“Io non mi sento italiano”, G.G.

I, G. G., was born and I live in Milan

(Io G. G. sono nato e vivo a Milano)

I don’t feel italian

(Io non mi sento italiano)

but for better or for worse, I am.

(ma per fortuna o purtroppo lo sono)

I’m sorry, mr President,

(Mi scusi Presidente)

It’s not my fault

(non è per colpa mia)

but I don’t know what this homeland is

(ma questa nostra Patria
non so che cosa sia)

I may be wrong

(Può darsi che mi sbagli)

that may be a good idea

(che sia una bella idea)

But I’m afraid
it’ll became a bad poem

(ma temo che diventi
una brutta poesia)

I’m sorry, mr President

(Mi scusi Presidente)

I don’t need very much

(non sento un gran bisogno)

our national Anthem

(dell’inno nazionale)

I’m a bit ashamed of

(di cui un po’ mi vergogno)

about soccer palyers

(In quanto ai calciatori)

I don’t want to judge

(non voglio giudicare)

ours don’t even know it

(i nostri non lo sanno)

or they have more modesty

(o hanno più pudore)

I don’t feel italian
but for better or for worse I am

(Io non mi sento italiano
ma per fortuna o purtroppo lo sono)

I’m sorry, mr President

(Mi scusi Presidente)

if I dare say
thai I don’t feel any membership

(se arrivo all’impudenza
di dire che non sento
alcuna appartenenza)

And except for Garibaldi

(E tranne Garibaldi)

and other glorious heroes

(e altri eroi gloriosi)

I can’t see any other reasons

(non vedo alcun motivo)

to be proud

(per essere orgogliosi)

I’m sorry, mr President

(Mi scusi Presidente)

but I’m thinking about the
black-shirt fanatism

(ma ho in mente il fanatismo
delle camicie nere)

at the time of fascism

(al tempo del fascismo)

From where in a beautiful day was born

(Da cui un bel giorno nacque)

this democracy

(questa democrazia)

that needs fantasy
to receive praises

(che a farle i complimenti
ci vuole fantasia)

This beautiful Country

(Questo bel Paese)

Full of poetry

(pieno di poesia)

Has got so many claims

(ha tante pretese)

but is the suburbs
of our Occidental word

(ma nel nostro mondo occidentale
è la periferia)

I’m sorry, mr President

(Mi scusi Presidente)

but this State

(ma questo nostro Stato)

that you represent

(che voi rappresentate)

seems to me a bit smashed up

(mi sembra un po’ sfasciato)

It’s even too much clear

(E’ anche troppo chiaro)

in the eyes of the people

(agli occhi della gente)

that everything is calculated

(che tutto è calcolato)

that nothing works

(e non funziona niente)

Maybe it’s true that italians

(Sarà che gli italiani)

from a long tradition

(per lunga tradizione)

are too much fond of
any kind of debate

(son troppo appassionati
di ogni discussione)

Even in Parliament

(Persino in parlamento)

there’s a glowing atmosphere

(c’è un’aria incandescente)

everyone slaughter about everything

(si scannano su tutto)

but then nothing changes

(e poi non cambia niente)

i’m sorry, mr President

(Mi scusi Presidente)

You should agree

(dovete convenire)

that we must admit our limits

(che i limiti che abbiamo
ce li dobbiamo dire)

But apart defeatism

(Ma a parte il disfattismo)

we are what we are

(noi siamo quel che siamo)

and we have a past too

(e abbiamo anche un passato)

that’s not to forget

(che non dimentichiamo)

I’ sorry, mr President,

(Mi scusi Presidente)

but maybe we Italians

(ma forse noi italiani)

are for other only
spaghetti and mandolins

(per gli altri siamo solo
spaghetti e mandolini)

So here I get angry

(Allora qui mi incazzo)

I’m proud and I boast

(son fiero e me ne vanto)

I slam in their faces

(gli sbatto sulla faccia)

what Renaissance is

(cos’è il Rinascimento)

I don’t feel italian

(Io non mi sento italiano)

but for better or for worse I am

(ma per fortuna o purtroppo lo sono)

This beautiful country

(Questo bel Paese)

maybe is not much wise

(forse è poco saggio)

has got confused ideas

(ha le idee confuse)

but if I were born in other places

(ma se fossi nato in altri luoghi)

it could have been worse

(poteva andarmi peggio)

i’m sorry, mr President

(Mi scusi Presidente)

by now I’ve said so much

(ormai ne ho dette tante)

there’s another observation

(c’è un’altra osservazione)

thai I think is important

(che credo sia importante)

compared to foreing

(Rispetto agli stranieri)

we consider us less

(noi ci crediamo meno)

but maybe we understood

(ma forse abbiam capito)

that the world is a puppet theater

(che il mondo è un teatrino)

I’m sorry, mr President

(Mi scusi Presidente)

I know that neither you rejoice

(lo so che non gioite)

if the outcry “Italia, Italia”

(se il grido “Italia, Italia”)

is heard only at football matchs

(c’è solo alle partite)

but a bit not to die

(Ma un po’ per non morire)

or maybe a bit to bandinage

(o forse un po’ per celia)

we made Europe

(abbiam fatto l’Europa)

let’s make Italy too

(facciamo anche l’Italia)

I don’t feel Italian
but for better or for worse
for better or for worse
for better…

fortunately I am.

It took me two days to translate this song, but I’m pretty satisfied with the result. Giorgio Gaber was one of the italian singers I like most, especially for its monologues. He was an Actor before a singer, and a singer before a comedian. Nay: he’s never been a comedian.
It’s a pity he’s dead. As every V.I.P. I would be glad to send a mail to (?), he died when I was a child.
What a bad luck.

Annunci

Rome

I’m dead, dead, dead tired… as usual. I’m always dead tired. I hope “dead tired” is the correct expression, inter alia (wait: do you really say inter alia? This is not English, this is Latin! It’s much more closer to Italian than English… oh, I’m feeling home). By the way, I’m always tired, but I don’t care anymore. I like beeing tired. It’s much more better than beein bored, at least.

Today I got weary because I went to work to the library, as I do once a week since I moved to Rome. Altough, I don’t really work, I’m just a volunteer… I’m the one who tidy up the book and put them into the right shelves, in practice. Yet today we had the full-of-maids book society (argh) and, at the same time, a conference about a (vey) little-known poet, but that attracted dozens of old people who wanted to have necessarily a chair, and another, and another… I felt like a porter.

However: Rome. Rome is wonderful. Rome means freedom. Rome is huge. Rome is so beautiful (there are no other words) that you can burst into tears at the sight of the Colosseum. Even if it’s dirty-black. Indeed I always say that if I were millionairess I would definitely have it cleaned… For better or for worse, someone who’s actually milionarie stole my idea (in fact by now the Colosseum is half-cordoned). Nice.

No city on Earth have what we have here. Centuries and centuries of history passed here, leaving lot of traces… no: I checked the right translation for traces, and google suggested me also scents… i think scents fit better. Your truly breathe history amid the streets of Rome. When Rome’s been existing for millennia (this is latin too, pals), Americans had just gained their independence. You all are kids compared to us. When London was a village, Rome was an empire. The only thought makes you feel dizzy. Millennia. When I’ve nothing to do, I like sitting just in front of the Colosseum and admire its shape overshadowing the sunset. Tourists tingle all around, snap picture and enjoy the scenery… but, sooner or later, they will have to leave. I don’t. I could sit there forever, if I werent’ nineteen and if I hadn’t to minister all the nineteen-years-old-girl’s stuff. But it’s mine. All the italian monumental heritage is mine… no: it’s ours. We italians have the most precious heritage on the Earth. I defy anyone to say the contrary.
I think that beauty is shattered all around the world, and that every place is special and have to be fairly appreciated. But in my mind is like if in Italy the glass of the beauty hit the ground, so that most of the splinters are concentrated here. But it’s not chauvinism, I swear.

It’s not chauvinism because I’m the first to admit that Italy may have been one of the most magnificent country… one day. But this is no longer the case, today.
Lots of people are ruining it. Our politicians aren’t doing their work. If they don’t, neither others “common” people do it. Everywhere I turn, “there’s no money”.
There’s no money for the hospitals, there’s no money for the schools, there’s no money for the jail so thieves and murders don’t go to the jail (nay, thieves go to the Parliament… ah ah ah). There’s no money for enterprises, so enterpreuners can’t pay their workers and they fire them, but then they can’t earn a living so they kill temselves.
Yes: people kill themselves.
There’s no money to pay workers, so there’s no work. And if you are ninteen (nearly twenty), you already know that you’ll find one only after lots of difficulties. If you’re studying, you study with the awareness that all your labors will develop in a underpaid job… if you’re lucky.

Then you switch on the TV. You listen to the news. You see where the money is… I don’t know if it is the same also in all the other countries, but here ours politicians eat and crap with the sacrifices of all of the honest people. Maybe is this the reason why I want to travel all around the world, why I want to became a journalist (a serious one) and why I’m here, trying to write like I’ve neved did before -because nobody tought me how to do it. Traveling, seeing how the others do, to understand where and why we are doing wrong.