#and then they asked me why i was in confusion. like. ci sei o ci fai?

[emmenai-kalliston]

.

[sciatu]

DOLCE & GABBANA END OF THE FASHION SHOW

Tre piccole poesie d’amore : Tra Tante

Ti ho vista tra le altre e in quel momento non capivo perché tra tante, solo te vedevo. Perché tra mille voci e troppi rumori solo te volevo ascoltare e quando ai miei occhi sparivi il mondo si spegneva e quelle che ti assomigliavano erano come trasparenti per il mio bisogno di vederti ed il mio sguardo le attraversava senza notarle. La folla vociante e sudata di tutto quell’affollato concerto mi sembrò un deserto asfissiante di cui tu eri l’unica oasi, acqua viva con cui salvarsi. Perché tu e proprio tu tra tutte, fu il mistero che allora non sapevo chiarire e che ho cercato di capire per tutta una vita, ma allora fu il limite oltre cui non mi interessava andare, ma che accettavo con straordinaria normalità, come se ti avessi aspettata da sempre, o che da sempre la mia anima sapesse già la tua e alla tua combaciasse già con incredibile perfezione. Tra tanti, ci trovavamo per caso e per necessità, senza chiederci nessun perché o cercare motivi e formule matematiche che chiarissero il mistero o spiegassero l’alchimia di come mai ci siamo amati subito e per sempre. Tra tanti amori avuti, tu sei apparsa come l’unica reale, l’unica che non bisognava conquistare o stupire o sedurre, perché eravamo già uniti con il solo vederci. Tra tanti giorni in cui ti cercavo ed aspettavo quello che sembrava il meno probabile, il più confuso, il meno importante, mi portò te, semplicemente, come il sole porta la luce. Tra tanti, nella confusione del tempo e nel caos di migliaia di vite intrecciate e solitarie, perse nell’immensità di quella caotica sera, ci siamo incontrati per la prima volta, già conoscendoci, già sapendoci come se in mille altre vite precedenti non avessimo fatto altro che amarci come da quel giorno in cui ti ho visto per la prima volta, tra tante  

I saw you among the others and at that moment I did not understand why among so many, only I saw you. Because among a thousand voices and too many noises I only wanted to listen to you and when you disappeared from my eyes the world went out and those that looked like you were as transparent for my need to see you and my gaze crossed them without noticing them. The roaring and sweaty crowd of all that crowded concert seemed to me an asphyxiating desert of which you were the only oasis, living water with which to save myself. Because you and you among all, it was the mystery that I did not know how to clarify at the time and that I tried to understand all my life, but then it was the limit beyond which I was not interested in going, but that I accepted with extraordinary normality, as if I had you always expected, or that my soul always already knew yours and yours already matched with incredible perfection. Among many, we found each other by chance and necessity, without asking ourselves any reasons or looking for mathematical reasons and formulas that would clarify the mystery or explain the alchemy of why we loved each other immediately and forever. Among so many loves we had, you appeared as the only real one, the only one that should not be conquered or amazed or seduced, because we were already united by just seeing each other. Among so many days in which I was looking for you and waiting for what seemed the least probable, the most confused, the least important, it brought me you, simply, as the sun brings the light. Among many, in the confusion of time and in the chaos of thousands of intertwined and lonely lives, lost in the immensity of that chaotic evening, we met for the first time, already knowing each other, already knowing as if in a thousand other previous lives we had not done other than to love us as from that day when I saw you for the first time, among many

[gayerthanthee]

'get to know me' tag game

Rules: answer the questions and tag people you'd like to get to know better.

Tagged by: my recent friend @heyheysey who shocked me in the notifs when i saw her actually tag me-- i really need to get used to having mutuals :O

Tagging: @raineyclouds @screaming-garbagemouth @mizuraisu @yourlocalmusicalprostitute and this is a desperate one but also @bohemian-napsodyy pls come back bby, i hope you're safe. i miss you so bad <33

also, there are some parts where i mention and talked about gender dysphoria & crisis, and death of a loved one. if it's triggering pls go on and don't read.

What do you prefer to be called name-wise?

Cas or Xan (like sah-n)

When is your birthday?

january 9

Where do you live?

the Philippines

Three things you are doing right now:

watching videos about genderfluid people

contemplating about the places I'll be in the future

downing 3 cups of water before bed (hydrating is sexc. do it pls.)

Four fandoms that have piqued your interest?

marvel - my childhood sweetheart, but i've only become really immersed during 2016! not as active anymore about it though.

queen - i always heard my parents play songs before year '90 when i was young, and what really stuck with me was listening to this band and their many songs and concerts. i joined the hype when the movie about them dropped at 2018. not much active anymore on that too.

bnha - i always saw this around but?? i only got in sometime last year or mid 2018 and religiously went binge-reading the manga during the highs of pandemic because distracting yourself from self-deteriorating thoughts is sexy. take it from me.

haikyuu - this was a random one. i knew this longer than bnha because it's popular but it wasn't as interesting to me before. but then i saw that many of the blogs i follow like hq too and then they make content and then the rest is history. i started maybe last month, haven't read the manga yet but i weirdly know things already.

How has the pandemic been treating you?

everything is constantly crazy thank you for asking. wouldn't have it any other way though.

A song you can't stop listening to right now?

Forget You by CeeLo Green

How old are you?

(UPDATE: yeah i now feel uncomfy sharing this info but yeet it's gone now srry)

School, university, occupation, other?

hope i was extra enough to excel the first semester in senior high. self-learning is difficult when you have all the time in the house to ✨succumb to vulnerable thoughts✨

Do you prefer heat or cold?

i prefer the heat. although a cold environment is really convenient especially in our country, i prefer the warmth because of the comfort it brings, along with keeping me grounded.

Name one fact others may not know about you:

I haven't exactly coped over my uncle's passing and I don't know if i did anything about it. i remember the times he was healthy and feel regret each time because i was such an ass of a kid to him back then that i think i made his life harder than what he actually deserved. he messaged me a along time ago and because i was constantly mad at him, i just left it on read, no more after that. everytime i see the conversation, it makes ny chest gape even more. i was so much angry back then that i didn't treat him as i should because yeah there were times were i was nice or neutral and helped him a lot and made him laugh a bit but still. wow im shaking just typing this. i now message him every once in a while even though he's gone. like a delusional way to connect with him even though it's too late.

Are you shy?

not much, no. I may worry about what someone significant to me may think about me though. but otherwise i'm chill and tired 25/8

Pronouns

she/he/they. my sex is female and it feels so right being genderfluid but i feel like i'm just too influenced by my country's homophobic tradition and society norm for me to accept myself? it's really tight here, I haven't even come out yet. being an Asian is hard.

biggest pet-peeves?

people commenting on my 'femininity'. pls drop it, i'm not comfortable being told i look better in a dress and i should act more womanly-like. i will manspread while also maintain good hygiene thank you very much. it's not because i may identify as male, but because gender roles is a big joke, okay? like sure this is my sex but i can also be a good boy or look sleek in a suit. it's confusing but it's not that hard. dresses are nice but they're not for me to wear just because i'm 'a girl'. is it obvious I have gender dysphoria??

What is your favorite "dere" type?

don't actually have one. they're all equally cool, i just don't have a preference. tsundere's are more above for me though.

Rate your life from 1-10, 1 being crappy and 10 being the best it could be.

it fluctuates from 4 to 7 like my gender. life is a wheel. you're on the low and it all goes up from here, but then you'll also be grounded and the cycle goes again.

What's your main blog?

this, @gayerthanthee , I have sideblogs but they aren't really relevant? i don't even remember why i made them?

List your side blogs and what they are used for:

homemade-genius - oh i did this because i tried to be funny and make some jokes. apparently i do not even have the ENERGY and MEMORY to post in it, so what made me think I even have humor too??

cas-xx - ick did this when i used to simp for some guy back in junior year. i still cringe to this day—not because i made a sideblog, but because i actually?? had the guts to simp for a straight cis-male who was also materialistic and firmly believed and follows gender-roles? it always makes me bleaurgh.

Is there something people need to know about you before becoming friends?

please consider that while i'm not picky with my gender, i still do not like being considered a female only, and because of society norms. we the gays are OUTSIDE the society norms. i would always rather being called handsome over beautiful. also pls consider i have gender dysphoria and crisis. it's crazy.

p.s. it's long overdue and i'm real sorry. i had to shut off from the world to finish my tasks and projects. and now i'm finally done!! thank you sey 🥺 this is my first time being tagged in a get to know me!!

[randomnotesonrandomness]

Nota del traduttore

Translator’s note

English below

Ho ricevuto in regalo tutto i libri di Mary Ruefle dal suo editor, più o meno tre anni fa. È stato amore a prima vista. Una montagna di libri vicini vicini in borsa, poesia e prosa. Non un amore canonico, passionale, no, ma una cosa fatta di strane affinità elettive e un costante senso di smarrimento che non trovavo sgradevole, forse perché mi piace perdermi.

La scrittura di Ruefle può provocare uno strano timore reverenziale – il misto di paura e fascino che forse proverei davanti a un marziano – però a volte ti fa scoppiare a ridere. O almeno a me capita spesso. E soprattutto ti fa perdere l’orientamento. A un certo punto non capisci più dove sei e segui solo le immagini come i sassolini e le briciole di Hansel e Gretel. È affascinante se leggi e basta, un po’ una fregatura se devi tradurre.

Le poesie me le ero lette in un sorso appena avevo avuto i libri in mano. La sensazione di perdersi c'era, ma in quella forma me l'aspettavo, e mi dava chiavi di ritmo ma non soluzioni sensate per tradurre.

Ho deciso quindi di lavorare su pezzi a caso, uno sui colori e uno con una struttura più convenzionale – se mai Ruefle si può definire convenzionale – per capire cosa poteva farmi da sassolino oltre alle immagini. Perché io le immagini le vedevo bene, e le sentivo, ma dovevo stare nella griglia della scrittura, che non è mai colloquiale, ma sempre precisa e algida e severa nella forma - d’altronde in America la sua prosa è venduta nel settore poesia, oltre a essere insegnata in tantissimi master di scrittura creativa - ma poi in parecchi punti fa ridere o rimanere a bocca aperta. Tipo, quando scrive di menopausa, ‘Quando impazzisci non hai la minima propensione a leggere quello che Foucault ha scritto a proposito di cultura e pazzia’. Oppure “Una cosa è certa: non vorrei essere un albero di Natale.” O quando parla di teste rimpicciolite chiedendosi, sinceramente stupita, come mai la gente non ci pensa spesso.

Dopo la prima stesura di qualche frammento non ero soddisfatta. Allora mi sono messa a guardare i video di lei su YouTube. Dice cose serissime con un’espressione impassibile – la classica deadpan, letteralmente faccia morta – ma anche furba e allerta, sembra una volpe, e poi qua e là inserisce delle battute rimanendo seria seria, magari con l’aggiunta di un piccolo sorriso. A un certo punto durante una conferenza dice: ‘Gli artisti sono solo persone che non hanno dimenticato come si disegna, e per disegnare intendo creare. Ma non fatevi ingannare, hanno dimenticato moltissime altre cose. A volte si dimenticano che non hanno più otto anni. Ecco perché gli artisti sono per natura molesti.” E poi in un’altra conferenza dice che bisogna tornare bambini per ritrovare quel tipo di immaginazione, e che il buon senso e la razionalità non vanno molto d’accordo. “L’immaginazione ha vita propria e autonoma, l’immaginazione non è una cosa con cui giochi, è l’immaginazione che gioca con te. Ha il potere di creare e distruggere, di formare e deformare.”

Poi ho guardato alcuni dei suoi lavori di cancellatura, le erasures, perché Ruefle è anche un'artista di talento. E mi è venuto in mente che era tutto un lavoro per sopprimere la comprensione e creare qualcosa di nuovo a partire dalle parole pure.

E così finalmente ho capito, come in una sorta di epifania, che dovevo sospendere la logica. Esattamente come nella poesia. Anche perché non potevo farle cento domande su cinquanta pagine (via lettera poi, perché non ha il computer, scrive tutto a macchina). Nella sezione Contact del suo sito si legge: “Sorpresa! Non posseggo un computer. L'unico modo per contattarmi è scrivere alla mia casa editrice, Wave Press, oppure incontrare per strada qualcuno che conosco di persona.” Quando ho visto quella frase sul suo sito, praticamente dopo aver letto tre poesie, mi è venuta in mente la parola sassy, simpatica sfacciata e poi ho pensato, è matta. E poi ho pensato, non vedo l'ora di conoscerla.

Comunque a quel punto non so bene cosa sia successo, quando ho abbandonato la comprensione per il dubbio, ed è stato un po’ come entrare in uno stato di trance e lasciarsi guidare – forse anche commettendo errori ignobili, ma era il rischio da correre. Un po’ come succede con gli allucinogeni. E in effetti ho capito che leggere e tradurre la prosa-poesia di Ruefle è un'esperienza sinestesica, in cui senti colori e annusi parole e tocchi suoni.

Ovviamente gliel'ho scritto. Cioè in pratica mi sono immaginata un sacco di soluzioni di cose non solo difficili da tradurre (tipo giochi di parole di cui ho cambiato proprio il testo) ma a volte del tutto incomprensibili senza chiederle il permesso, senza la certezza che fossero giuste, come buttarsi in mare e nuotare di notte. E alla seconda lettera (gentilmente stampata e spedita con francobollo dal suo editor e poi via mail la risposta fotografata se no ci mettevamo due anni tra poste italiane e greche), quando le ho chiesto il significato di una parola contenuta in un brano già di per sé a dir poco astratto, ashling (che i vocabolari danno come sogno o visione in una rara accezione irlandese) lei mi ha risposto: 'Oddio pensavo a ash, a cenere ma non ricordo dove ho trovato quella parola, o se l'ho inventata, ma che bello questo significato irlandese del sogno che hai scovato! Comunque usa l'immaginazione e inventati qualcosa che dia l'idea di sogno, oppure di cenere ma anche di albero, e fai che sembri piccolo, minuscolo... Magari tipo ashtray??'

Per un altro brano intero dove c'era un gioco di parole praticamente intraducibile mi ha scritto: “Oh sì che guaio. Vuoi che lo riscrivo? Anzi, riscrivilo tu! Cambia anche il titolo!” In fondo a una delle lettere ha scritto: “Bellissima questa cosa che le lettere ci mettono settimane ad arrivare fino a te. Non ho mai messo piede su un'isola greca. È solida o spugnosa?” Eh. Bella domanda. Però mi ha fatto capire che dovevo vedere l'isola – e il mio modo di tradurre lei – toccandola con i piedi, annusandola con le mani, immaginando tutto con i sensi ribaltati.

Dopo varie riscritture, ho fatto un po' di prove di lettura con alcuni amici, chiedendo di chiudere gli occhi e ascoltare senza sforzarsi di capire e mi hanno detto che funzionava, che cadevano in quello stato di trance e vedevano le immagini. Ho amici adorabili ma non compiacenti, quindi forse non finirò nell'inferno dei traduttori. E se anche fosse, probabilmente sarebbe una storia in stile Ruefle.

xxxxxx

I received all of Mary Ruefle's books from her editor at Wave about three years ago, and it was love at first sight. A mountain of beautiful books sitting close together in my bag, poetry and prose. It was not a canonical, passionate love, no, more like a feeling of deep closeness made of elective affinities and a constant, but not unpleasant – maybe because I like getting lost - sensation of being confused and out of my depth. A complex kind of love. Ruefle's writing can be a source of strange awe - the mix of fear and fascination that perhaps I'd feel in front of a Martian - and make you lose your bearings. At some point you don't understand anything anymore and just follow images, like Hansel and Gretel's pebbles and crumbs. It's fascinating if you just read it, but it's a bit of a bummer if you have to translate it.

I had read all of her poetry as soon as I had the books in my hand. The feeling of being lost was definitely the same, but perhaps I kind of expected it in that form. The poems gave me keys to the rhythm, but not reasonable enough solutions.

So I decided to translate some fragments at random, one about colors and one with a more conventional structure - if ever Ruefle's writing can be called conventional - to understand what else, besides images, could be my pebbles. Because I did see the images quite vividly, and I felt them, but I had to keep playing within the writing grid, which is never colloquial but always precise and aloof in its form – after all in the US her prose is sold in the poetry section, and it's being taught in many creative writing MFA - but it is often very funny. Like, talking about menopause, "When you go crazy, you don’t have the slightest inclination to read anything Foucault ever wrote about culture and madness”.

Or "One thing is certain: I wouldn't want to be a Christmas tree." Or when she talks about shrunken heads wondering with genuine surprise why people don't think about them very often.

After the first draft I was not at all satisfied. So I started watching her videos on YouTube. She says very serious things with an impassive expression - the classic deadpan, an expression that I always liked - but also crafty and mischievous at times. Then here and there she just comes out with a joke while remaining very serious, maybe with a tiny smile. In one lecture she says: "Artists are just people who have not forgotten how to draw, by which I mean create. But don’t be taken in; they have forgotten a great many other things. Sometimes they forget they are no longer eight years old. This is why artists are of a troublesome nature.” And then in another conference she says that we need to become children again to rediscover that kind of imagination, and that common sense and rationality do not go very well with it. "The imagination has its own independent life, the imagination is not something you play with, it is the imagination that plays with you. It has the power to create and destroy, to form and deform. " Then I looked at some of her erasures, because Ruefle is also a talented artist. And it occurred to me that it was a way to suppress understanding and create something new from pure words. So I finally realized, like an epiphany, that I had to suspend logic. Exactly like with poetry. Also because I couldn't ask her 100 questions in 50 pages (and send them by letter, because she doesn't have a computer, she works only with her typewriter). In the Contact section of her website, she writes: "Surprise! I do not actually own a computer. The only way to contact me is by contacting my press, Wave Books, or by running into someone I know personally on the street." When I checked her website, immediately after reading three poems, I heard the word sassy in my mind, and I thought, She is crazy. I can't wait to meet her, she must be adorable. I don't really know what happened next when I gave up understanding, and it was a bit like entering into a trance state and letting myself be guided - perhaps even making ignoble mistakes, but that was the risk I had to run. A bit like what happens with hallucinogens. And in fact, I realized that reading and translating Ruefle's prose-poetry is a synaesthetic experience, in which you hear colours and smell words and touch sounds. Obviously, I tried – tried – to explain all this to her. In other words, I came up with a lot of solutions for things that were not only difficult to translate (such as puns I had to change the whole text for) but sometimes completely incomprehensible, and this without asking permission, without the certainty that they were right, like jumping in the sea and have a swim at night. And at the second letter (kindly printed, stamped and sent by her wonderful editor who also scanned and sent me her answer otherwise it would have taken years – Greece is paradise, but speed is not its forte), when I asked her the meaning of a word contained in a piece which is already abstract, to say the least, ashling (according to one of the many dictionaries I consulted it is a dream or a vision in a rare Irish meaning) she answered: 'Oh 'God I was thinking of ash, but I don't remember where I found that word, or if I invented it, but how beautiful this Irish meaning of the dream you found! Anyway use your imagination and come up with something that gives the idea of a dream, or ash but also a tree, and make it look small, tiny...? Maybe like an ashtray??' For another whole piece where there was a pun that was practically untranslatable, and she wrote, "Oh yes, that's a problem. Do you want me to rewrite it? In fact, you should rewrite it! Change the title too!" At the bottom of one of the letters, she wrote, "Isn't it beautiful this thing that letters take weeks to get to you. I've never set foot on a Greek island. Is it solid or spongy?" Ha. Good question. It made me realize, though, that I needed to see the island - and my way of translating her - touching it with my feet, smelling it with my hands, imagining everything with my senses turned upside down. After

several rewritings, I did some tests with friends, asking them to close their eyes and listen without trying to understand. They told me it worked, they could see the images and get into a kind of trance too. I have lovely friends and I know for sure that they are not complacent, so maybe I won't end up in translators' hell. And if that were the case, it would probably be a Ruefle style story.

[magistralucis]

Hello! Now that i have acquainted myself with the Bloody Beetroots music a bit I can't help but ask you to share your knowledge and thoughts on Volevo Un Gatto Nero if/whenever you feel like doing it. I am so confused.

Holy Christ you’re in for a ride.

Alright. For anyone else reading this - not that I know why you’d, uh, want to - while the song referred to in the ask is ‘Volevo Un Gatto Nero (You Promised Me)’ (2013) by The Bloody Beetroots, I’m going to delve into the original ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ (1969) and its variants for most of this answer. The Bloody Beetroots’ version is a cover, and so can’t really be discussed without keeping the original song in mind, mostly because the history of this song since its release has been convoluted as heck. What a doozy this is going to be!

As you can see, the original is now nearly fifty years old. There’s an Italian children’s song festival called ‘Zecchino d'Oro’ that has been ongoing since 1959, and ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ (sung by Vincenza Pastorelli) was one of the entries for 1969. It tells a rather harrowing tale. I’ve bolded and underlined only this translated section, to indicate that it’s for the original.

Un coccodrillo vero un vero alligatore(A true crocodile, a real alligator)ti ho detto che l'avevo e l'avrei dato a te(I told you that I have it, and I’d have given it to you.)Ma i patti erano chiari: il coccodrillo a te(But the terms were clear: the crocodile, to you,)e tu dovevi dare un gatto nero a me(And you were meant to give me a black cat.)

Volevo un gatto nero, nero, nero(It was a black, black, black cat I wanted)mi hai dato un gatto bianco, e io non ci sto più(You gave me a white one; I won’t stand for it!)Volevo un gatto nero, nero, nero(It was a black, black, black cat I wanted)siccome sei un bugiardo con te non gioco più(Because you are a liar, I won’t play with you any more.)

Child, it’s just a cat! Jesus!! Chill out for a moment!!!

At least, I guess you’d be tempted to say that for just the first verse, but this child apparently also offers a giraffe and an Indian elephant and an entire zoo to obtain this one black cat. So the longer this song goes on, the more you have to sympathize with them - because, you know. It is a pretty rough deal! The song finally culminates in them snapping and vowing to just keep the cat - whether it be black or white (’ma insomma nero o bianco, il gatto me lo tengo’) - before they play take-backsies on the other gifts. You can’t really blame them. Nobody ends up getting exactly what they want, but the singing child still walks away with a new cat. And that’s why you keep your promises, children.

So far so good. The very same year, a version was recorded in Japan with completely different lyrics. The Japanese version is called ‘Kuroneko no Tango’ (’The Black Cat’s Tango’), and the first verse goes like this:

君はかわいい ぼくの黒ネコ(You are my cute black cat)赤いリボンが よくにあうよ(that red ribbon suits you well;)だけどときどき 爪を出して(but sometimes you show your claws)ぼくの心を 悩ませる(and you hurt my feelings)黒ネコのタンゴ タンゴ タンゴ(The black cat’s tango, tango, tango,)ぼくの恋人は黒いネコ(my lover is a black cat)黒ネコのタンゴ タンゴ タンゴ(The black cat’s tango, tango, tango,)ネコの目のように気まぐれよ(you’re as fickle as the gleam of cats’ eyes.)

And yeah, it does actually say ‘lover’ in the second line of the chorus. (The original word is 恋人, ‘koibito’.) No further comment to make on that.As you can see, it’s become a rather more cutesy, generic song under the Japanese influence, sung to the same tango tune but basically unrecognizable from the tale of bribery and betrayal depicted in the Italian original.

But the thing is.

This version got popular.

So popular, in fact, that since the time of the Japanese release, pretty much every foreign-language cover of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ has talked about cute black cats and/or tangoes and/or the general amusing habits of cats - without having any semblance to the original. Faithful Italian covers of the song exist, of course, because it’s a song that’s been around for a long time and the tune has been recognizable in so many contexts as it is; in an excellent example of recursion, the Japanese singer MEG covered the song in the original Italian in 2012, too. (Listen to it here.) But even so, when you hear the tune of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ and it’s not in the Italian, the popularity of the Japanese version and other circumstances have ensured over the past decades that you are almost 100% certainly not going to hear a tale about crocodile bartering. It’s the Japanese version that’s being homaged most of the time, like for example in the Finnish version (’Mustan Kissan Tango’).

Jos mustan kissan saisin, mä sitä tansittaisin.(If I would get a black cat, I’d make it dance.)Sen mustan kissan tassut ne sitten hassut on!(Then the black cat’s paws would be funny!)Kun pitkän narun päähän mä laitan paperin,(When I put paper on a long string,)niin kissa tanssii aivan tangon askelin!(the cat dances with the tango rhythm!)

Hei, tanssi kissa tango, tango, tango,(Hey, the cat dances tango, tango, tango,)  nyt mustan kissan tanssi sen ikioma on!(now it’s the cat’s very own dance!)Soi mustan kissan tango, tango, tango,(Play the black cat’s tango, tango, tango,)se japanista lensi tänne meillekin.(it flew from Japan to us.)

Bolded for meta-commentary. This version’s pretty self-aware, at least. (It’s also the single most catchiest version of this song for me, but your mileage may definitely vary.) As far as covers of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ go, ‘Mustan Kissan Tango’ and ‘Kuroneko no Tango’ relate to each other very well, but not so much to the original.Still better than the French version (’Je Veux Vivre Tango’):

Mes parents exagèrent, ils ne me comprennent pas(My parents exaggerate, they do not understand me)  Et parfois j'ai les nerfs noués au bout des doigts(and sometimes I have nerves tied at the fingertips)Pour aller a l'école je me lève à 6 heures(To go to school I wake up at six o'clock)Et j'ai les yeux qui collent et j'ai les yeux qui pleurent(and I have eyes that stick, and I have eyes that weep)

Moi je veux vivre tango, tango, tango,(I want to live [a] tango, tango, tango,)mais mon père et ma mère sont toujours après moi.(but my father and mother are always after me.)Moi je veux vivre tango, tango, tango,(I want to live [a] tango, tango, tango,) vraiment ils exagèrent, ah quels parents j'ai là(they really exaggerate, ah, what parents I have here!)  

… That’s… not even…. remotely close to… Ah, never mind.

As for why I know so much about this one song, it’s because the Korean version (or versions) was quite popular when it came out. I know of it in two forms, the children’s song version in 1970 and a rather poplike version by a group called Turbo. The latter is what most people my age remember, but the title remains the same: ‘Black Cat Nero’.We’ve actually kept the ‘nero’ aspect of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’, but in Korean that’s merely a name, so I don’t know if that counts as particularly faithful to the original. Still has the black cat, though.

그대는 귀여운 나의 검은 고양이(You are my cute black cat)새빨간 리본이 멋지게 어울려(That scarlet ribbon suits you well)그러나 어쩌다 토라져 버리면(But if you end up sulking somehow)얄밉게 할퀴어서 마음 상해요(you scratch out of spite, it’s very hurtful)검은 고양이 네로 네로 네로([My] black cat Nero, Nero, Nero,)귀여운 나의 친구는 검은 고양이(my cute friend is a black cat)검은 고양이 네로 네로 네로([My] black cat Nero, Nero, Nero,)이랬다 저랬다 장난꾸러기(you’re full of mischief all over.)

I like to think of the Korean versions as a synthesis of the Italian original and the Japanese cover, I guess. We’ve done our best with what was given, even though the ultimate final result just reads like a translation of the latter for most part. I’m sure the 1970 version was a direct reaction to ‘Kuroneko no Tango’, anyway, so it was inevitable.Also, you may have not needed to know this at all, but the ‘[my] black cat Nero’ (’검은 고양이 네로’ / ‘geomeun goyangi nero’) part is an excellent mondegreen in Korean for ‘gum is made of cat brains’ (’껌은 고양이 뇌로’). The sheer amount of playground bullshit I and so many other kids sat through over this one mondegreen is unbelievable. I couldn’t forget this song if you paid me to. Should I fall into a coma one day and lose all my memories, I will bet that this is still the one song that will remain in the depths of my mind, its claws sunk in like… like, well, a cat, I suppose. What gives.

Anyway. I could go on and on, but I really need to approach the question of what The Bloody Beetroots made of the song. And to be quite honest with you, I think this is one of the most truthful covers of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ out there, not just because of the translation but because it preserves the intent and emotion of the original pretty much dead on. The song only makes use of the chorus bit, but take a look.

You promised me Bob Rifo, Rifo, Rifo,you gave me some fake muso, and not the one that’s real.You promised me Bob Rifo, Rifo, Rifo,you’re such a little liar, you don’t know how I feel!HOLY SHIT

Isn’t that perfect? Though it’s done away with black cats, the rest of the lyrics can basically pass for a translation of the Italian original, if you allow for the rhymes! While other covers go on about tangoes or cutesy cats, The Bloody Beetroots’ cover has kept the ‘you promised me x but delivered y instead, and I ain’t having it’ part of the original, which is the central argument of the song. So this cover is still telling a story about a deal unfulfilled, complete with calling the other person a liar. I’d say that the emotion and general tone of the narrative has been kept in those lines.

The chorus alone isn’t the only well-adapted part of this cover, either. If you listen to the rest of the song, you hear interjections of ‘FUCK YOUUUUUUU’ during a couple of points, and while the original singer of ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ -Vincenza Pastorelli - was far too young to express the song’s emotions in such strong language on national television, I think it’s a pretty adequate summary of the song’s intended message. I mean, I don’t know about y’alls, but the anguish of not receiving the Bob Rifo that I ordered and being forced to accept an inferior substitute would fairly piss me off too, I think. And so would the idea of not being able to get my promised cat after resorting to extortionate bribery, in fact - just like the Italian original. The sound of a child bursting into tears at the very end of The Bloody Beetroots’ cover is just the icing on top. 

Sure, it’s not a direct translated cover of the Italian, and it’s like 10000x more hardcore than the children’s song it was meant to be, but I reckon these elements I’ve just pointed out are not accidental. Cover versions of songs change lyrics all the time - even though I’ve spoken of the covers listed here with bewilderment for most of the post, I do hold sincere affection for most of them, and they were all excellent hits in their respective countries - but I do think it speaks well of faithfulness to source material, if you preserve most of it as it already stands. ‘Volevo un gatto nero (You Promised Me)’ delivers on that for the chorus, and keeps the emotions of the original intact despite not having lyrics for the other 70-80% that it missed out. 

I’m so, so happy about that. I think that’s amazing.And with that, that’s ‘Volevo un gatto nero’ for you. :D

tl;dr: Sir Cornelius Bob Rifo is somehow the one person who managed to make the most faithful foreign-language cover of a fifty year old song, due to numerous mistranslations and variants of said song becoming more popular than the original.

Oh, yeah. And it’s, like… freakin’ metal.