Odd twists and turns of new phrases

This pronunciation dilemma is a two-way street. The complaint I hear most frequently from the many Italians I meet who have spent years in school studying English is the impossibility of their understanding anything Americans say when we speak to them.

This is true for all languages to some extent, of course. But from what I hear, the offense is especially egregious in American-style English. We engage in a kind of mushing when we enunciate. More accurately, we don't enunciate, which eliminates intelligibility for the nonnative speaker. This is especially true for an Italian, accustomed as he is to a more musical rhythm in language.

How disappointed my husband was one day when he pointed to a roadside area near our home and said "Aye you ka leap toose" and I stared at him blankly. I neither recognized the word "eucalyptus" nor the trees lining the roadway.

Returning to the lost idioms: Although I do mildly mourn their absence, I enjoy discovering the variety in this linguistic area. Sometimes comparable idioms are similar, with perhaps only a change in body part separating them. For example, where we say, "you're pulling my leg," the Italians say, "you're pulling my nose." And instead of "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," the Italians admonish "not to bandage one's head before breaking it."

For anyone who loves language and imagery, though, the real pleasure occurs when the idiom expresses the same idea but structures the concept in a different way. Take the Italian version of our cryptic "looks count." Choosing personification and lending more majesty to the expression, the Italians say "vero è che l'occhio vuole la sua parte," translated literally, "it is true that the eye wants its share."

Learning a second language to the level of fluency is, for me, sheer hard work. But I'm not such a nincompoop that I don't appreciate the privilege of the task and its benefits. It gives me a greatly expanded view and experience of language, its origins and structure. It also helps me see my own language in a fresh light and with greater appreciation.

Observing the reactions of some Italian friends recently after I told them the "cats and dogs" idiom - and watching as they laughed and mimed to each other the incomprehensible experience of being pelted by cats and dogs falling from the sky - brought the saying to life for me for the first time. I still can't use it here and be understood, but then nothing's perfect.

Or, as the Italians say, "la perfezione non è di questo mondo" - perfection is not of this world. There's that Italian majesty again.

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