Sicilian Poetry
Sicilian Poetry |
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Ignazio Buttitta (9/19/1899 - 4/5/1997) This photo of Buttitta was copied from a Bagheria Museum file at www.museum-bagheria.it/it/bagheria/buttitta.htm. For more information on Ignazio Buttitta refer to the links at the bottom of this page. Ignazio Buttitta died at his home in Aspra (Bagheria) on April 5, 1997.
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Dr. Gaetano Cipolla, the president of Arba Sicula noted Buttitta's passing in his President's Message in Sicilia Parra, vol IX, no. 1, page 2. Dr. Cipolla reproduced this poem by Buttitta in which the poet speaks of his anticipated death. | ||
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Sugnu all'ultimu di me viaggi. Ci pensu e dicu, non po' essiri, si sugnu davanti ô mari cu suli ntall'occhi e a speranza ntô cori. Ma un ghiornu Ignaziu si fa un viaggiu cu un cavaddu biancu chi vola e non si ferma mai. Si si ferma è mortu... La morti esisti; non ci po' essiri nascita si non c'è morti. E io sugnu filici chi nascivu nno un munnu accussi granni ca diventa sempri cchiù nicu. E non c'è dubbiu ca attraversu i seculi si scoprinu munni cchiù granni e cchiù beddi di chistu. Cu omini cchiù intelligenti e cu fimmini cchiù beddi. Dumani si mi incuntrati mi diciti: Ignaziu ragiuni avevi e a vita continua megghiu di prima. |
I am at the last of my travels. I think about it and say, it can't be, If I'm at the sea shore with the sun in my face and hope in my heart. But one day Ignatius will take himself a trip on a white charger that will fly off and never stop. If it does stop, it's dead... Death does exist; there can't be birth if there is no death. But I'm happy that I was born into a world that was so big that it's always getting smaller. And there's no doubt that other bigger worlds will be found over the centuries more beautiful than this one. Peopled by men more intelligent and women even more beautiful. Tomorrow, were you to meet me you'd say: Ignatius you were right and life's getting better than before. English translation by Arthur V. Dieli | |
| Lina La Mattina, a Buttitta disciple, wrote a very moving tribute to the poet two days after his death. Here's a link to her poem, "A 'Gnaziu Buttitta" with my translation. Use the back arrow on your browser to return to this page. | ||
| In the poem, Lingua e Dialettu, Language and Dialect, written in January 1970, Ignazio Buttitta delves into the relevance of one's native language in terms that invoke the tragedy of its loss. | ||
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Lingua e dialettu
Un populu mittitulu a catina spuggghiatulu attuppatici a vucca, è ancora libiru. Livatici u travagghiu u passaportu a tavula unni mancia u lettu unni dormi, è ancora riccu. Un populu, diventa poviru e servu, quannu ci arrubbanu a lingua addutata di patri: è persu pi sempri. Diventu poviru e servu, quannu i paroli non figghianu paroli e si mancianu tra d'iddi. Minn'addugnu ora, mentri accordu a chitarra du dialettu ca perdi na corda lu jornu. Mentri arripezzu a tila camulata chi tesseru i nostri avi cu lana di pecuri siciliani. E sugnu poviru: haiu i dinari e non li pozzu spènniri; i giuelli e non li pozzu rigalari; u cantu, nta gaggia cu l'ali tagghiati. U poviru, c'addatta nte minni strippi da matri putativa, chi u chiama figghiu pi nciuria. Nuàtri l'avevamu a matri, nni l'arrubbaru; aveva i minni a funtani di latti e ci vìppiru tutti, ora ci sputanu. Nni ristò a vuci d'idda, a cadenza, a nota vascia du sonu e du lamentu: chissi non nni ponnu rubari. Nni ristò a sumigghianza, l'annatura, i gesti, i lampi nta l'occhi: chissi non nni ponnu rubari. Non nni ponnu rubari, ma ristamu poviri e orfani u stissu. Gennaio 1970 |
Language And Dialect
A People put them in chains strip them naked gag their mouths, they are still free. Take away their livlihood their freedom to travel the table where they eat the bed they sleep in, they are still rich. A People become impoverished and servile, when taken from them the language endowed by their fathers: is lost forever. They become impoverished and servile, when their words don't generate words and they canabalize themselves. Now I understand as I finger the guitar frets of the dialect that each day another chord is lost. While I darn this moth eaten cloth woven by our forebears with thread spooled from Sicilian sheep. Yet I'm impoverished: I have money and can't spend it; jewels and can't gift them; a song, caged with broken wings. A poor wretch suckling at dried-up breasts of a supposed mother who calls him son as a taunt. We once had a mother, they stole her; she had breasts overflowing with milk that everyone drank, now she is spat upon. Her voice stayed with us, the intonation, the soft note the sound and the lament: these they could not take from us. And remaining still the similitude, the way of walking, the gestures, the sparkling eyes: these they can not take from us. They can not take them from us, but we're impoverished and orphaned all the same. January 1970 English translation by Arthur V. Dieli | |
| In the poem, Ncuntravu u Signuri, I Encountered The Lord, Ignazio Buttitta manages to give us a glimpse into the complexity of the Sicilian psyche. The recrimination, reminiscent of Job but perhaps with more bitterness, the familiarity, the admiration, the frustration, the sadness, the inevitability, the honesty, and the pity. | ||
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Ncuntravu u Signuri
ncuntravu u Signuri pa strata e ci dissi: nun t'affrunti a caminari scausu? Era stancu. L'ossa arrusicati da càmula, a tonaca sfardata a vucca sicca e circava acqua. Facia pietati a vidillu. Ma pinzannu a chiddu chi nni fici pu piaciri di mittirinni o munnu e vidirinni arrubbari, odiari, assicutari i danari e gudiri du mali di l'autri, vi dicu a virità: non mi spunto' na lacrima E facia mprissioni un picciotto di trentatrianni beddu, iautu, ussutu, e l'occhi di ova di palumma figghiati nta pagghia Facia mpressioni da taliatura d'omo ca traseva nto cori cu ventu du ciatu, nto cori comme lingua d'agneddu e crapicchi di matri Ma pinzannu chiddu chi ni feci pu piaciri di vidirinni scippari l'occhi l'unu cu l'autru, scurciari l'unu cu l'autru, ammazzarinni e chiantari banneri di vittoria nte panze di morti, vi dicu a veritati: non mi spunto' una lacrima Ci dissi sulu: megghiu si non nascevi, non scinnevi nterra e non murivi nta cruci. Nuatri fussimu nenti, nè pampini nè ciuri e mancu carni punciuta di l'api e manciata di vermi. Fussimu nenti, negghi senza timpesta e senza trona e lampi nto cielu e tirrimoto nterra... nenti Era stancu, mi taliava e chiancia como unu nnocenti che chiana o patibulu. by Ignazio Buttitta |
I Encountered The Lord
along the road I encountered the Lord and I said to him: aren't you shamed to go barefoot? He was tired. Bones chewed by worms, tunic torn mouth dry and looking for water. It grieved me to see him. But remembering what he had done for the pleasure of entering the world and watching the robbery, hate, pursuit of gain and approving the pain of others, the truth to tell: not one tear did well And he made an impression this lad of thirty three handsome, tall, athletic with eyes the shape of pigeon eggs laid in straw It made an impression that view of the man that entered the heart with the gentleness of a breath into the heart like the murmur of a lamb and a mother's caprice But remembering what he'd done for the pleasure of seeing us tear out each other's eyes attacking and killing one another and implanting the banners of victory in the bellies of the dead, the truth to tell: not one tear did well I only said to him: better had you not been born not descended to earth and not died on the cross. We would then be nothing, neither foliage nor flowers nor flesh stung by bees and worm eaten. We would be nothing, clouds without storms a sky without thunder and lightining a land without earthquakes... nothing He was tired, he looked at me and cried like an innocent prisoner ascending the gallows. English translation by Arthur V. Dieli | |
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The huge wave of emigration from Sicily that occurred in the early 1900s is long over and in the year 2000 the current population of Sicily is stabilized at around five million. But Sicily still has a relatively high unemployment rate, said to be hovering around twenty five per cent. As a result, there is still some movement of Sicilians to other countries in search of work. As a result, just in the case of my own extended family there are Dieli branches in Berlin, Winnenden, Geneva, Rome, La Spezia, etc. The emigrants return to their towns in Sicily for vacations but like the Sicilians who came to America, they have put down roots in their adopted countries and are raising their families there.
Buttitta himself was an immigrant in nothern Italy for some time although he returned to Sicily after the end of the war. This poem may have a special meaning to those of us who were on the eleventh annual Arba Sicula tour of Sicily. I dedicate this translation to you. | ||
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L'emigranti ripartinu
"Ottu jorna di festa e ora si nni vannu ca non è chiù Natali e mancu Capudannu. Ritornanu nta nivi unni c'è negghia e scuru, e c'è u patruni straniu e c'è u travagghiu duru Unni sunnu chiamati pi nciùria, terroni e l'òmini da Sicilia non semu genti boni. E partinu cu suli nto trenu senza suli ... Nto trenu senza suli cu cori chi ci chianci: 'Addiu bedda Sicilia, ... Oh, terra mia d'aranci, d'aranci e di canzuni; u latti mi lu dasti ma pani un mi nni duni'." --by Ignazio Buttitta |
The emigrees are leaving
"Eight days of vacation now they're going away Christmas is over so is New Years' day. Back to the snow to the fog and the dullness, their bosses are foreign their work is tough Where they're called, to insult them, peasant and folks from Sicily we're not good, we're unpleasant. They leave with the sun in a train without sun ... In a train without sun with hearts that cry: 'Good bye beautiful Sicilia, ... My land of oranges, of oranges and of song; you gave me of your milk but it's for your bread that I long'." English translation by Arthur V. Dieli | |
| Here are four links to more information about Ignazio Buttitta. The links were active as of the last updating of this page. Given the volatility of the internet, some links may be outdated by the time you attempt to access them. I'd appreciate an email notice should you find that. 1) http://www.csssstrinakria.org/buttitta.htm This link includes a short biography of the poet, several reviews, and a list of his published works. 2) http://www.librairie-compagnie.fr/italie/auteurs/b/buttita.htm As you may have noticed in the url, this link is in French and includes a review by Leonardo Sciascia and lists two French editions of Buttitta's works. 3) http://userhome.brooklyn.cuny.edu/bonaffini/DP/index.html This link is in English and includes biographic information, a number of Buttitta's poems with translations in Italian and English, and a bibliography. The author of the page is Luigi Bonafini, professor of Italian at Brooklyn College. 4) http://www.museum-bagheria.it/it/bagheria/personaggi.htm Bagheria, located on the eastern shore of the Conca d'Oro, is the birthplace of Buttitta. Explore this site for a fascinating view of the past and current art scene in Sicily. |
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