Nespoli Caduti - A Sicilian Poem

Nespoli is a fruit indiginous to Sicily, that resembles a large apricot .... Perhaps one of the best tasting fruit immaginable. Nespoli caduti or Fallen Nespoli was inspired on a trip to the country where I found acres of nespoli rotting on the ground. With an unemployment rate of 25%, This didn't make sense to me. The Nespoli is a metaphor for an older Sicilian culture that is lost or diluted. It is critical of Italian societal influences that have convinced Sicilians to look down their own language and under-value old fashioned concepts that represent basic understanding of the natural order of things. It is a testament to those like our ancestors who understood the law of the land; that is, if you don't work the land it will not bear fruit. And, that this language is inexticably linked to the land. Instead, many young Sicilians would rather live off the government pensions of their elders. Fruit and other Sicilian natural resources rot on the ground because it is economically imprudent to harvest.

Nespoli Caduti / Fallen Nespoli
by Ciro Attardo (Translation below)

Comu si ponnu vidiri i nespuli quannu sunnu caduti n'terra
Scafazzati cu i scarpi superbi
Cupunati cu i robbi Milanese e giornali Romani,
Abbrivirati cu i lagrimi di muntagni
E sputazza asciutta di tutti nonni viddani.

Comu si ponnu vidire a frutta du paradisu,
Muzzicata di Eva,
cu succu….tantu duci
chi scula di la lingua vagniata
n'capu u cori di Sicilia.

Comu si ponnu vidire i nespuli caduti,
Cupunata cu pruvulazzu fattu di machine,
Chi currinnu n'capu la autostata ,
Sciddicannu n'capu suduri e pisciazza di muli
Pi pigghiari la mancia municipali ,
Scurdannu la liggi di la terra,
Moralita di agricultura, e di la vita;
E scurdannu che venaddire esseri Sicilianu.

How can one see the nespoli
When it’s fallen to the ground
Crushed by high class shoes
Covered with Milanese clothes and Roman newspapers
Watered by tears from the mountain
And the dried spit of our peasant grandfathers.
How can one see the fruit of paradise
Bitten by Eve
With juice…so sweet
That drips down her wet tongue
Onto the heart of Sicily
How can one see the fallen nespoli
Covered with dust made by cars
That race on the highway
Sliding on the sweat and piss of mules
To get their municipal handout,
Forgetting the law of the land,
Morality of the farm, and of life;
and forgetting what it means to be Sicilian.