It’s always exciting to launch a little quiz on the internet and wait for the answers to come rolling in, so first of all I’d like to say thanks to the people who replied to Parole Onomatopeiche, well done both of you!

Now for the solutions:

2. Tic… tic…    e’ il ticchettio    dell’orologio    (is the ticking of the clock)

3. Bee…bee…    e’ il belato    della pecora    (is the bleating of the sheep)

4. Sc… sc…    e’ il fruscio    delle foglie al vento    (is the rustling of the leaves in the wind)

5. Tin… tin…    e’ il tintinnio    di un brindisi    (is the chiming of a toast)

6. Trin… trin…    e’ il trillo    del telefono    (is the ringing of the telephone)

7. Sssss… ssss…    e’ il sibilo    del serpente    (is the hissing of the snake)

8. Uuuuu… uuuu…    e’ l’ ululo    del vento rabbioso    (is the howling of the raging wind)

9. Gra… gra…    e’ il gracidio    della rana    (is the croaking of the frog)

10. Gru… gru…    e’ il grugnito    del maiale    (is the grunting of the pig)

11. Frr… frr…    e’ il frinio    della cicala    (is the ‘song’ of the cicada)

 

I bet you didn’t know that Italian sheep go bee… bee… instead of baa… baa… did you?

Although this quiz might seem a bit trivial, having a knowledge of words such as these starts to bring language to life, in other words it moves your vocabulary beyond the practical and prosaic. Which doesn’t mean that you’re going to start writing poetry, simply that your language becomes more descriptive and interesting.

However if you do decide to take up writing poetry in Italian perhaps you can draw some inspiration from the following poem by the Nobel prize winning poet Eugenio Montale.

 

Cigola la carrucola del pozzo,

l’acqua sale alla luce e vi si fonde.

Trema un ricordo nel ricolmo secchio,

nel puro cerchio un’immagine ride.

Accosto il volto a evanescenti labbri:

si deforma il passato, si fa vecchio,

appartiene ad un altro…

                                           Ah che gia’ stride

la ruota, ti ridona all’atro fondo,

visione, una distanza ci divide.

 

The pulley of the well squeaks,

the water rises to the light and merges with it.

A memory trembles in the overflowing bucket,

in the pure circle an images laughs.

I move my face towards vanishing lips:

the past looses its shape, becomes old,

belongs to someone else…

                                   Ah, the wheel

screeches already, it draws you back to the dark bottom,

vision, a distance divides us.