century, in the Italian peninsula in various vernacular expressions. Italian language begun forming itself spontaneously even before Dante Alighieri, as a direct derivation from Latin. It was know as “il volgare.” Dante Alighieri coded it and standardized it, with noble derivations and inclusions from Latin and Greek. Italian however would not attain the level of a national language for four additional centuries. From the fifteenth through the eighteenth century, the newborn language was sustained and improved by a multitude of amazing poets, writers, philosophers, authors, and it became a sign of distinction and high-education – a widespread perception which survived until recent times (your speech reflects your education). Italy was politically unified in 1870, but it did not reach its natural geographical borders until the end of World War I. Understandably, Italian became a widespread language only after the invention of the radio, which became popular only after the first war. Radio and TV announcers spoke standard Italian until the late sixties. Up until that time, as well as in all academic circles, speaking in dialect was often red-flagged as a sign of poor education, especially in a country where class mattered and was not so permeable. Language and the now unfortunately defunct Galateo (the un-coded manual of etiquette and good manners) was the sign of distinction. Then, in the seventies and eighties, street-language was introduced by the media to the point that grammar and syntax were utterly butchered to make a point. The point was Mediocracy, which was a global trend, and many decades after, found in America the most mediocratic of all leaders. But Mediocracy is over, great item for the museum of horrors. You will notice that most Italians speak almost exclusively standard Italian in all situations, usually with local accents and idioms. However, regional differences are easily detectable by the openness of vowels or the heaviness of the consonants, know as “accento”, by some typical terms or idioms, and by the rise and fall of the voice, known as cantilena. Speaking Italian without accent is now as rare as cheap gasoline and sane republicans.
Until the sixties, dialects were not used for general mass communication and were limited to native speakers in informal contexts. Let me make it clear here: Italian dialects are splendid forms of expression and have resisted any unification efforts. This resistance – a strong form of identity – has fostered the survival of amazing recipes and cultural traditions. Some dialects are historical languages in their own right, like Venetian, Roman, Neapolitan, Sardinian and Sicilian. Some contain numerous expressions of Spanish and French origin, two civilizations that colonized different parts of the peninsula for centuries. Alessandro Manzoni wrote “I Promessi Sposi” in a cleansed version of the Tuscan dialect, which was the leaner of all, clearly aiming to a national language. From a structural point of view, his masterwork is the first modern “romanzo” in the history of the Italian literature, perhaps in the entire Europe, as it was greatly influential with the establishment of a national tongue. Amazing poets like Trilussa, wrote in “dialetto romano.” Camilleri writes in Sicilian dialect, stories whose devastating, hilarious character challenges any master of modern humor – to the point you must make sure you empty your bladder before you begin reading. In recent times, musical geniuses like Pino Daniele revolutionized Italian pop music by introducing Neapolitan dialect with the lyrics. The result was stunning! And who could ever forget Enzo Iannacci’s use of Milanese dialect in “La Televisun” o in “Quelli Che”, a satire blues-song of epic proportions about the dim destiny of the Italian mid class, working for Agnelli – (find the lyrics at: http://blog.entropoli.it/index.php/2008/03/quelli-che-enzo-iannacci/ ) (the music at: http://www.last.fm/music/Enzo+Iannacci/_/Quelli+che ).
But it is not the penchant of a language before its underlying vernacular forms that ever troubled me, as much as the over-simplification caused by the street language, which seems to impoverish a language for “convenience” – a poor excuse that promotes mediocrity. I am speaking about the disappearance of conjugation tenses such as the conditional and the subjunctive, the general loss of grammar and syntax, such as in the popular “ti telefono” instead of “ti chiamo” or “sono spiacente” – which means, I am ugly – instead of “mi spiace”, which is the correct, intended meaning, as in: I am sorry! And what about the irritating substitution of the attributive particle “gli” o “le” – as in “gli dissi di no” o “le chiesi qualcosa” – replaced by the vulgar and odd-sounding “ci”, which by rule applies only to the second person, plural, “noi ci siamo!” Never mind!
I guess that people who speak an imperfect language, like Mr. W., are more humanized, therefore closer to the average citizen. This has deep repercussions in society, as poorly articulated individuals lead to a poorly articulated society. This, which is seen here as a form of snobbery and classism, is actually a form of respect, as making stern distinctions between high-language and vulgaris, which in Latino means literally “language spoken by folks”, helps the survival of both, high and low language. Popular culture is vital, but without unified languages we are lost in a Tower of Babel. Inevitable are bastardizations such as the so-called “inglesismi” like the modern “scannare” which was used in Medieval times to describe the killing of a pig with a baton, but now means to “scan” a document. The sixties did far worse: various expressions were introduced as filler-words due to the typical 60’s lack of articulation, promotion of mediocrity, mixed to a desire to sound intellectual and well read, a.k.a. the pretense to be educated, so well represented by the popular speech-opener “al limite”, the ubiquitous demonstrative “cioe’” used as a conjunction, pause and filler, or the adjective “assurdo”, often heard on in a straight sequence: al limite, cioe’, assurdo! – which has no meaning whatsoever, except “incomprehensible” – small wonder for the type of pot-brained fruits that fell from the tree of the sixties… Well, the sixties gave us some good music, and they brought women’s equality to the streets, but that’s all.
But whoever is the appointed guardian of your language, the unnoticed sliding of secular refinement into the vulgar creates a dichotomy. On one side of the language arena sit the restorers, those who believe that language is an unique tool for understanding, a secular institution, a grantor of identity, a door to the world and may other things. On the other side lie the populists, those who believe that a language is intrinsically dynamic and should represent everyone who speaks it. The entire Rap movement is based on the latter paradigm. It has a solid democratic base: you express yourself with what you have! However, it does not account for the fact that the most amazing achievements of the Western civilization have been marked by research, refinement and excellence, not by drafting any wisdom from street-culture. Street culture is fun and it must have a place in our lives. I find problematic introducing slackening and laisser-faire in areas of our culture that are defined by study and sacrifice. In addition, street language does not account for the proven fact that finer-speaking individuals never seem to have problems finding jobs. Proper language is always associated with better education, and better education invariably spells to an employer: qualification and skills. Try to disprove that! In a modern world where the bottom line rules, excellence has been regarded as an antiquate principle, whereas it should be restored as the center piece. The search for quality and perfection is one of the most underrated and unappreciated human activities. Yet, most Italian and American export-products are sought after for their quality, not for their price. Incidentally, this is where we beat India and China hands down. Back to language, for the practitioners, quality is a laic path to approach God. For the pragmatist, it is a waste of time. The true language-lover will hold quality dear at heart, as a freedom frontier and a canvas for personal composition. And, unless you live in Iran, Lybia, China or North Korea, composition within a given linguistic framework is one of the safest forms of freedom.
I recognize that language has been used for propaganda and to destroy entire populations. It was done in Germany in the thirties and it is done today, every day, in Tibet by the hands of the despicable Chinese government who is obliterating, unopposed, one of the few sources of true wisdom in our world. Fortunately, in every region of the world, literature promoting basic human rights and freedom of expression has bypassed the censorship and the meanest scrutiny by oppressive regimes, which are often to obtuse to read between the lines, and ultimately self-defeating, thereby making literature the most popular and triumphant weapon against oppression. Given that English and not race, has won our presidential election, I may have a better argument in my hands. But whether your hero is Socrates who was poisoned by democrats for his unorthodox views on democracy, Giordano Bruno, who rebelled against the Roman Church and was burned at the stake, Galileo who was chastised by the Vatican, Mahatma Gandhi or Dr. King who became too powerful and disruptive to the status quo, opposition to any regime has always been carried out in the same language the regime used for its political propaganda. In certain cases, opposition was so clever that is was undetectable by pea-brained governors until it became blatant. Fortunately, modern politicians and governors don’t read at all. Did we need Barbara Walters to find that out? I don’t think so. It was a well-known factor. Never like today is clear that you conquer culture and knowledge only by hard work. Thanks to poets and writers, languages remain immune to cheap subversions and they have been a vital instrument of expression of the voiceless and the oppressed. In free countries, they have been the purveyor of creativity, originality and self-expression, which lay at the basis of modern society. In fact, forget about politics: languages rise above partisan distinctions.
Yet, your passion may not be shared by the general population. This does not mean that yours is the wrong endeavor. John Stuart Mill once wrote: “Originality is the one thing which unoriginal minds cannot feel the use of.” Hardly could we shove our individual passion down the throat of those who don’t hear the call. This is the way the world is created. People chase different things, and that is fine, as long as we bear in mind that immaterial pursuits dignify the soul and make it invulnerable from material matters and concerns. Passion for immaterial things is a sentiment that the artistically under-stimulated should be fed with. It would be a balm against the undetected and unaccounted damages of decades of a culture of materialism. In which way this is connected to the Italian language? Again, the answer is: quality!
Technically speaking, one could argue – and that is, successfully – that you can never know and speak a second language in a more complex manner than your native language. If your native language is elementary, your second language will follow suit. If you are used to decipher complex notions like “zeitgeist”, or formulate elaborate concepts, like “paradoxical”, “oxymoron”, “hyperbolic”, “subconscious”, “limbic”, “psychosomatic”, “hyper-realistic”, idealistic” or “unachievable” and use them in the right context, then you will find yourself prone to express them in your next language. Let me test myself with these terms: paradoxical is Switzerland going to war or giving money away; oxymoron is too easy: military intelligence; hyperbolic is the way Italian men speak about women; subconscious is the way the economy is affecting our mood; limbic, representing the behavior of the reptilian brain – hide in murky waters, eat whatever moves, care about staying warm – describes most modern lending institutions; psychosomatic is our obsession with safety, shaping the products we buy, feeding the insurance industry; hyper-realistic is that there is substance behind racism, idealistic (but also unrealistic) is the myth of Cinderella, shaping the way Hollywood thinks and taxing most marriages with impossible expectations; and unachievable is an Alitalia flight landing on time, or an orderly line inside an Italian post office. So un-Italian! Don’t take any of this seriously for I am facetiously toying with definitions here.
Back to the street where the language is nowadays, once it precipitates from Dante to Piazza Navona, or from Shakespeare to, say, the Jerry Springer Show, from nuclear to nuke-lar, you may as well forget the rules. Why even worry about rules? Who would ever dare courting a woman the old fashion? Who, in the attempt to capture a romantic idea, use expressions like “semmai, a cospetto di una eletta amata, vi fosse rammentati del gran poeta di Florentia, o della di lui divina Beatrice, sarebbe a voi occorso che romantico e’ lo stato della mente – eterna primavera, brezza foriera d’antiche promesse, non ancor vento denso di passione e periglio – che romantico e’ un modo d’ammirar bellezza, carpirne l’espressione ante che, ahime’ essa sfiorisca, coscienti che e’ il momento fugge, non la leggiadra amata; che irraggiungibile e’ l’oggetto del desiderio…” Credetemi, non cito nessuno, me la sono tirata fuori dal taschino, tanto per cimentarmi per un momento con i maestri, in un Italiano talmente dimenticato che (come vedete) suona obsoleto, persino affettato – eppur non e’. Quando era in vena, mio nonno si esprimeva ancora in questi termini. Mia nonna si sedeva ad ascoltare il suo unico amore, e se vi erano altre donne astanti, tutte andavano in brodo di giuggiole…
Don’t ask me to translate the latter: call an Italian if you need translation. For the sake of the argument, I just pushed the language, by reviving an old style and embroidering it into an expression that could have been delivered with a simple line: “true romanticism is the knowledge that the object of desire is unattainable.” Period. So, what is the difference between the embroidered and the pragmatic version? If I tried in gingerbread English, which I am not capable of, I would have sounded antique and passé. But we don’t have to go far for poetic expressions of love: Cole Porter says it all in a few words! (I love you, that’s the song of songs, and it all belong to you!). But elegance exudes from the sound of that Italian paragraph, not necessarily deriving from the meaning conveyed by the idea of ephemeral caducity, but by the intrinsic sound of the words – which is my original point: is there music in the Italian language? Flowers are glorious one day, and gone the next, so they are not good for the pragmatist, who prefers plastic – eternally and artificially fresh. This issue definitively surges into the American fear for aging, but I am not going to visit the subject today.
Yet you may ask yourself: why do American women, landing in Roma or in Florence and hearing the first man poetically complimenting their smile or the color of their eyes – which, in Italy, is attainable by any single lady between a few minutes and an hour from the time of arrival – seem to melt like butter in the sun? And why would the same woman pay little attention, here at home, to a compliment uttered by an American man? Is it the language? Is it the descriptive quality of its sound, its innate musicality, or is it its motion, which rolls around the tongue like a Tiramisu’? Or is it that going to Italy puts one in a different mood and opens one’s senses to different perceptions? Forget the courtship of Italian men: they behave as if they have never seen a woman before. Let’s speak about national character. Italy is famous for pointing tourists and visitors toward a different way to enjoy life – a quite unaffordable one by most, I must observe, no matter how you put it; yet, an irresistibly fascinating one: don’t look at the watch, take it easy and go smell the roses! If this is remotely true, and if pragmatism can be bypassed, if just for a couple of weeks, then language may be able to shape our experience of reality. It may shape reality to the point that it can change us. One more issue: it takes one to know one. This is why I insist that Italy is somewhat contained in the American soul. This is true vice-versa: Italians understand the true nature of America. In cultural anthropology, but also in semiology, this is a theory that has numerous followers. And what makes theories truly exciting is that they may accurately describe a law of nature. On the frivolous side, if language can change the way you perceive life, what have you been waiting for? Come to Ciancia, the real deal!
But, whether classy or popular, language is revealing of perspectives different from our own. You don’t have to be in command of a language to appreciate it. You can speak it at any level. If all you know in Italian is “buongiorno, come sta?” it still thrills any native Italian to bits. No one is particularly concerned about class nowadays and few dare the high-regions of any language in a serious fashion: not for any practical purposes. This is relaxing, even if it confines high-language to theatre, poetry, literature or correspondence among language-lovers. Incidentally, this is the reason why some individuals devote so much time to apparently minor causes, such as assuring that a language survives in all its aspects and nuances. I am speaking about heroes, working quietly, like our beloved Judy Raggi-Moore; people who give it all they have, and more. But enough with the high-cause. Our club is a fun place, made to relax and change gear from a week of mere production, to its opposite – indulging for a few hours into incidental and inconsequential conversation. Fair question: what could be so exciting about going without a specific purpose in mind? It may be the liberty of affording the freedom of doing something without a practical objective ¬– a small vacation you can take once a month, right here at home. I find it refreshing. Just don’t forget that while you are having fun, your mind is grabbing sounds, words and concepts and, pretty soon, you may be able to carry out a conversation “in lingua.”
Before I conclude, let me report some impressive statistics: Italian is spoken by and estimated 75 million native Italians, two thirds of whom live in Italy, and by and estimated 125 million emigrants, with the U.S., Australia, Europe, the Argentina, in numeric order, over other regions of the world. Coincidentally, this staggering number equates to the entire population of the United States. These numbers do not account for individuals who speak Italian for other reasons. A famous American academician once told me to double that number to account for all the unknown Italian speakers in the planet. That would make half billion speakers, making it one of the most coveted languages in the world, third among second languages, after English and Spanish. It sounds unreal, for a small country like Italy, though not entirely unimaginable. Italian emigrants, in terms of sheer number, still surpass all emigrants to the U.S. from Latin America. This is due to the fact that, for a pure-breed Italian, love has always been part of his daily menu. Italians can go without pasta, but for no more than a day or two. Unfortunately, even this mythical and prolific equation has changed, and not because the love-equation requires a willing she. Italians are down to a scant 1.2 children per couple. So they are shrinking. But their passion for beauty remains unchanged. This is why Italy has moved from a culture of number to a culture of quality. It had no choice. You can look today at any artistic or design expression of its national production: in spite of its limitations, Italy places itself quite high. The reasons are the same: refinement, attention to details, appreciation for beauty, devotion. Incidentally, as Italy did in the sixties and ever since afterwards, the U.S. may have to make the same choice with its export production, especially since it has become clear that the U.S. can beat its competitors only with high-end products. I don’t want to stretch the metaphor here, but what makes and shapes a language may apply to all dimensions of life.
I am tired now. This should be enough food for thoughts.
Yours truly, Giancarlo Pirrone