|
Wordsmith
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Back in Israel
Posts: 10,945
|
Teaching Italian
La trasporto nelle onde di azzurro.
Listen to the consonants as they yield to the beauty of the vowels passing by.
See how “n” respectfully withdraws just enough to make “trasporto” become a hint at something exotic? Imbibe the tinkling of the “nelle”, the lilt of the palatalized double “l” as her tongue touches her palate, the same palate that was bathed in chocolate milk this morning, and fleetingly glides along it, sounding a hint, turning the palate into a sex object. Repeat after me:
I take her into the waves of the azure
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spruzza nella gomma piuma cremosa
I implore you – please, please, say it out loud –“spruzza!”
You do feel the outburst of feminine youth, the sound of a young princess dancing in the surf?
Surely you see the doubling of the “m.” In Italian, even consonants ring with melody:
She splashes in the creamy foam
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sono muto ai branelli di acqua di mare sulla sua pelle spalmata di olio del Melissa
Say this sentence slowly, pausing after each word. Drink the liquor of each word, which is the spirit of the ecstatic tarantella dance. No, Melissa is the name of lemon balm that I put on her three times a day. Please, allow me to keep her name a secret, an inebriating sound for me, me alone to abuse:
I am speechless at the beads of seawater on her skin smeared with the oil of Melissa.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
La prendo più ulteriormente fuori al mare
And surely you hear “la”, the sixth voice in the Italian solfeggio, the central note of the whole music realm, the prima donna of the music spectrum, the syllable that is sung by little children and satisfied women throughout the world. See how “l” steps in deference to “piu?” The language of that slutty France just across the border –sometimes I think I see the lights of Marseilles – pronounces it as “plus,” but what do they know about beauty of sound… Hence:
I take her further out to sea.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Il mare gli rende un corpo senza peso di passione.
Look at “gli.” This is not “li” in “glib,” “glow,” “glad.” This is the sound that makes the hedonists throughout the world learn Italian, eat tons of spaghetti, drink the playful Lambrusco, just so they could pronounce the incredible, indescribable, the impossible, the luscious lilt of the juicy consonant, but, alas, I see them pretending to be Italians, gawking at my Principessa. Repeat after me: gli. Pouring of balm “llyyi”. Let’s say it together:
The sea makes her a weightless body of passion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Di nuovo alla baracca sulla spiaggia.
Ah, spiaggia… Again, forget the French “plage,” the cuckold husband of “frottage.” Spiaggia is the fleshscape brimming with female form, with dizzying smells of cocoa butter and lemon soap and briny seaweed and exotic cigarettes:
Back to the cabin on the beach.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Assagiare il suo corpo, dolce attraverso il sale.
And thus, on this vacation my unearthly lingerie model is a mermaid cavorting on a beach blanket under a colorful Cinzano umbrella, languorous on our water bed, on … excuse me, I forgot:
To taste her body, sweet through the salt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gli alimenterò i pomodori maturi e li guardo scoppiare Sopra la sua faccia, sopra il suo petto, inondarla, mentre ride.
By now you are ready to say it on your own, tasting each word like a sip of wine ready for bottling, like a tip of your lover’s tongue. Go. I hope you have learned to speak Italian.
I shall feed her ripe tomatoes,
and watch them burst over her face, over her bosom, to shower her, while she laughs.
© Copyright by Teflon
|
