Piero della Francesca wishes you Happy Mother's Day

Who is this Piero and why is he wishing you Happy Mother's Day? Well, not all of you. Not if you're a man, or an eggplant, or don't have kids for that matter. Not in places in the world where this Sunday is not Mother's Day. You know who you are.

Piero della Francesca (who died October 12, 1492, just as our continent was being discovered) happens to be one of my favorite artists. Born in Sansepolcro near Arezzo, in Tuscany (close to the border with Umbria), Piero, as he is known to his numerous fans, was a famous and respected artist during his lifetime, who then fell into obscurity, and was rediscovered much later as the great painter he is. Most of his works continue to be concentrated in the Arezzo area, which means that if you become a fan (Like his Facebook page) you should go to the Arezzo area. It has many attractions besides being the birthplace of our friends Piero and Michelangelo, who was born in the teeny village of Caprese, now called Caprese Michelangelo.

So, what does all this have to do with being a mom? Piero painted this unforgettable Madonna, called, not too surprisingly, the Madonna del Parto (the Madonna of Labor, as in childbirth, not workers' organizations, but she probably would have approved of those, too). Although there were some pregnant Madonnas in Medieval art, ole Piero beat them all with this sublime work, showing an impassive but assertive Virgin Mary flaunting her pregnancy. When you think that it wasn't too long ago that it was considered taboo to even say "pregnant," we realize what a big deal this was.

I saw it when it was still amazingly out in the open (in a small chapel) in the village of Monterchi, where Piero's own mother was from. Paradoxically, it was located outside the town cemetery. The last time I saw it, the country road leading to it was guarded by two Carabinieri with pointed machine guns. The Italians finally decided in 1992 that keeping this priceless masterpiece out in a deserted area, with or without the protection of the armed forces, was impractical. She was then moved inside to her own museum in Monterchi, where you can now visit her and pay your respects. That way, in typical mom style, she can't complain that you never come and see her.

The name of the rose. And the daisy, hyacinth...

Spring is about to spring here in Boston, after a particularly harsh winter. Last Saturday we moved our clocks one hour forward, and for the past two days the temperatures have been mild. Today I bought a blue hyacinth to celebrate the season. It hasn't bloomed yet, but soon it will, diffusing its delicious, heady fragrance.

Here's a list of flower names in Italian.

La rosa. Rose, also a woman's name.

La margherita. Daisy, also a woman's name.

Il crisantemo. (cree-zahn-TEH-moh). Mums, chrysanthemums. Associated with death and All Souls Day in Italy, do not give as gift.

Il garofano. (gah-ROH-fah-noh). Carnation.

Il giacinto. Hyacinth, a man's name, no longer common.

Il glicine. Wisteria. Love it.

La ginestra. Broom, a yellow flower among the first blooms of spring. The title of a famous poem by Leopardi.

L'azalea. (guess)

La gardenia. (guess again)

Il giglio. Lily. Not a personal name.

L'iris. Also a woman's name, no longer common.

La lavanda. Lavender.

La magnolia.

L'oleandro.

L'orchidea. (ohr-key-DEH-ah). Orchid.

Il papavero. Poppy.

La peonia.

Il tulipano.

La violetta. Violet, also a woman's name, no longer common.

(in the picture, a vase of flowers by Giovanna Garzoni, a 17th century artist famed for her still lifes of flowers and fruits, who had great success during her lifetime and made a good living from her art work)

Jussi Bjorling sings Nessun Dorma

Alas, a Swede has beaten the Italians at their own game. Not too many can sing Puccini's famous aria from Turandot like this. His pronunciation is flawless, too.

Find out more about the great tenor here.

Lino Tagliapietra, a genius in glass

Although historically artisanship has been seen as an inferior form of art, in Italy the relation has always been close, starting with the fact that many of the first rate artists came from families of artisans. Tintoretto ("little dyer") was the son of a dyer, Mantegna was the son of a carpenter, and so on. "Minor" activities such as cuisine, winemaking and couture have all taken on an art-like status in Italy, as we know. But sometimes there is no doubt that what would normally be considered a work of artisanship is actually a work of art.

Such is the case with the living vetraio (glassmaker) Lino Tagliapietra, born in 1934 on the island of Murano. The Venetian island is of course famous for its glass, and has specialized in this material for centuries and centuries. Tagliapietra is part of the tradition, and was sent to do his apprenticeship around the age of eleven with famed fellow Venetian Archimede Seguso. I think, though, that this is a case of the student surpassing the teacher. The unassuming craftsman with his simpatico faccino (cute little face) is an explosion of wondrous creativity and refinement, supported by an unparalleled mastery of his form and its techniques. Techniques that he has worked to share at an international level, going against the long-standing tradition of jealously guarding the trade secrets of the island of Murano. There is also something touching and admirable about such a great artist who chooses to work in such a fragile medium, as if he was not so much interested in the enduringness of the product, as entranced by the possibilities of the light and lightness of glass.

I could sit and watch his wonderful works for hours in Google Images. If you'd like to learn more, start with his official site, found here.

Elvis sings Santa Lucia

Last night we heard a lot about the King's speech. Today we can listen to the King's song. Yes, Colin Firth isn't the only "king" who can communicate in Italian. Our American "king" Elvis could, too.

Here he is doing a creditable version of the Neapolitan classic, Santa Lucia (a waterfront location in Naples).

Here are the lyrics with my translation. Elvis only sings the first stanza.

Sul mare luccica l'astro d'argento,
Placida è l'onda, prospero è il vento
Venite all'agile barchetta mia...
Santa Lucia! Santa Lucia!

On the sea, the silver orb is shining,

The waves are calm, the wind is strong

Come to my agile little boat

Santa Lucia Santa Lucia!

Visit the Uffizi. Right now.

As part of its aim of world domination, Google has now decided to take on art collections with its Google Art Project, using its own street view technology and cloud computing. The Italian museum selected for entry is the Uffizi. There are sixteen other major sites (for now), including the Hermitage, the Palace of Versailles, the Rijksmuseum, the National Gallery London, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Frick Collection. Plenty of Italian art in those venues, I can tell you.

This is not just another museum site, folks. It's something newer and better, and rather exciting. I strongly advise everyone who is interested to go to their informational page first, which is right here, and see the brief how-to video. The site can be a very useful tool to prepare for your forays to see great art, and avoid succumbing to Stendhal syndrome.

(In the picture, Bacchus drinking a bodacious glass of wine in the Uffizi- see him in high resolution and detail without going to Florence)

Hayez, The Kiss

Despite his exotic-sounding name, Francesco Hayez was indeed an Italian (his father was French). Just in time for Saint Valentine's Day, here is a painting of lovers famous among Italians. You can find it at the Pinacoteca di Brera, in Milan. I've seen it. What is impressive and memorable is the great sensuality contained in the trappings and customs of the past. The work, dating from 1859, is also symbolic of the ideals of the unity of Italy, which occurred in 1861. This year is in fact Italy's 150th year as a nation.

Stevie Wonder- Passo le mie notti da solo

Stevie Wonder, one of my favorites, belts out a song in Italian back in 1967, when he was a teenager.

He may be a musical genius and a great human being, but you still don't want to imitate his Italian (or shall I say American) accent. But Italians love him so much they don't mind the liberties he takes with their language.

Puccini, E lucevan le stelle: three (separate) tenors

Although I am not an opera lover, I cannot resist the most beautiful arias, and of all the famous arias, Tuscan Giacomo Puccini's E lucevan le stelle is my favorite. Lyrics are by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica; poor guys, no one ever mentions them, although the words are booful.

Let's take a musical-linguistic look at the aria by examining three versions by three different tenors. Lyrics and my literal translation will follow, with comments about the vocabulary and tenses for you language students. But first a bit of background, as an aria isn't really a song but a part of an integral whole, the opera. In Rome in 1800, beautiful singer Tosca loves the artist and politically suspect Cavaradossi (Cah-vah-rah-DOE-ssee), but is lusted after by the nasty Chief of Police, Scarpia (SCAR-pee-ah). The latter has his rival arrested, and tells Tosca she can only save her beloved from execution by giving herself to him (Scarpia). But nasty Scarpia has no intention of saving Cavaradossi and Tosca has no intention of giving in to Scarpia: Scarpia allows Cavaradossi to be executed, and Tosca stabs Scarpia rather than becoming his lover. Cavaradossi is executed and Tosca commits suicide. Our aria comes in at the point when Cavaradossi is awaiting execution.

Our first tenor is Spaniard Placido Domingo giving a fine performance in the same setting as the opera called for. Although excellent, I was distracted by Domingo's imperfect Italian pronunciation. The word disciogliea is positively mangled. Unfortunately, this word comes at a crucial moment in the work, a moment of great longing and eroticism. So I turned to an Italian, Luciano Pavarotti.

Pronunciation is much better. Acting ability also better. Voice also better. And he can pronounce disciogliea. Bravo!

Just one more. Famed tenor Enrico Caruso. Domingo should have listened to this recording several times to get the disciogliea right.

As in a reality show, I give my verdict. Caruso wins. The little Neapolitan confirms his status as the greatest tenor of all times. Italian Idol.

Here are the original lyrics:

E lucevan le stelle... e olezzava la terra.
Stridea l'uscio dell'orto...
E un passo sfiorava la rena...
Entrava ella, fragrante... mi cadea fra le braccia.
Oh, dolci baci, o languide carezze,
mentr'io fremente...
le belle forme disciogliea dai veli!
Svani' per sempre il sogno mio d'amore!
L'or'e' fuggita... e muoio disperato!
E muoio disperato. E non ho amato mai tanto la vita, la vita!

My literal translation:

And the stars were shining... and the earth was perfumed.

The gate to the vegetable garden creaked...

A light step crossed over the sand...

She entered, fragrant... she fell into my arms.

O sweet kisses, oh languid caresses,

while I, trembling,

freed the beautiful form from its veils!

My dream of love vanished forever.

The hour has fled, and I die, desperate.

And I die desperate.

And I have never loved life more, life!

Linguistically, the text derives its power from the alternation of tenses. The imperfects in the first part evoke the way things were over time in the past for Cavaradossi and Tosca, when they were happy. The tense (along with the music) abruptly shifts to a definitive and brutal passato remoto as the past changed, irrevocably: svani' per sempre il sogno mio. Finally, he reverts to the present tense as he hopelessly is brought back to his actual, dire situation.

The language is poetic, with shortening of verb forms (lucevan for lucevano, stridea for strideva, cadea for cadeva, disciogliea for discioglieva) and special diction (rena for sabbia).

Sergio Endrigo- Era d'estate

Technically, the first day of fall ("autumn" for all you furriners) isn't until next week. But the calendar can't fool me. Today is rainy and cool in Boston, and all the students, big and small, are back. A few of the leaves are even turning. Here's an appropriately wistful song about summer and fall and the transition from one to another, from Sergio Endrigo. Italian learners will note the use of the imperfect tense throughout.

Era d’estate e tu eri con me
Era d’estate poco tempo fa
Ora per ora noi vivevamo
Giorni e notti felici senza domani

Era d’autunno e tu eri con me
Era d’autunno poco tempo fa
Ora per ora senza un sorriso
Si spegneva l’estate negli occhi tuoi

Io ti guardavo e sognavo una vita
Tutta con te
Ma i sogni belli
Non si avverano mai

Era d’estate e tu eri con me
Era d’estate tanto tempo fa
E sul tuo viso lacrime chiare
Mi dicevano solo addio.

It was summer and you were with me
It was summer not long ago
Hour by hour we lived
Happy days and nights with no tomorrow.

It was autumn and you were with me
It was autumn not long ago
Hour by hour without a smile
The sun went out in your eyes.

I would look at you and dream of a life
just with you
But beautiful dreams

never come true.

It was summer and you were with me
It was summer a long time ago
And on your face clear tears
said only "farewell" to me.

Guttuso, Vucciria

Summer is rapidly waning, and soon summer's bounty as seen at outdoor markets will be gone, too. What better way to hold onto it a while longer than by an examination of a work by Sicilian painter Renato Guttuso (1911-1987), called Vucciria.

The Vucciria is an old, old market in Palermo- about seven centuries old. It comes, surprisingly, from the French boucherie, or butcher shop. And in fact the beef carcass (still being worked on by the man with a knife, to the right) is prominent. It would be hard not to see a sort of allegory of his native land in this: the almost garish light, the sunny colors expressive of earth's plenty and benevolence, alongside the crude fact of death, right in its midst. With a group of oddly silent and uncommunicative (for a market) men and women, with their backs to us or with impassive expressions. The man who is cutting the beef with a large knife has his eyes, and thus identity, hidden.

Guttuso was certainly interested in food, not rare for an Italian. Although he is considered a major 20th centurt artist, he did not hesitate to contribute the illustrations for the cookbook Italian Food, by Elizabeth David, an Englishwoman who introduced Italian and French cooking to her countrymen (who certainly needed it) in the post-war period.

It's fun to try to make out the different objects in the scene. Here's a video that helps you focus on the riches portrayed.

I can make out, in no particular order, the beef, a smaller carcass to the right (rabbit?), eggs, eggplant (naturalmente), fish and seafood (octopus, swordfish, squid, crayfish/scampi?), cheeses (mozzarella, parmigiano, Emmenthaler, a cheese with red rind), fennel, pears, leeks (or large scallions?), lemons, zucchini, tomatoes (including canned), sausages, mortadella, salami, bell peppers, oranges, olives, herbs, melons?, persimmons?, chilies, bananas, apples, dried fruit, and celery.

Adriano Celentano- Prisencolinensinainciusol

I was actually in Italy when this song came out, and its imitation of American English is so convincing that I never really asked myself what, if anything, it meant. It was performed in the early Seventies by famed Adriano Celentano. At the beginning, the young student asks the nutty professor why he wrote a song with meaningless words. His answer (cut in this clip) is that it's to express the current lack of communication and that the title actually means "universal love." That he could write this song and do such a good rendition of an American English accent without actually knowing English shows the enormous amount of exposure Italians have been getting for decades to popular American culture.

The beautiful brunette who stands up toward the beginning is Celentano's wife, Claudia Mori. The blonde dancer is multi-talented star Raffaella Carra'.

Of course someone had to try to make sense of all this, so they produced a version with subtitles. Let's freeze that goat!

The aberrant Arcimboldo

Many of you have already seen the paintings of Giuseppe Arcimboldo (ahr-cheem-BOLD-oh), and once you've seen them, they're not likely to be forgotten. Although apparently whimsical, they are also disturbing, unsettling and downright weird. Some art historians have ascribed this quality to the artist's purported madness.

At left we see the 1573 version of his Summer, one of a series of portrayals of men made up of natural objects, in this case representing the seasons. The fruits and veggies (including an eggplant, yikes!) are beautifully rendered, the colors are warm, and the "face" is smiling, but the effect is not reassuring.

I've thought about the discomfort caused by his productions and have come to this conclusion. The history of the West is ostensibly one of rationality, and the cornerstone of Western rationality is the law of non-contradiction, or tertium non datur. Something either is or is not x. A thing, or a person, is one thing only, and we can perceive and understand (and thus control) that thing.

But Arcimboldo's work suggests that this is not so. Is this one subject or many? Is this a human or a bunch of fruits and vegetables? More subversively: do humans have an immortal soul or are they just a part of waning nature, deceptively florid as in the summer, but headed toward decay and nothingness?

Some have noted that Arcimboldo was a precursor of Gestalt psychology. Think of the famous vase that also looks like two profiles.

Arcimboldo had already done this sort of thing (again, with a man and veggies):

The above are not two different paintings, but the same painting turned upside down. Again: is this a man or a bowl of vegetables? One might not even notice the man in the vegetables, unless it is pointed out. Which is even more disturbing, and leads us to ask ourselves: how many other things in life are not as they seem, and may be ultimately wildly different from what we thought?

After his initial fame, the artist was forgotten until he was adopted in the twentieth century by the Surrealists, particularly Salvador Dali'. Contemporary Western society with its World Wars and monstrous political phenomena brought out the irrationality at the heart of our culture, which was already foreshadowed by the seemingly minor artist Arcimboldo.

Viva la pappa col pomodoro!

Incredible to me that although I've had this blog for almost three years, I have yet to feature Rita Pavone, one of the delights of my childhood. When I got to Italy as a little kid in 1962, she was just coming onto the scene, with enormous (and justified success.) The petite redhead, who was still a teen, was nothing short of phenomenal: personality, talent, and a voice bigger than she was.

The clip is from the TV series adaptation of the story of Gian Burrasca (Stormy Jack), the supposed diary of a mischievous boy in an oppressive boarding school (apparently the Italian grandpa of Harry Potter.) In the song, Gianni is rebelling against the poor school food, and singing the praises of la pappa col pomodoro. Surprisingly, the show was directed by famed filmmaker Lina Wertmuller, who later went on to make some very different sorts of things- to put it mildly. Although it may not be so surprising, as Lina was herself a little hell-raiser who got repeatedly expelled from school. And in the seventies, her films reflected the same political and social issues comically addressed in Gian Burrasca. She worked on this along with equally famed composer Nino Rota, who wrote scores for Fellini movies and for the first two films of The Godfather trilogy.

Little did I know when I first heard this song at the age of nine that it was an actual dish, and a yummy one, too. I had very little interest in food at the time, apart from chocolate and Nutella.It's basically a simple bread and tomato soup, which can be eaten warm or cold. The Tuscans will insist that you use Tuscan (unsalted) bread for it, but it's not really necessary. However, don't even think of using soft, commercial bread. There are very many versions, but I'll refer you to the one by the knowledgeable Kyle Phillips, an American who lives in Tuscany. You can find it here.

Lyrics to the song are here.

Gino Paoli- Sapore di sale

Summer is almost upon us, at least here in the Northern hemisphere. Although you wouldn't know from the chilly, gray day we're having in Boston.

To celebrate the approaching season, here is a classic summer song from famed singer-songwriter Gino Paoli. The words are so simple that if you have studied Italian even a few months, you should be able to translate the lyrics, maybe with the help of a dictionary.

Sapore di sale, sapore di mare
che hai sulla pelle, che hai sulle labbra
quando esci dall'acqua e ti vieni a sdraiare
vicino a me, vicino a me.
Sapore di sale, sapore di mare
un gusto un po' amaro di cose perdute
di cose lasciate lontano da noi
dove il mondo è diverso, diverso da qui.

Il tempo è nei giorni che passano pigri
e lasciano in bocca il gusto del sale
ti butti nell'acqua e mi lasci a guardarti
e rimango da solo nella sabbia e nel sole.
Poi torni vicino e ti lasci cadere
così nella sabbia e nelle mie braccia
e mentre ti bacio sapore di sale
sapore di mare, sapore di te.

Sergio Endrigo- Io che amo solo te

Sergio Endrigo was a first-rate singer and songwriter, known for his melancholy ballads. His voice was perfectly suited to his songs. Like so many things, we are just realizing how good he really was now that he's no longer with us. My translation follows lyrics.

C’è gente che ha avuto mille cose
Tutto il bene, tutto il male del mondo
Io ho avuto solo te
E non ti perderò, non ti lascerò
Per cercare nuove avventure
C’è gente che ama mille cose
E si perde per le strade del mondo
Io che amo solo te
Io mi fermerò e ti regalerò
Quel che resta della mia gioventù

...

Io ho avuto solo te

E non ti perderò, non ti lascerò
Per cercare nuove illusioni.

C’è gente che ama mille cose ...

There are people who have had a thousand things

All the good, all the evil in the world

I have only had you

And I won't lose you, I won't leave you

To look for new adventures

There are people who love a thousand things

and they get lost along the roads of the world

I who only love you

I will stop and I will freely give you

What is left of my youth.

...

I have only had you

and I won't lose you, I won't leave you

to look for new illusions.

There are people who love a thousand things...

Zucchero- Il volo

Zucchero is a highly successful blue-eyed soul artist, influenced by Brit Joe Cocker, with whom he has worked and performed. His name means "sugar," and I believe that he is indeed a sweet man. Z. is from the northern Italian region of Emilia, where my favorite Italians come from, and his real name is the more prosaic Adelmo Fornaciari. My translation follows lyrics.

Ho camminato x le strade
col sole dei tuoi occhi
ci vuole un attimo x dirsi addio..... spara
Che bella quiete sulle cime
mi freddi il cuore e l'anima
ci vuole un attimo x dirsi addio.....
X questo troppo amore, per noi
e questo bel dolore
Ti prego no, ti prego lo sai!
Sogno, qualcosa di buono
che mi illumini il mondo
buono come te...
Che ho bisogno, di qualcosa di vero
che illumini il cielo
proprio come te!!!
Ho visto il sole nei tuoi occhi
calare nella sera
ci vuole un attimo x dirsi addio..... spara
Che bella quiete sulle rive
mi freddi il cuore e l'anima
ci vuole un attimo x dirsi..... addio!
Ma dove andranno i giorni e noi
le fughe e poi i ritorni
Ti prego no, ti prego lo sai!
Sogno, qualcosa di buono...
Siamo caduti in volo
Mio sole
siamo caduti in volo!
Siamo caduti in volo
Mio cielo
siamo caduti in volo!
Baby don't cry, baby don't cry
Baby don't cry, baby don't cry, baby don't cry
X questo amore Immenso, x noi
e il gran dolore che sento
ti prego no, ti prego lo sai!
Sogno, qualcosa di buono...
Sogno, qualcosa di buono...

I've walked the streets

in the sunlight of your eyes

it takes a second to say goodbye... shoot

How quiet on the peaks

You're killing my heart and soul

It takes a second to say goodbye

Because of this love that is too great, for us

And this beautiful sorrow

Please don't, please I mean it

I'm dreaming of something good

That will light up my world

Good like you

I need something true

That will light up the sky

Just like you!

I saw the sun in your eyes

go down in the evening

It takes a second to say goodbye... shoot

How quiet along the water

You're killing my heart and soul

It takes a second to say ... goodbye

But where will the days go and us

The escapes and the returns

Please don't, please I mean it

I'm dreaming of something good...

We fell in flight

My sun

We fell in flight

My sky

We fell in flight!

Baby don't cry, baby don't cry...

For this immense love, for us

And the great sorrow I feel

Please don't, please I mean it

I'm dreaming of something good

I'm dreaming of something good...

Caravaggio surpasses Michelangelo

There's a fairly interesting article in today's New York Times according to which one Michelangelo (Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio) has surpassed another one (Michelangelo Buonarroti). The writer maintains (and I agree) that this may be due to the greater relevance of bad-boy Caravaggio to our times. In other words, a disquieting artist for disquieting times. Our contemporary sensibility would find the Tuscan Michelangelo a bit too tame (see the famed tondo Doni below) or a bit too epic (Sistine Chapel). We are living in an untame and unepic era, no doubt about that.



Poor Caravaggio (who it seems was not even from the town of Caravaggio after all) has suffered the fate of other great artists whose reputations were discounted for centuries. These include some of my favorite painters, such as Vermeer and Piero della Francesca. Even so, while Caravaggio was I think a first-rater, with outstanding technical originality, he is not a match for the other Michelangelo. Who is and probably always will be the Michelangelo. Although, for the sake of fairness, I should point out that the latter lived fifty years longer than the former.

If you want to find out more, go to the Caravaggio exhibition in Rome, on until the 13th of June. If you can't get to Rome, content yourself with this site featuring the naughty man's works.

(above, a portrayal of Narcissus admiring himself, attributed to Caravaggio)

Lucio Battisti- I giardini di marzo

Lucio Battisti is my favorite Italian singer and this is my favorite song of his- right in time for March. Although flowers do not bloom in Boston until April. For those of you learning Italian: notice the use of the tenses- imperfetto, present, passato remoto (unusual in a modern pop song.) Translation follows lyrics.

Il carretto passava e quell' uomo gridava 'gelati!'
al ventuno del mese i nostri soldi erano già finiti
io pensavo a mia madre e rivedevo i suoi vestiti
il più bello era nero e coi fiori non ancora appassiti
All' uscita di scuola i ragazzi vendevano i libri
io restavo a guardarli cercando il coraggio per imitarli
poi sconfitto tornavo a giocar con la mente e i suoi tarli
e la sera al telefono tu mi chiedevi: "perchè non parli?"

Che anno è, che giorno è
questo è il tempo di vivere con te
le mie mani come vedi non tremano più
e ho nell' anima in fondo all' anima
cieli immensi, e immenso amore
e poi ancora ancora amore amor per te
fiumi azzurri e colline e praterie
dove corrono dolcissime le mie malinconie
l' universo trova spazio dentro me
ma il coraggio di vivere quello ancora non c'è.

I giardini di marzo si vestono di nuovi colori
e le giovani donne in quel mese vivono nuovi amori
camminavi al mio fianco ad un tratto dicesti:"tu muori"
Se mi aiuti son certa che io ne verro' fuori!
Ma non una parola chiarì i miei pensieri
continuai a camminare lasciandoti attrice di ieri

Che anno è, che giorno è
questo è il tempo di vivere con te
le mie mani come vedi non tremano più
e ho nell' anima in fondo all' anima
cieli immensi, e immenso amore
e poi ancora ancora amore amor per te
fiumi azzurri e colline e praterie
dove corrono dolcissime le mie malinconie
l' universo trova spazio dentro me
ma il coraggio di vivere quello ancora non c'è.

The cart passed by and the man yelled: "Ice cream!"

on the twenty-first of the month our money was already gone

I thought about my mother and saw her dresses again

The prettiest was black, with flowers that were not yet faded

Outside the school the kids were selling books

I stood there looking at them trying to have the nerve to imitate them

Then defeated I went back to my mind and its obsessions

and in the evening you asked me on the phone "why won't you talk?"

What year is it, what day is it?

this is the time to live with you

my hands, as you can see, are no longer trembling

and in my soul, deep down in my soul I have

immense skies, immense love

and then more, still more love for you

blue rivers and hills and prairies

where my sadness flows so sweetly

the universe finds room inside me

but the courage to live, that I still don't have

The gardens of March are clothed in new colors

and the young women live new loves in that month

you were walking by my side, all of a sudden you said: "you're dying"

If you help me I know I'll get out of this

but not one word explained my thoughts

and I went on walking leaving you the actress of yesterday.

What year is it, what day is it...

Jovanotti should be ashamed

While web surfing I came upon a little matter of the extreme similiarity of a major success by Italian singer Jovanotti (A te) and an earlier hit by 15-time Latin Grammy/2-time Grammy award winner Alejandro Sanz (A la primera persona). A YouTube poster had the bright idea of placing parts of the songs side by side.

I challenge anyone to say this is not basically the same song, with a different arrangement. Although the words are not the same, the titles are similar and the idea is the same: the Italian song speaks to a current love object and the (superior) Spanish song is addressed to a potential love object he is still seeking. Hearing them side by side like this makes it sound like a duo.

What's going on? Jovanotti denies having ever heard A la primera persona. Despite the fact that he has recorded in Spanish and Sanz is much better-known world-wide, having 17 more Grammy awards than the Italian "artist." To my knowledge, no legal action has been taken. Mind you that hyper-talented George Harrison had to pay a pretty penny due to a fleeting but real resemblance between his My sweet Lord and the Chiffons' He's so fine. If it's not a case of plagiarism here, it's a case of some shady deal within the music industry.

Now I never cared much for Jovanotti (starting with his stupid invented name) from the beginning. Since then he's jumped on the celebrity gravy train of the sensitive, politically and socially committed and self-righteous prick. All while singing songs about the rain ("it's raining, God how it's raining, listen to how it's coming down") and the present song ("to you who are, who simply are" and "You're my great love and my love great"). I'd like to smack his sensitive, politically and socially committed face. Albeit a rather handsome face, I must admit.

This song has had an enormous success, putting millions into the pockets of our pseudo-leftist. One of my father's favorite sayings used to be H.L. Mencken's remark "nobody ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public." Apparently this is now also true of Italy.

Update, Feb. 8, 2010. Monday morning. After writing my new post, I checked the previous ones to see if they were in working order. Lo and behold- YouTube video above replaced by the notice: "this video is no longer available due to a copyright claim by Jovanotti."

You can't make this stuff up. Lorenzo: vatti a nascondere, bischero.