ITALIAN BOOKSHELF Edited by Dino S. Cervigni and Anne Tordi
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ITALIAN BOOKSHELF Edited by Dino S. Cervigni and Anne Tordi GENERAL & MISCELLANEOUS STUDIES The Bread and the Rose: A Trilingual Anthology of Neapolitan Poetry from the 16th Century to the Present. Ed. Achille Serrao and Luigi Bonaffini. Mineola, NY: Legas, 2005. The ninth volume in a series edited by Gaetano Cipolla of St. John’s University in the “Italian Poetry in Translation” series by Legas, The Bread and the Rose is a companion to volume 5 of the series, Serrao’s Cantalesia: Poems in the Neapolitan Dialect, translated by Bonaffini. The series is an important intellectual, cultural and editorial project — now twenty years strong — making available scholarship on Dante and the “minor” traditions of Molise, Padova, and dialect poetry. The Bread and the Rose is an ambitious tri-lingual work, covering five centuries of Neapolitan poetry chronologically and thematically with the original and the English translations facing each other on the same page and the Italian translation at the foot of the page. The reader can therefore either enjoy the poems on the own merits or spend some pleasurable time navigating the three linguistic registers while reflecting on all sorts of philological, etymological and cultural intricacies. Serrao’s useful introduction raises a number of pertinent questions while making no claim to being exhaustive. (For that, Serrao recommends De Mura’s Poeti napoletani dal Seicento a oggi, Napoli, Marotta Editore, 1977), where one can find “absolutely every poet born in Campania” (15). Serrao argues that this volume will forgo exhaustiveness in favor of the “exemplarity of the authors presented and in the concomitant certainty of their (esthetic) capacity to absorb the work of those excluded” (emphasis in the original). One question raised in the introduction, but not entirely or satisfactorily answered, is phrased as follows: “[W]hy are women (tragically) absent from the cultural context we are discussing and therefore from the present anthology?” (16). More helpful is the division of dialect poetry into three clearly delineated branches: “lyric- sentimental” (the most common); “realistic-narrative” and the most recent “experimental.” This, of course, does not exhaust all possible interpretative and hermeneutic possibilities, including cross-contamination: “All the poetry examined shows some traits of one or the other, or of two combined in the same author […]” (17). The ten chapters are divided thus: “The Sixteenth Century” (represented by a lonely Velardiniello); “The Seventeenth Century” (Cortese, Basile, Annali d’italianistica 30 (2012). Cinema italiano contemporaneo 420 Annali d’italianistica 30 (2012) Sgruttendio da Scafati, Perrucci); “The Eighteenth Century” (Oliva, Lombardo, Capasso, Pagano, St. Alfonso Maria de’ Liguori, Piccinni); “Before Di Giacomo” (Sacco, D’Arienzo, Capurro, Bracco); “From Verismo to ‘Melos’” (devoted entirely to Salvatore Di Giacomo); “Between Realism and Poetry” (devoted entirely to Fernando Russo); “Other Poets of the Nineteenth Century” (Ernesto Murolo, Galdieri, Nicolardi); “Poetry as Theater” (devoted solely to Raffaele Viviani); “The Twentieth Century” (Bovio, Mario, De Filippo); and, most challenging, “Neodialect Poetry” (Pignatelli [the pseudonym of a member of Parliament], Achille Serrao himself, Sovente, Di Natale and Bàino). The volume also includes a bibliography and biographical notes. Each selection is presented with a brief (1-2 page) introduction that situates the work in its historical, cultural and linguistic context, often noting inspirations and influences across time. Here the critical apparatus (notes and short list of references before each selection) is invaluable. The numerous Neapolitan publishers remind the readers that Naples was once (and still is) a city with a thriving editorial and publishing culture. Common themes throughout the centuries include love (unrequited and fulfilled), lust and longing, and also nature, relationships, society, criminality, food, children and popular religion: in short, a prism through which we can come to understand Neapolitan culture over time. Among the many poetic gems, I find Ferdinando Russo’s “‘A Madonna d’ ’e mandarine” charming: Quanno ncielo n’angiulillo nun fa chello c’ha da fa’ ’o Signore int’a na cella scura scura ’o fa nzerrà [ . ] L’angiulillo, da llà dinto, fa sentì tanta lamiente. “Meh Signò, dice San Pietro, pe’ sta vota . nun fa niente.” “Nonzignore! Accussì voglio! State zitto! dice Dio; si no ognuno se ne piglia! ’N Paraviso cummann’io!” E San Pietro avota ’e spalle. Da la cella scura scura l’angiulillo chiagne e sbatte, dice ’e metterse paura! Ma ’a Madonna, quanno ognuno sta durmenno a suonne chine, annascuso ’e tutte quante va e lle porta ’e mandarine. Bookshelf 2012 421 While the refrain from Ernesto Murolo’s “Napule ca se ne va” is nostalgic: E ’a luna guarda e dice: “si fosse ancora overo! Chist’è Napule sincero ca pur’isso se ne va!” And even those with only a passing acquaintance with Neapolitan culture will recognize the lyrics to the most famous songs: “Voce ’e notte” (Edoardo Nicolardi), “Era de Maggio” (Salvatore Di Giacomo), “O paese d’ ’o sole” (Libero Bovio), “Santa Lucia luntana” (E. A. Mario). But the final section on neo-dialect poetry is in some way the most interesting. How do contemporary poets navigate the difficult waters and currents of tradition, nostalgia and influence? Serrao explains the psychological — one might say almost ontological — necessity for turning to dialect for a vehicle: “[…] on the one hand from a need for expressive concreteness, with the objective of reclaiming for my existence those anthropological values for too long left unexpressed and even relegated to the margins of familial and social shame; on the other, and simultaneously, from a psychological factor: the religious necessity to establish a dialog with my dead father about the why’s and the how’s, in the only language we have in common, on the same wavelength, the language of a possible understanding found in the place where family roots run deep, where anthropology and memory have left sediments” (222). The idea and the book are a beautiful defense of dialect in an age of globalization and homogeneity. Stanislao G. Pugliese, Hofstra University Caroline Bruzelius and William Tronzo. Medieval Naples: An Architectural and Urban History, 400-1400. New York: Italica Press, 2011. Pp. 143. Caroline Bruzelius and William Tronzo’s analysis of Naples in the period from 400 to 1400 provides an introduction to the architectural and urban history of the Middle Ages. Tronzo’s first chapter analyzes the early Middle Ages from the end of the western Roman Empire until the end of the duchy of Naples in 1139. Starting by noting the dangers of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, Tronzo also highlights that Naples has “a climate as stimulus to agriculture and the economy, access to the sea, a central vantage point on the Mediterranean as a whole, and the abundance of building material” (1). While Tronzo admits the discontinuity and disappearance of historical works from late antiquity, he is able to provide a structural explanation of Naples in the early Middle Ages. Ancient Naples still existed in its grid plan and unchanged core, but, as he explains, “Roman 422 Annali d’italianistica 30 (2012) occupation expanded the Greek city beyond the grid” creating a “vibrant and original villa culture that made the city famous” (9). He goes into detail about the redundancy of Neapolitan walls in the Middle Ages, which were compromised when the city opened itself to southern influences and “became the largest city of the Italian peninsula south of Rome” (10). Explaining connections between works of ancient and medieval art, and architecture and its southern influences, Tronzo describes Naples as “an entity, an ethos, a collective project of the human spirit” (11), which preserved its honor through adversity and change. Tronzo furthers his study of the early Middle Ages by analyzing the catacombs, particularly San Gennaro, the last and largest catacomb in Naples, which “remained accessible throughout the Middle Ages, serving for tombs as well as other important functions, including the defense of the city in the Second World War” (14). Fascinated by the catacombs, the author states “there is truly nothing comparable, not even in Rome” (21). He also gives an account of the historical cathedral complex, including the nave, Santa Restituta, and its baptistery, San Giovanni in Fonte. The remains of Santa Restituta include “six bays of a five-aisled nave, portions of the northern terminal wall and the main apse” (28).. The early Middle Ages brought a decline in population due to “plague years of the sixth century and the invasions of the Goths and Lombards” (41). There are a few traces of the period of the duchy, “indicating a lessening of building activities” (43). However, the tower of Santa Maria Maggiore now remains freestanding and it is one of the earliest of a series of medieval passage towers. Caroline Bruzelius begins the second chapter by analyzing the high and late Middle Ages, explaining that the “grid plan of the ancient Greco-Roman city deeply influences the topography of medieval Naples” (49), which is filled with churches and monasteries. She furthermore observes how the surviving churches “reflect the persistence of strong local Campanian traditions in architecture and its decoration and yet at the same time an openness to foreign influences and imported structural concepts” (55). The focus then shifts to the patronage of the pious confraternities, the Angevins, and the Churches of the Friars. In the 1270s Naples became increasingly valued as a political and economic center, which stimulated urban projects and emphasized the importance of patronage from private donors. Bruzelius dedicates a significant portion of her chapter to San Lorenzo, “one of the best known and loved churches of Naples” (71). San Lorenzo has an extensive building history of reconstruction, delayed completions, and extensions that reflect the changes in Franciscan architecture throughout Italy. While the history of San Domenico is much less extensive, it proves the importance of Tuscan artists in Naples.