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Copyright

• The original text is not copyrighted, as the author died in 1854.
• The translation, with all its weaknesses, is copyrighted by Raffaele Ladu.

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Testu Sardu

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English Translation

E d'ogni patimentu illimitadu,

Una mente distint'hat computadu

Ch'in Bosa b'hat fiagu e ledamen!

There are as much fire and hunger in Hell

And as many boundless pains,

As stink and manure are in Bosa!

Hat fattu copiosu cussu fogu,

E bois, similmente in cussu logu,

Faghides abbundare s'isporchizia,

E fettores de grand'impudicizia

Ne bo nde mancat ne bo nd'hat mancadu!

Has made this fire fiery,

You, in the same way but in your place,

Make filth overflow!

And you have always had plenty

Of stink of big indecency!

pro me, no mi cumbenit chi resista;

Assumancu faghidebos provista

De rudas, romasinos e atentos,

e pro mesu e varios fumentos

Podet benner su fragu superadu.

I can't stand it!

Pray, make supplies

Of rue, rosemary, wormwood,

As by way of fumigation

The stench could be overcome.

Como chi sun pienos sos terrinos,

Devides ispozare sos giardinos

De amentas e ateros fiores,

Pro confunder, a forza de odores,

Sa peste chi su cul'hat causadu.

As the lands are full,

You have to steal from the gardens

Mint and other flowers

In order to cover up with their scent

The plague caused by your collective arse.

Pro cantu sos fiagos sunu medas,

Immancabile este chi caghedas

Bindighi o vinti 'ortas a su die,

Corruoe est famadu pro su nie,

Bosa est pro sa merda lumenadu.

However many your farts may be,

You ought to shit

Fifteen or twenty times a day;

S'Arcu Curreboi is famous for its snow,

Bosa for its shit.

Sas chistiones non faghent bizzarra;

Bazzinones chi leant una carra

'Ogni notte nde prenant chimb'e sese,

Faghet treghentos mojos a su mese

Già l'ingrassant su logu fadigadu.

No question becomes quarrel:

Five or six big four-stone pots

Are filled every night;

They add up to 150 hundredweight a month,

So the depleted land is excellently manured!

Po ingrassare sos terrinos lanzos;

Bois ischides dar'a sos istranzos

De part'e cibu, pudidu fragheri.

Chircadebos un'ateru merderi

Cun d'unu carrettone ben'armadu.

To manure barren land;

You know how to give a foreigner

A stinking fart for food.

Seek another filth dump

With a well-reinforced cart!

A fagher nettos sos fundagos mannos;

No si ch' 'ogat mancu in battor'annos

Sa sicca chi tenides a muntone.

Maladitta merdosa nassione

A culu totalment'irreguladu.

To cleanse the big warehouses;

Even four years won't be enough

To remove the piled up dry filth!

Cursed be such a shitty country

With a completely unruly arse!

Insumma, no est duru nè berbetigu;

No bos bisonzat tartaru emetigu

Nè abba frisca nè brou chegente,

Pro bos fagher cagare frequente,

Infatti, mai no nd'hazis usadu.

In a word, is neither tough or shrewish:

You don't need tartar emetic

Or cool water or hot broth

To frequently shit.

In fact, you have never used any of them!

regalande bruttes' in abbundanzia:

A pius de mes'or 'e lontananzia

Apprendet su fracu 'ogni naseri;

Bazzinos mannos cant'unu libreri

Unu contende si nd'est isbagliadu.

To abundantly give filth:

At more than half-an-hour distance

The stench is noticed by good sniffers;

There are so many big-scale-pan-sized pots

That nobody could count them all!

s'animu non mi bastat chi lu conte,

unu chi s'incontresid in su ponte

M'iscriet chi l'hat fattu meravizza,

in tres minutos vasos settemizza

De merd'a su fiumen' hant bettadu.

Haven't the courage to tell you that

Somebody I had met on the bridge

Wrote to me that he was astonished:

In three minutes he saw 7000 pots

Full of shit emptied in the river!

Vintitregentos vasos de avanzu.

Si sos culos fint mattas de aranzu

Nd'haiat sa Sardigna hapidu fruttu,

Ca sa merda est pudidu tributu

Chi sempr'in custu logu b'est 'istadu.

Twentythree pots of leftovers.

If the arses were orange plants,

Sardinia would earn a lot of money!

But shit has always been the stinking duty

That was levied in this place.

Cun custa veridade fatto fronte,

S'in sos terrinos de su Piemonte

Chimbe o ses culos bostros bi tenia,

Patata Savoiarda nde 'attia

Un'ischiffittu bene carrigadu.

Facing this truth,

If the lands of Piedmont

Had five or six arses of yours,

They would turn out a well-laden ship

Of Savoiarda Potatos!

Su calculare podent, assumancu,

Sos chi falant velados de biancu,

Su sero, a cundire su fiumen,

Avvertinde, chi bene lo assummen

E mi mandent su contu approvadu.

If it is possible to reckon, at least,

How many people descend, cloaked in white,

To pollute the river at evening,

Praying them that they make a good reckoning

And send me the certified sum.

De conzas e cunduttos e fundagos,

Chi cun sos bostros putridos fiagos

Cale si siat omin' annegades,

Sezis porcos infin'e meritades

Cantu madre natura bos hat dadu.

About tanneries, tanks and warehouses,

As with your fetid farts

You may choke everybody.

You are swines and deserve

What Mother Nature has given you.

Tumba de milli varios fiagos.

Bi hat pius merda in sos fundagos

Chi non b'hat in su mare limpiesa:

A l'haer conduid' a sa nettesa

Mai mediu perunu b'hat istadu.

A store of thousand multifarious stenches.

There is more shit in its warehouses

Than freshness in the sea.

To make it clean

No means have ever been effective.

Ch'in su troppu cagare ponzan frenu;

Sos vasos, ch'in d'unu die hant pienu,

Sunu tres miliones e piusu.

Cun cust'avvisu creo chi s'abbusu

Benzat in calchi modu mitigadu.

Curb your overshitting!

They have filled in a day

Three million vases and odds!

I hope that this notice

Will help curtail such an abuse.