BRISCOLA POETRY CORNER

L'ANGOLO DELLA POESIA BRISCOLANA

Almost all human endeavors are eventually memorialized in poetry, the universal, romantic language of humankind. And so it is with the game of briscola. The unique camaraderie engendered by a group of grown men (or is it better to say "overgrown children?") is immeasurable, yet, often, overwhelmingly emotional. And the uniqueness of playing briscola among friends or in tournaments or even as part of a family gathering for a Sunday outing is legion.

There is an almost inexplicable passion attendant to this intellectually-demanding pastime, a passion which has been known to reach feverish levels at times, creating such otherwise unheard of curses, epithets, invocations of the dreaded malocchio curse, and often fostering such unbridled anger between former close friends and even brothers, that one must witness this phenomenon to truly believe it. For what follows in the aftermath of any given partita is, first, severe recrimination of a partner's absolutely inept and stupid card-playing, which obviously resulted in the loss of that partita, then, followed rapidly by sheepish-grinning-turning-into-frank-unbridled-laughter, ultimate back-slapping and vigorous bear-hugging, each socio wanting to reassure the other that, after all, the true reason for their loss was the cards, themselves. "Vabbene; ora, facciamo un bicchiere di vino insieme!" ("Okay; let's drink some wine now!)

A. BRISCOLA SICILIANA:

One of our soci of Sicilian birth (Fiumedinisi, Messina) and steeped deeply in that heritage, "Pino" (Giuseppe) Cicala--hey, he was recently honored by the Italian Government by being conferred with the office of Commendatore--brought the following poem to my attention in the year 2000. (Pino, referred to as "the voice of Italy in Washington," is the author of a vast, all-inclusive, very current compendium of Italian and Italian American activities on a website which merits a visit: www.italianamericancommunications.org)

The original poem was written by Nino Martoglio ("Centona"), and translated into English by Gaetano Cipolla, with some assistance by one of our own soci, Omero Sabatini (who, incidentally, recently published a dynamic new translation of Alessandro Manzoni's I Promessi Sposi, entitled "Promise of Fidelity;" for inquiries, write to sabakiko72@aol.com or visit the following website for reviews of his book: www.sabatinir.com/omero/promiseoffidelity.htm).

Briscula'n cumpagni (nella lingua proprio):

Parrati, don Caloriu, comu siti?
Bonu, vui siti bonu? --Sentu diri:
càrrichi, o 'nnunca brisculi, 'nn' aviti?
-Zoccu vuliti, a vostru pïaciri.

- 'Na briscula vistuta. -- Chi diciti?
- Briscula! Quanti vòti l'haju a diri?
- È grossa… -- Non fa nenti, favuriti…
- E si non vi vulissi favuriri?…

- Càrricu, mancu? Cca c'è 'n sei di spati!…
- E chi schifiu è, di 'sta manera?
- Don Peppi Nnappa, d'acussi jucati?

-Misseri e sceccu ccu tutta 'a tistera,
comu vi l'haju a diri, a vastunati,
ca mancu haju sali di salera?

Editorial notes:

(Italian): Nella briscola siciliana in compagni, il gioco è più di parole che di carte, studiandosi, i. compagni, con linguaggio figurato e con astuzie di parole e di segni, di far comprendere agli avversari tutto l'opposto del gioco che hanno in mano. È un gioco da scaltri. Parrati (parlate); siti (siete); o'nnunca (oppure); zoccu (idiotismo; ciò che); briscula vistuta (vestita: cavallo, fante o re); chi schifìu (che damine; più propriamente: che porcheria); Peppi Nnappa (tipo di presuntuoso minchione); sceccu (somara); haju (ho).

(English): In Sicily [as well as the rest of Italy and the world], the game [with partners] is played with words more than it is with cards. The two partners resort to figurative language, cunning and enigmatic signals to dupe their opponents into believing that the hand of cards they hold is exactly the opposite of what they have been dealt. It is a battle of wits.

[O.S.'s note: Of course, this is not how briscola is played at our Circola della Briscola. Our soci strive to dupe their opponents in an open and fair manner, never say anything other than true lies, and always cheat in a gentlemanly way. If you don't believe me, ask any of them. O.S.]

Briscola with a partner (English translation):

Let me hear it, Don Caloriu, how you fixed?
"Good, how you fixed?" "That's music to my ears!
You got any trump cards, an ace or two?"
"I've got whatever you desire, say the word!"

"Play trump then, a high card." "Are you quite sure?"
"I said play trump! How many times must I
repeat myself?"
"It's very high…" "Don't worry! Play it!"
"I don't believe it's a good move!"

"Well… a high card then?" Here's the six of
spades!…"
"What is this crap?! You're joking, aren't you?
Who taught you how to play this idiotic way?"
"My learned jackass with the blinders on,
how am I to beat it into your thick skull
I haven't even got a pot to piss in?!"

B. BRISCOLA POETRY inspired by playing in our Circolo della Briscola:

Another of our soci, Frank Rinaldi--he of Abbruzzese birth and heritage, a relative newcomer to our Circolo, who stated he had forgotten how to play the game, as he had not played it for over 30 years (a common excuse, a ploy)--was so inspired by his re-emergence as a great briscola player that he wrote of his experience in January of 2003.

Circolo della briscola:

L'avviso fissa giorno ed ora.
L'elenco: partite ed avversari.
La cena, con buon vino, apre la scena.
Dopo di che, procedono ai tavoli.

Con tutti inquatrati e seduti,
le partite comincian;
con silenzio all'inizio,
ma tante chiacchiere seguano.

Avvolte, subito vittoria.
Molte volte, solo alla fine.
Le perdite colpa delle carte.
Le vittorie dettate da noi.

Alla fine, chi vince, orgogliosi
ricevan in classifica e premi.
Mentre, chi perde subito spera:
La prossima vittoria sara' mia!

Briscola Club (His own English translation).

The invitation sets the day and hour.
The posting: tables and players.
The supper, with good wine, starts the event.
After which, to the card tables they go.

With everyone sitting at his place,
the games are now underway;
with silence at the start,
but much chatter to follow.

At times, victory assured early on.
Most times, only at the end.
All losses are blamed on the cards.
The victories always our own doing.

At the end, who wins proudly
receives a good standing and prizes.
However, who loses at once says:
The next victory will be mine!

From time to time, as we receive text, we shall include more poetry selections. If you would like to make such a contribution--your own or some already-existent poetry--please communicate with "Il Presidente," Enrico Dàvoli at ricuzzo@mac.com at your convenience.

Thanks for visiting this Briscola News On-Line website. Your comments, criticisms and suggestions are always welcome.

(Date of initial insertion: August 1, 2003.)

Ricuzzo.