Bicchieruccio

Quande j'i mi facce nu bicchiere de vine, sempre me mette a pensà, alla cantine de patre, a lu combare, e a giorne che ne ci stanne chiue.

"Va a trova papá che è pronde a magnà, vide se sta fore" — j'i mi so misse a vede se steve in mezz'a l'ort, ma ne le trovev. E so rijite a mamm, e ma ditt "e vide alla cantine... andò vo sta." J'i so entrate e j'iess mi chiameve "vette a settà, piglate na gocce de vine cu me" e me se metteve a raccontà, dopo nu poc mi diceve, "e su, piglie na'tra gocce," ma se steve a fa tarde e ere pronte a magnà.

Quande mamm cia viste cia rimproverate — "sci gia bevute alla cantine?" E papá risponeve "ma c'u bevute! Na gocce ere!"

S'aviccineve lu temp de fa lu vine, e patreme mi diceve che j'i le teneve aiutà. "Te mettete a piggia st'uve" — e j'i mi metteve la tutte contende che papá m'aveve date stu lavore. Quand avevam finite portavamme lu most alla cantine e papá me racconteve "lu vine è gelose, vo sta da sole, ne vo esse disturbate" e j'i me so misse a pensà che lu vine è come la gente: delle vote vo sta da sole...

Quande mamme ci vedeve a fa tutte stu vine ci diceve "Toni, ma tutte stu vine te serve?" e papá responeve "tenghe sei ómene a sta casa" e mamme diceve, "e che se le fanne lore."

Quande j'i ere nu quatrane, ogni vota che veniva lu combare, j'isse e patreme se ne j'ievane alla cantine pe nu bicchieruccie de vine. E me se porteveno appress, e se mettevane a parlà, a scherzà, a fa casciare e ogni tante se rifacevane nu bicchierucciu. Ma le femmine le rimproverevane che me portevene appriss, e glie dicevane "che a quisse glie fe piglià nu brutte vizio" ma j'i ne capive qu vizie teneva piglià.

Mo lu munne sta cambiande, mo emme fatte progress, ne se va chiue alla cantine de lu compare, mo se va a lu bar, mo ne se beve chiue lu vine de casa, mo vonne lu vine bone... mo ne se metteno a chiaccherà a na cantine vecchie. Mo ti diceno che lu vine fa male...

Però ogni tante j'i me ferme e pense, che se steve meglie cu chiu poc, che se steve meglio senza tutte stu progresse, che se steve meglio cu nu bicchieruccio de vine alla cantine.

Anthony R. Iocco

Scritto in Dialetto Abruzzese (Navelli, Provincia L'Aquila)

Whenever I pour myself a glass of wine, I always find myself thinking of my father's cellar, of my godfather, and of days that are no more.

"Go find your father, dinner's ready — see if he's outside," my mother would say. I'd go looking for him out in the garden, but I wouldn't find him there. So I'd go back to my mother, and she'd say, "Go check the cellar... that's where he'll be." I'd go in, and he'd call out to me: "Come sit down, have a drop of wine with me," and he'd start telling stories. After a little while he'd say, "Go on, have another drop," but it was getting late and dinner was ready.

When my mother saw him, she'd scold him — "Have you been drinking in the cellar again?" And my father would answer, "What drinking! It was just a drop!"

When the time to make the wine drew near, my father would tell me I had to help him. "Come and pick these grapes," he'd say, and I'd set to work, all pleased that my father had given me this job. When we finished, we'd carry the must down to the cellar, and my father would tell me, "Wine is jealous — it wants to be alone, it doesn't want to be disturbed," and I found myself thinking that wine is like people: sometimes it just wants to be left alone...

When my mother saw him making so much wine, she'd say, "Toni, do you really need all this wine?" And my father would answer, "I've got six men in this house." And my mother would say, "And what do they do with it themselves?"

When I was a boy, every time my godfather came by, he and my father would go down to the cellar for a little glass of wine. They'd bring me along with them, and they'd talk, joke around, laugh, and every so often pour themselves another little glass. But the women would scold them for bringing me along, telling them, "You're going to give him a bad habit," but I never understood what habit I was supposed to be picking up.

Now the world is changing, now we've made progress — you no longer go to your godfather's cellar, now you go to the bar; you no longer drink homemade wine, now everyone wants the good stuff... now nobody sits and chats in an old cellar anymore. Now they tell you wine is bad for you...

But every so often I stop and think that we were better off with less, that we were better off without all this progress, that we were better off with a little glass of wine down in the cellar.

Anthony R. Iocco

Written in Abruzzese Dialect (Navelli, Province of L'Aquila)