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Il Ministero del Turismo italiano ha lanciato una nuova campagna dal titolo Open to Meraviglia.

Cosa significa? Purtroppo non è dato saperlo perché non è né inglese né italiano. Open è per caso un verbo all’imperativo? Un aggettivo? Meraviglia con quella maiuscola per caso un cognome? Un ibrido che non regge nemmeno se tradotto dall’italiano.

Eppure tanti soldi sono stati spesi e una grande agenzia di comunicazione è stata ingaggiata. Davvero nessuno parla l’inglese o l’italiano in questa agenzia?

Povero Botticelli per avergli deturpato la Venere. Povero Ministero del Turismo che paga milioni per una campagna pubblicitaria che fa leva su stereotipi banali in una lingua raffazzonata.

Se si va poi oltre, il sito sembra presentare quattro versioni in quattro lingue diverse. L’inglese è chiaramente quello di un parlante non madrelingua, come si evince dal seguente brano che trasuda di italiano da ogni virgola:

Make our beauties be known, from our big cities to small villages. Talk about our boundless heritage of art, nature and gastronomy. Open wide the doors of wonder to the whole world.

For us italians, this defines hospitality.

And who better than me to take you on a discovery of this beautiful country, at any time of the year?

I am Venus. Italy’s icon in today’s world, today as a virtual influencer.

Possibile che con 9 milioni di euro non si poteva ricorrere a un traduttore – o meglio copywriter – di lingua inglese?

Quanta sciatteria.

Please steer clear of this word in English if you’re referring to a pain in the neck.

Because ‘cervical’ in English can refer to the neck, but far more commonly to the cervix, please avoid using this term in casual conversation.

So, unless you’re discussing some medical paper (where cervical spine is appropriate for instance), just say you have a pain in the neck or you have a stiff neck.

And by the way, avere la cervicale sounds odd in Italian, too. It’s illogical because if you didn’t have one, you’d have quite a floppy head.

Non ho mai sentito usare il verbo ‘filmare’ nel senso di ‘avvolgere in cellofan o pellicola trasparente’ come credo fosse l’intenzione dell’autore di questo cartello in un supermercato italiano.

A meno che non si trattasse di cavolfiori talmente pregiati da dover essere filmati per dissuadere eventuali malintenzionati. Ma a giudicar dal prezzo affisso, scarterei questa ipotesi.

So the M4 – or Blue Line – has opened in Milan, connecting the city center to Linate, Milan’s third international airport.

As I was watching the inauguration video featuring the spotless and driverless train pulling in, I overheard the recorded voice on the PA system informing passengers – in Italian – that they had arrived at Linate Aeroporto. Then, the same Italian recorded voice went on to repeat the information in English, leaving Linate Aeroporto untranslated in Italian. So much for all the trouble and ribbon-cutting Mr. Sala, the mayor of Milan, had gone to – virtually minutes earlier – when he proudly announced at a press conference that this new metro line would open up Milan to the many international travelers flying into town.

The same trumpet fanfare sounded when engineers explained how the M4 line stations were fully accessible to disabled people. Which prompted me to take a look at their bilingual signage. And, lo and behold, what a fine piece of work that is. This hodgepodge of confusing messages and mistranslations is only made worse by the annoying Italian habit of turning the most straightforward information into highly abstract and grand-sounding language.

Let’s break down this blue sign (below) to better understand why the Artful Translator’s nose was seriously put out of joint when he saw this:

• Bus stop ATM? > read ATM bus stop.
• Altra mappa/ Other map > meaning there’s a different one? Or perhaps ‘Map location/Map’?
• What’s an ‘arresto pericolo’. Surely these are two different, albeit related concepts’. Do they mean ‘Stop/Danger’? Missing slash? Who knows.
• Pericolo valicabile? > Surmountable danger? Baffling. An obstacle can be ‘valicabile’, i.e., overcome or surmounted. Surely not a danger. And a surmountable danger is risible at best. So what exactly is meant by it? Judging by the symbol and where it’s located, would the Artful Translator be right in assuming we’re talking about a step? A barrier? Or perhaps a gap?

It is indeed astonishing that, in 2022, this is the best they could have come up with. The layout is reminiscent of an engineering blueprint rather than a user-friendly map for the differently abled.

For the sake of comparison, below is an example of a more straightforward tactile wayfinding map.

As I was researching this topic, I came to realize that there seems to be a standardized way of creating these signs for the differently abled in Italy. Below is another similar example from the Vicenza Courthouse. Here we go again: crammed information in three languages and the eyebrow-raising pericolo valicabile lurking amidst the jumble.

The Artful Translator rests his case.

Note. The Italian press keeps referring to Linate as a ‘city airport’, likely to distinguish it from the other two more remotely located airports. The Artful Translator couldn’t find any evidence that this phrase is used in English to refer to airports that are located closer to the city center (e.g. Love Field in Dallas, National Airport in DC). London City Airport refers to the City of London so that rules it out. A coinage of the Milanese press?

Mi sono imbattuto l’altro giorno in un libro del noto italianista Cesare Marchi, che a pagina 212 di In Punta di Lingua (Rizzoli, 1992), nel trattare il termine ‘cornuto’, prende come esempio forse il più famoso personaggio cornificato nella storia della letteratura: il povero Carlo (sic) Bovary.

Ora, uno si domanda come mai alla fine del ventesimo secolo – quindi ben lontani dalle manie degli squadristi fascisti di italianizzare la toponomastica e di addomesticare lo straniero – si incappi ancora in un Carlo Bovary. Era forse costui un italo-francese? Un oriundo nato in Francia?

Fa specie pensare che un linguista come Cesare Marchi, che aveva letto Flaubert chiaramente in traduzione, non si fosse mai accorto che già con la traduzione di Bruno Oddera nel 1973, le rese italianizzanti di Madame Bovary erano state svecchiate e Carlo tornava a essere Charles. Tanto più che già dalle prime pagine dell’originale c’è subito un Charbovari. Difficile dunque capire il senso di un Carlo in traduzioni o riferimenti novecenteschi.

Né mi è più facile comprendere – e tantomeno accettare – la decisione dell’editore Treves (o del traduttore Oreste Cenacchi) di italianizzare il nome dell’autore francese nella prima traduzione italiana di Madame Bovary uscita nel 1881. Il francese era una lingua dominante a Milano nel tardo Ottocento ed è strano pensare che un pubblico mediamente colto avrebbe provato un forte imbarazzo nel leggere Gustave sulla copertina del libro.

I just received a package from a pet-supplies company based in Cordoba, Spain.

I was instantly happy to see how they had made an effort to localize the thank-you message for their main markets, i.e., Spain, Portugal and Italy. Less so, when I read the English version.: Thank you for your trust.

Is the company lacking self-confidence? Should customers be wary of something? A scam perhaps?

How about Thank you for your (valued) business or We appreciate your business?

I trust this Spanish company will entrust a trustworthy translator to do the job next time.

I can already hear the cabin crew team clogging as they usher in passengers to the sound of some Irish trad while handing out tasty Tayto crisps along with some racial profiling questionnaires.

Do you eat zebra for breakfast? goes the first question.

Are you brown because it’s often sunny in Port Elizabeth? the second question probes unashamedly.

Is Cape Town cool in November? Please specify the correct temperature in Fahrenheit. (Or is it Celsius? )

Is it true that most of yiz have shark cake on your birthday? Please tick the appropriate box.

Congratulations! You’ve passed the test. Hang on. We only accept virgins aboard this flight. It’s a religious thing, you know. So we’ll have to cavity-search you, I’m afraid.

But I’m a man! protests the male passenger – Just turn around, you eejit!

Should Irish travelers demonstrate their proficiency at the Celtic harp when entering Botswana? the Artful Translator wonders uneasily.

Such a shame. This could’ve been a great purchase. Alas, the authors Kerstin Johanson and Mia Carlstedt are guilty of a number of misdemeanors.

First, what’s the point of creating a list of idioms predicated on themes when no contextualized examples are provided? And no cultural or usage notes, either. Do the writers seriously expect the average Swedish learner to know whether an idiom is used in a specific region or how frequently it appears in spoken or written English?

Second, why not ask an English-language editor to check for accuracy? A self-styled book on idioms must ensure that the selection of idioms is letter-perfect. There’s no such thing as stop the night (spend the night?); in the end of the day; not care a monkey’s (not give a monkey’s?); take a French leave; Uncle Tom Cobleigh (sic); go back to the drawingboard; loose one’s head; or not hurt a flie.

I’m not sure what led the authors to come up with the selection of idioms and proverbs included in this book. Some of these expressions are downright dated and of little use. I wonder how many people still use many a little makes a mickle, for instance. Labeling these phrases would certainly offer the readers some guidance.

It’s baffling to see publishers dip into their pockets to publish a good-quality hardcover book marred by so many inaccuracies and with questionable content. However, if you’re interested in learning about the Swedish equivalents of some random English idioms, then maybe this book could be useful. Otherwise, save your kronor.

Si resta sconcertati quando un’azienda preferisce non consultare un traduttore – o consulta un traduttore non professionista – mettendosi da sola alla berlina.

From 150 years on the Italians tables: proprio identico all’italiano Da 150 anni sulle tavole degli Italiani.

Peccato che non sia inglese.

Nella vaga speranza che fosse solo una svista di questo particolare prodotto, sono andato a ricercare la storia dell’azienda, toscana, per vedere quanto avesse investito nella traduzione dei testi.

Ecco un assaggio dal sito aziendale:

We Italians without pasta just can’t stay! It doesn’t take much to prepare something tasty, but you need the right ingredients!

Not only does the writer’s English sound unidiomatic, but the writer runs afoul of even the most basic word order. A machine-translation job? Maybe.

To verify this, I took this excerpt and ran it by Google Translate. Here’s what I got:

Noi italiani senza pasta non possiamo restare! Basta poco per preparare qualcosa di gustoso, ma servono gli ingredienti giusti!

Unsurprisingly, this sounds much better in Italian now . How about asking Google Translate to translate it back into English? And, yes, it’s par for the course that we get the previous English version, i.e.,

We Italians without pasta cannot stay! It doesn’t take much to prepare something tasty, but you need the right ingredients.

On balance, Polli appears to be a successful company. Their French-language info redirects the reader to a full-on French website. However, the English (and possibly German) versions leave quite a bit to be desired. One wonders why.

PS. L’ironia ha voluto che iniziassi a scrivere questo post bilingue in italiano e senza accorgermene a finirlo in inglese. Tant pis.

Si apprende stamattina, nientemeno che dall’agenzia di stampa ADNKronos, che l’ex presidente USA Trump vincerà a valanga alle prossime elezioni presidenziali.

Non una vittoria schiacciante o, al limite, una valanga di voti, bensì vincere a valanga. Un nuovo conio mal riuscito? O un pessimo calco dall’inglese? Allora perché non: vincere a slavina?

Peccato che questi articoli online non portino una firma. Forse sono il risultato di traduzioni automatiche? Sono di certo piccoli smottamenti linguistici che ci fanno scivolare lentamente nell’orrido della comunicazione più pedestre.