Don't Believe Everything You See

Not yet adjusted to the time change Rebecca woke me up the next morning at 5 AM and we went for a walk up to Piazza Trilussa at the edge of Trastevere across the Tiber River to the Jewish Synagogue (now a museum) and then back across the Tiber at the island Isola Tiberina into Trastevere again. It started to cloud up and rain came in a light drizzle, a welcome change to the overwhelming heat. The locals were out,  perhaps all night and not yet seeking refuge from the morning onslaught of garbage collectors. A film crew was setting up along the river and I fanatsized that Federico Fellini would emerge at any moment from one of the trailers. His cast of clowns and crazy people were all around. One poor guy was out cold from a hard night of drinking just as we crossed the footbridge at Trilussa lucky to not have fallen off the edge. The ground everywhere was strewn with empty bottles and the walls blemished at the hands of nightly raids by street artists.

An old woman draped completely in black and stooped over so you could not see her face, had her hand out as we passed along the bridge. I gave her a Euro. It was instinctive. There was something unreal about her. I recalled the night before of doing a double take on a human sculpture. After close observation it moved ever so slightly. Like the stone man the old lady's outstretched hand never fell to her side.

Other locals I had begun to recognize were a guy with long black hair a broken leg and no teeth, a woman with a Sophia Loren body and well worn face who talked very loudly and promptly undid her pants, squatted and peed on the monument for the Roman poet for which the Piazza Trilussa is named. Sal had done a yeoman’s job to translate the Trilussa poem All’ombra inscribed on the monument the day before, on the spot, but I am lately moved to look for an English translation on a Google search.

ALL’OMBRA

Mentre me leggo er solito giornale
spaparacchiato all’ombra d’un pajaro,
vedo un porco e je dico. Addio, majale!
vedo un ciuccio e je dico. Addio, somaro!
Forse ste bestie nun me caperanno,
ma provo armeno la soddisfazzione
de potè di’ le cose come stanno
senza paura de fini in priggione.

IN THE SHADOW

While I’m reading the usual newspaper,
relaxed in the shadow of a straw patio,
I see a swine and I say aloud: “Farewell, pig!”
I see a mule and I say aloud: “Farewell, donkey!”
Maybe these beasts won’t understand me
but, at least, I feel so happy
to be free to tell things straight,
fearing not to finish up in prison.


The poem is written in the Romanesco dialect and the above translation is more of a literal Italian version. Below is a recent translation by Professor John DuVal, director of the literary translation program in the English department of the J. William Fulbright College of Arts and Sciences.


IN THE SHADE OF THE HAY RICK

I read my paper, back propped against the hay.
Here comes a hog, so I look up and say,
"Goodbye, pig!" And then across the grass
here comes a donkey; I say, "Goodbye, ass!"
No way of telling if they've understood.
Whether they have or not, it does me good
to call things what they are without the dread
of having to go to jail for what I've said.

The political context of Trilussa’s poetry is early 20th century fascism and he was known for his satires of the time. Refusing to be labeled or associated with any literary circle or political persuasion he described himself simply as “not a fascist” and lived, wrote about and worked among the locals of Trastevere. “All’ombra” is clearly not about them. It was written in 1932 at the height of fascism in Italy. The words “Goodbye, pig!” and “Goodbye, ass!” would have significantly different meaning if written in the late 40’s at fascism’s decline.

The Du Val translation provides a personal expression and insight into the poem that the first translation does not begin to evoke. The literal translation of the title word all’ombra means “shade” not “shadow” which changes the meaning of the entire poem from a condition of foreboding to one of self determination. Taking shade rather than being under the shadow, Trilussa has chosen to be there. The “usual” newspaper is the more personal “my” newspaper. “Propped against the hay” suggests that Trilussa is not in the leisure of a “straw patio” but sitting in The Hay Rick, the animal house itself. The “shadowed” threat is actually real danger. More important in the second stanza the Du Val words are chosen with care to state Trilussa ‘s feeling that whether the political pigs or asses understand him or not, the act of calling things as they are is good for him but better under the circumstances of not going to jail for it. He is not a passive observer at all but is making a clear statement for freedom of speech.

Sophia Loren hitches up her pants speaking loudly without a break in her actions. The guy with a broken leg hobbles away and the drunken fellow awakens and stumbles off in search of his friends. The other Romanesco poet of Trastevere and Trilussa’s mentor, Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli stands a few blocks away looking down on Viale di Trastevere at his own Piazza. These are the people of Trilussa and Belli.

Fellini’s a no show but I can’t help wondering if it was really an old woman I gave the Euro to or an actor pretending to be one. The words of All’ombra resonate with me. Under the worst of times take action, make a statement and call it like it is.