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Is Ben Jonson (l’Aretino) a sadistic Fox?

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Una raffigurazione di Volpone di Aubrey Beardsley

Volpone‘s tunic is in fact VERY large, many pockets here and there hiding so many things one can never tell where this man will bring us. But in any case. *Grinning*. Source

By Volpone (aka MoR)

Hearts sometimes do skip a beat
[I am late with my post, MoR]
And in fact weird things occurring
And emerging disconcerting
It’ll be the matter elsewhere.

“Where, where, where, where”
[say the buds et li lettori enchanted]
Well, beloved friends, should you be there
Id est the 14th day after the previous writing …

“Inviting, exciting, so much reuniting”
[the buds in truth are restless, perturbed]
*He pauses. Reflects, and scratches a bit his perrwige. Then takes a deep breath*

Ψ

Now, luck yet send us, and a little wit
Will serve, to make our Play hit,
According to the palates of the season
Here is rhyme, not empty of reason.

This you were bid to credit, from our Poet,
Whose true scope, if you would know it,
In all his Poems, still, hath been this measure,
To mix profit, with your pleasure.

Not as some (whose throats their envy failing)
Cry hoarsely: all he writes is railing!

L’Aretino, subverting the system in Renaissance Italy. Source

Flavia & Fulvia: “Basta!”

Old Man [a bit from Arezzo, like L' Aretino, incidentally]: “Why on earth?”

Flavia [Fulvia does not know whether to leave or to stay, her boobs dancing, no matter what] :

“Because – Flavia’s smile is strange – you’ll never write that novel c’mon.

You are sadistic. Checking your exchanges it turns Andreas once wrote: “Ah, Man of Roma, you finally got Anglo-Saxons just need to be spanked.” Therefore, with a story that never starts … you keep them walking on thin ice “

Old Man: “Or on a razor’s edge, my domina. Although, your words making me upset, I will leave this room right now.”

[Exit]

*Flavia and Fulvia pale. They’ve caught a glimpse of a paddle’s (or of a whip’s) handle flashing from MoR’s large tunic*

Pietro Aretino as painted by Tiziano. Wikipedia

Pietro Aretino as painted by Tiziano. Wikipedia

Ψ

*The buds look unaffected. But Cyberqwil the Austrian is snickering & Pavlos the Greek merchant too, although his eyes are lost in the sees where he belongs*

Ψ

The Anglo-Saxons, ça va sans dire, control their emotions much better than we Latin do – *MoR is thinking* – also because (despite their virtues and staggering achievements) showing and accepting emotions is not their forte.

Which makes them even more addictive.

And yet, MoR’s probing mind – he always lived with women, incidentally – is sensing like glimmers in their eyes (the men and the women alike.)

No, no no, mamma mia!

If THAT is what they need (Andreas is always right, he’s German no kidding) my novel will make them blush.

Ψ

At the other end of Europe, on a rainy island, Erika Leonard aka  E. L. James is paling too.

For reasons nobody can fathom.

So far.

Fifty shades of grey

Related stuff:

[ I’ll take my time, although I’ll start with:

i. Andreas Kluth aka Hannibal Man in a TED conference on ‘failure and success in life’ as impostors (see If, by R. Kipling)

ii. Piero Boitani. 1. The Gospel according to Shakespeare. 2. Chaucer and the Imaginary World of Fame. 3. Il grande racconto delle stelle (P. Boitani’s summa btw where you find ALL (I took 6 months to read it Gosh! It is always on my desk) as Pietro Citati observes on Milan’s daily Corriere della sera.

Piero Boitani, Gabinetto Vieusseux, Firenze,  1910

Piero Boitani, Gabinetto Vieusseux, Firenze, 1910

Here’s Piero Boitani with Claudio Magris (our German studies guy and ‘Habsburg myth in modern Austrian literature’ expert, among the rest.)

Piero Boitani with Claudio Magris

 

 

 

 

 

Dormire con te

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Man of Roma:

Carlo Galli

La creatività dei giovani è meravigliosa, perché meravigliosa è la vita quando sgorga nel suo primo fulgore.

Attorno a Carlo Galli si è radunato un folto guppo di giovani (d’età o di spirito), e tutti assieme cantano, coralmente, la vita e l’amore.

Volete un esempio?

ψ

Della poesia che segue scrive Gattolona Pasticciona:

“[Poesia] bella e suggestiva, mi chiedo come fai a gestire questo impegnativo blog, dal momento che ricevi centinaia di apprezzamenti, ai quali tu con dolcezza e gentilezza rispondi, e a lavorare nel contempo. O fare il blogger è la tua occupazione primaria? Nel caso tu avessi un’altra occupazione, direi che avresti sbagliato mestiere: sei nato poeta e cantastorie, fantasista e artista di strada, lettore delle anime e cupido del nostro secolo. Nasceranno molti bambini leggendo le tue dolcezze…”

Nasceranno molti bambini leggendo le tue dolcezze …

Originally posted on Carlo Galli:

Sei entrata in questo letto

per elemosinare amore,

trovare un po’ di conforto

tra due braccia sconosciute.

Piccola creatura, cosa ti ha fatto il mondo?

E adesso che il sole è sorto

e ti vedo ancora qui,

avvinghiata a me,

immobile nel sonno,

spero tu stia sognando

come lo sto facendo io…

…dopo questo risveglio.

Carlo Galli

View original

“As long as I live they too will live inside me and battle, positively and fruitfully, giving me strength.” Dialectics (3)

"Maddening, beautiful, magical, horrible, painful, wonderful, joyous thing": Love

“Maddening, beautiful, magical, horrible, painful, wonderful, joyous thing”: Love. And its ‘fruits’? Click for credits and to enlarge

 

Furious Love’s Children

We have talked about two (human) trees dialectically intertwined in furious love.

Will English philosopher (and Sci-Fi writer) Olaf Stapledon from Seacombe possibly shed light on other species’ (or aliens’) love?

Or Hegel ? Or Darwin?
[tough, I know, though tougher than it seems: pls go on reader]

ψ

In the meanwhile we’ll continue with this ‘maddening love’ thing yet from the view-point of its ‘fruits’.

Children.

What happens to the fruits of struggling lovers?

No output here (am I right?) though maddening non the less

No output here (am I right?) though ‘maddening’ none the less. Click for credits

To Anju (Nomad) & to Reema,
Bengali Sisters

We all have (or have had) parents therefore all readers /writers are ‘children’, figli.

Now, my dear Indian bloggers being the first ones to baptize the Man of Roma I hence feel affection to all of them:

[Ashish the GeekWrestler, the first commentator ever of this blog; Poonam Sharma; Ishmeet; Nita J. Kulkarni; Devinder; Amith; Chandrahas; Falcon;  Destination Infinity; Anshul, Usha; Shefali.. the list is not complete damn. It will be]

ψ

Two Bengali sisters are though important here from a certain angle.

Mario: “Don’t get it. Bengali Indians and NOT all Indians?”
Manius:Sir Rabindranath Tagore is Bengali: a genius polymath shedding light, in his sublime way, on harmonious Love, among the rest. Giovanni btw knows only two Bengali bloggers.”

Exactly.

This post is in fact dedicated to Anju and Reema

[whose parents being 'harmonious' were though man and woman, ie different]

Let us start.

Nikos Kazantzakis’
Twin Currents of Blood

nikos kazantzakis

Nikos Kazantzakis, a modern Greek genius. Click for attribution and additional infos

How do children from ‘struggling’ loves react?

In his spiritual autobiography (Report to Greco) Greek Nikos Kazantzakis from Crete (Νίκος Καζαντζάκης, 1883 – 1957) mentions several times this crucial relationship that shaped his life (and work.)

Two quotes.

1. “The influence of this [….] hoax – Kazantzakis writes -, of this delusion (if it is a delusion) that twin currents of blood, Greek from my mother and Arab from my father, run in my veins, has been positive and fruitful, giving me strength, joy and wealth. My struggle to make a synthesis of these two antagonistic impulses has lent purpose and unity to my life.”

2.Both of my parents circulate in my blood, the one fierce, hard, and morose, the other tender, kind, and saintly.

I have carried them all my days; neither has died. As long as I live they too will live inside me and battle in their antithetical ways to govern my thoughts and actions.”

“My lifelong effort is to reconcile them so that one may give me their strength, the other their tenderness to make the discord between them, which breaks out incessantly within me, turn to harmony inside their son’s heart.”

 ψ

Reconcile them … eg the discord which breaks out incessantly turning to harmony. How can one not adore Kazantzakis (also for making dialectics clearer, I hope?)

রবীন্দ্রনাথ ঠাকুর

Tagore

Sir Rabindranath Tagore, Rabīndranātha Thākura, রবীন্দ্রনাথ ঠাকুর. Public domain. Click for source. Majestic and sweet

Now, look at this man, at this polymath.

Who is better than him as for harmony, struggle reconciliation – aka σύνθεσις?

[Another help for fathoming Hegelian dialectic, I do hope]

 

Piercing the Darkness of Time

Here come clips related to Tagore and the Bengali culture.

The above clip, found here, is bit westernized and mixes up Tagore‘s poems Unending Love and My Song.

A few more words on Tagore:

“Tagore (রবীন্দ্রনাথ ঠাকুর) was possibly the greatest writer in modern Indian literature, “Bengali poet, novelist, educator, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913. Tagore was awarded the knighthood in 1915, but he surrendered it in 1919 as a protest against the Massacre of Amritsar, where British troops killed some 400 Indian demonstrators protesting colonial laws.”

[quote credits]

ψ

 

Still have to write down a note with bibliography etc.

India's emblem

 

Previous installments:

Love Never Did Run Smooth. Dialectics (1)

WTM?!? …. Dialectics (2)

WTM?!? …. Dialectics (2)

Man of Roma:

Philip Larkin. The complete poems. Click for credits

MoR: “Hi Jenny, how are you? [...] May I reblog your WTM post? It is consistent with my ‘sublimity & scurrility’ blog theme which, in the Roman culture of ALL time, are intertwined like two close trees whose trunks have grown upwards together as a single shaft, mutually distorting … but mutually exhilarating.”

Jenny: “Hey Roma! Great to hear from you. Of course you may repost as you please. Sledpress was spectacular in her commentary, I recall. [...] Are you blogging again? [...] You can’t imagine how much mileage [... I got from your blog ...] with every Italian I meet.
“Chi dice donna, dice danno” gets a great reaction every time! :-)

ψ

[Click on the image for credits. Courtesy of Alessandra Montalto/The New York Times. MoR]

ψ

Other installments:

Love Never Did Run Smooth. Dialectics (1)

“As long as I live they too will live inside me and battle, positively and fruitfully, giving me strength.” Dialectics (3)

Originally posted on sweat and sprezzatura:

Last week, the New York Times reviewed Philip Larkin’s Complete Poems.

His poems would not be complete without the most famous one:

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

In the Times, the reviewer paraphrases (and cleans up) the first line of the poem, according to NYT stylebook rules:

They mess you up, “your mum and dad./They may not mean to, but they do./ They fill you with the faults they had/And add some extra, just…

View original 129 more words

Love Never Did Run Smooth. Dialectics (1)

HUGUES

“The path of true love never did run smooth” by Talbot Hughes, English Painter (1869–1942). Many paintings from the Victorian era referred to literary quotes, like this one, whose title is from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I, 1, 134

“Mai al mondo fu piano e senza ostacoli il sentiero dell’Amore”

[Shakespeare-Talbot Hughes, in Italian]

ψ

Uomo e donna, complementarietà discordante, sopravvivono meglio in perenne dissonanza.

[Magister-διδάσκαλος; see his ikon, if not his face, below]

Olaf Stapledon.
“Like two close trees whose trunks …”

“ONE night when I had tasted bitterness I went out on to the hill … Overhead, obscurity. I distinguished our own house, our islet in the tumultuous and bitter currents of the world. There, for a decade and a half, we two, so different in quality, had grown in and in to one another, for mutual support and nourishment, in intricate symbiosis [...]

True, of course, that as a long-married couple we fitted rather neatly, like two close trees whose trunks have grown upwards together as a single shaft, mutually distorting, but mutually supporting. Coldly I now assessed her as merely a useful, but often infuriating adjunct to my personal life. We were on the whole sensible companions. We left one another a certain freedom, and so we were able to endure our proximity.”

[Olaf Stapledon, Star Maker, Ch. I, The Earth]

ψ

αἴνιγμα (riddle)

How do Darwin and Hegel
Enter into the Equation?

An old sage. Image is not mine but copyrighted. I have bought it

ψ

Note, to be read when despondent :-)

ψ

Tough material (for the writer as well as the reader.)

 

If it’s any consolation: even though thanks to my work with Magister, 40 years ago, I was able to absorb (in only a few months) tiny bits of the essence of Plato, Croce, Gramsci – in other words, various sides of the weird dialectics possibly invented 24 centuries ago in Athens (we’ll need to skip Indian dialectics here) …

… despite I mean this past history of sudden germination – I ran up against “Hegel’s block.”

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel‘s dialectics proved too hard to me. Well – just the name is hard.

My Mentor kept telling me Hegel was no inferior to Plato and Aristotle. Magister being Magister, I was frustrated.

ψ

In later years I absorbed Hegel a bit by reading some Gramsci and Croce, although I sensed that Hegel’s deep core, plus the capacity (far more important) to have fun reading this Master’s works – I never quite fathomed.

A New διδάσκαλος

Now one year ago it turned (in only a few months, again!) that reading Hegel though still hard was suddenly exhilarating …

Moreover, Hegel plus evolution – eg biological science plus philosophy – were unexpectedly, rocket-like, jostling me around in outer space (from my puffy armchair, I mean) towards infinite cosmos, or κόσμος τὸ πᾶν, should one prefer.

What had happened? Another Μέντωρ-διδάσκαλος had shown himself?

ψ

Well, yes.

A shy, decent (and brilliantly creative) English philosopher from the Wirral Peninsula:

Olaf Stapledon (1886 – 1950)

Olaf Stapledon (1886 – 1950)

Copyrighted image of Olaf Stapledon. Fair use. Click for source file

Songs of the Grikos. Oral Greek Love Poems surviving from Magna Graecia (2)

[Enjoy some images from Magna Graecia (basically the Italian coastal South) and listen to some songs in the Griko language]

As promised in the previous post here are some of the oral Greek poems collected on the field from the Griko people – South Italians who still speak Greek.

It is a selection from the book Il tesoro delle parole morte (Argo, 2009, Lecce) by Brizio Montinaro which regards the Griko poetry from Salento, Apulia. Some of these poems were collected by Montinaro himself, whose mother is Griko.

My translation is inadequate and in progress. Any suggestion is welcome. I’ll provide the Greek text of the first poem only.

Mαχάιρι ᾽ναι τὰ μάτια σου,
σπαθιὰ τὰ δυό σου φρύδια
καὶ παὶζουνε με τὴν καρδιὰ
πολλῶ λογιῶ παιχνὶδια.

Knife your eyes
Swords your eyebrows:
They play with the heart
Games of great art.

ψ

That curl so fair
That is bending under your ear
Woven with silk thread,
The most beautiful of your whole head.
Ah had I that curl in my hand!
Out of joy I would fly to heaven’s land.

ψ

Here comes the sun, the moon, the star,
Here comes the maiden who breaks my heart apart.
Here is she who points a knife at me
And chases me away but I cannot but stay.

ψ

Your bosom hides two lemons
That send such a sweet scent.
Give at least one of them to us
To turn over in our hands.
“I hoe, I water, I do not offer lemons.
Go to the gardener, maybe there will be grace.”

ψ

Wherever you go, young man,
May the sun not burn you, and a cloud
May appear in the sky to protect you.

ψ

The wind came
And took away your scarf
And it removed my hat
Uncovering your fair neck.
That night happily I slept.

ψ

ψ

When you see me, as a viper you hide in the bush:
I am he who put your breasts upside down.

ψ

Girl of mine, it was night when we kissed.
By whom were we seen?
By the night, by the dawn, by the star and the moon.
The star bowed and told the sea,
The sea told the oar, the oar told the sailor,
And the sailor sang it at the door of his love.

ψ

I kissed red lips and they dyed my own,
I cleaned them with a cloth
And they dyed the cloth.
I washed the cloth in the river and it dyed the river
Which dyed the beach shore and it dyed the sea floor.
An eagle came down to drink and dyed its wings,
And the sun was half dyed and the moon in the full.

ψ

May I become a swallow and enter your room
And make my nest in your pillow.

ψ

And I wish I were a flea from here
To get like a hawk into your bed,
And nibble all that flesh,
And you’d let down your hand and catch me!

ψ

Martano, one of the Griko towns of Salento. A poem below refers to it. Click for credits

ψ

I sigh and burn,
And my heart drips blood.
But the pain is sweet
When I suffer for you.

ψ

As maiden I loved you, as woman I had you not,
Soon the time will arrive when as widow you’ll be mine.

ψ

Foolish was I to love you!
Like the wind you never stop.
Better had I loved a wall,
It would perhaps have stopped a moment.
Better had I loved a stone,
It would have softened and something I’d have had.
But I have loved you instead, the Galanto,
Who enchanted Martano with his canto.

ψ

I sent you four apples,
One with a bite,
And in the mid of the bite
I placed a kiss.

Related posts:

Songs of the Grikos. Oral Greek Love Poems surviving from Magna Graecia (1)

Yves Montand and Brizio Montinaro on the set of IL GENIO (1976). Click for credits

I met Brizio Montinaro once at a friends’ place. A friendly, curly- grey-haired Italian from Apulia, actor and writer, Brizio Montinaro is an expert of the Griko people among the rest.

Who are the Griko people? They are South Italians who more or less directly descend from the Greeks of Magna Graecia (with some influence from Byzantium.)

Griko speaking communities today. Click for credits

What’s interesting is that some of them still speak a form of Greek, Griko, that developed from both Magna Graecia and Byzantine Greek (see on the map the location of the Griko speaking communities today.)

[Note on Magna Graecia. We remind readers that most coastal areas of South Italy had been colonized by Greek settlers since the 8th century B.C., and that Magna Graecia (ie, ‘Big Greece’, coastal South Italy) was to mainland Greeks a bit like America was to Europeans: a land of promise where opportunities were bigger, and where everything - to travellers from mainland Greece -  appeared larger and more luxuriant: Syracuse, not Athens, was the largest Greek city in the Mediterranean during classical times. See the map below for the past and above for what is left of the Greek-speaking people today]

Greek settlements in Magna Graecia, with their dialects. Click for credits

Montinaro, born from a Griko mother, wrote a few books on the Griko culture. Among his merits, that of having made known the beauty of the oral poetry of the Grikos.

I have his “Il tesoro delle parole morte” (Argo, 2009, Lecce) ['The treasure of the dead words']. I’ll summarize a passage from his introduction to the book:

Temple of Poseidon. Paestum, Campania, Italy. Click for credits

The traveller in the South of Italy admires the temples of Paestum, the Greek wonders of Agrigento, Taormina and Syracuse. Parmenides of Elea was born in Magna Graecia, the school of Pythagoras flourished in Croton. Archimedes, Diodorus Siculos and other prominent Greeks were born in Sicily.

However, if that traveller closes his eyes – while wandering in Aspromonte (Calabria) or in the land of Salento (Apulia) covered with centuries-old olive trees – he can still hear, carried by the wind, words such as: agàpi, dafni, podèa, vasilicò, alòni.

These are traces, just like the columns and the theatres, of another monument of the Hellenic culture: the Greek language.

These oral poems sing with great freshness the joys and sorrows of love, “with a look – we read in the back cover – that is still the darting gaze common to the boundless sea of ​​Hellenism, and that was expressed by the rhythms of Sappho and Anacreon.”

ψ

Some of these poems will be presented in the next post translated into an English (hopefully not too horrible) version.

ψ

Related posts:

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