While waiting for my Arrowsmith translation, Galassi's became available. When I went to pick up the Arrowsmith...the good people at B&N handed me Antonino Mazza.
Eugenio Montale
From The Bones of Cuttlefish
(translated by Antonino Mazza)
ALMOST A FANTASY
Day reappears, I present it
As a dawn of threadbare
Silver on the walls:
The shut windows stripe a glimmer.
The event of the sun
Returns and the diffused
Voices do not bring the customary uproars.
Why? I think of a day of enchantment
And with merry-go-rounds of hours too self-repeating
I reward myself. The power which once excited me
Will overflow, inanimate wizard,
From the great old days. Now I will lean out,
I will do away with tall houses, bare avenues. {excerpt}
Eugenio Montale
From Collected Poems 1920-1954
(translated by Jonathan Galassi)
From Cuttlefish Bones 1920-1927
LIKE A FANTASIA
Day is dawning, I can tell
By the old-silver shimmer
On the walls:
A gleam edges the shut windows.
The coming of the sun returns again,
Without the scattered voices
And old noises.
Why? I fantasize a magic day
To counteract the hours game
Of sameness. The power pent up
In this unconscious magus for so long
Will overflow. Now I'll show myself
And subjugate high houses, empty avenues.
{excerpt}
Last edited by quasimodo1; 11-01-2008 at 10:48 PM.
I haven't been able to get to the library, and so regret that I haven't been able to really focus on Montale and come up with a decent evaluation worthy of my maturity, but of the few samples I've gleaned through the efforts of the club participants, I respond better to Montale than to Roethke.
I do not see the muscularity that luke responds to; for me it is closer to an avuncular, jovial irony, which is at most a preliminary empathy. I cannot parse for specific elements--but 20th century European poets are simply superior to their American counterparts. Roethke too consciously constrains himself in his couplets; it is irritating, as he is really not the master of the formalism wherein his mania is always threatening to burst. Montale is rather more comfortable in his own skin, and with the irony of playing with the past, yet being, ultimately, a modern man, quiet in a muted strength. How I get all that I don't know, given how little I invested back in really studying anything, but I responded to Xenia. There was a husband in whom my scars might have softened, in terms of the character he presented.
Juat as an aside, I am going to stay out of nominating unless I am sure I can get my hands on the collection, and really offer a decent conversation. I am weary of the chip on the shoulder arguments about the value of literature which ripple in the forums with tidal consistency, and I am intent from now on in focusing on authors, their texts, and appropriate comparison.
Thank you luke for your efforts in assisting me with some access to CB.
In the Galassi trans. 4th line, second stanza...he uses the key words "unconscious magus" which compares grossly with "inanimate wizard" of Mazza. The Italian is "incosciente mago". I'd love to know how Arrowsmith translates this expression.
Arrowsmith translates the first two stanzas this way:Originally Posted by quasimodo1
ALMOST A FANTASIA
Daylight again, I sense it
in the dawning of old
silver on the walls:
a glimmer edges the shut windows.
The sun comes back
again, but brings
no diffused voices, no customary din.
Why? I think of a day of enchantment,
my reward for the pageant of hours
too much alike. In me the power
welling, unconscious wizard,
will overflow. Yes, I'll be standing at the window,
I'll overwhelm tall houses, treeless streets.
[SNIP]
Very interesting poem. I can't say I really understand it.
LET THERE BE LIGHT
"Love follows knowledge." – St. Catherine of Siena
My literature blog: http://ashesfromburntroses.blogspot.com/
Nor I, yet, Virgil. Can you say you understand any parts of it...perhaps. Does "divide and conquer" work in this matrix?
Let me think over it for a while. It kind of makes sense in pieces, but let me see if I can put something coherent together.
LET THERE BE LIGHT
"Love follows knowledge." – St. Catherine of Siena
My literature blog: http://ashesfromburntroses.blogspot.com/
In the appendix/notes from Cuttlefish Bones there is a commentary by Glaucon Cambon, author of Eugenio Montale's Poetry: A dream in Reason's Presence:
"The clearly affirmative note of I limoni can rise to nearly triumphant pitch in Almost a Fantasia, where the poetic self envisions a forthcoming spell of its own making that will efface the deadness of daily routine to create a snow-lit fairyland and summon up remembrance of all things past- like recovered childhood."
This poem strikes me as similar, in some way... difficult to put the finger on... to the crystalline poetry of Rilke. I am especially struck by the lines:
Before me will be a land of virgin snow,
but powdered, as in a tapestry.
From a fleecy sky a slow radiance will slide.
Flooded with invisible light, forests and hills
will sing in praise of joyous returnings.
Elated, I'll read the black
signs of branches on the white,
like an alphabet of being.
In an instant, and the whole past
will open out before me...
"Triumphant" is an understatement. This poem creates such images that are almost ecstatic. Thinking of the title and Montale's initial education and love of music I imagine this poem as conveying something of a true fantasia... a symphony or visual images. The lines "I'll read the black/signs of branches on the white/like an alphabet of being..." clearly refers literally to the effect of the black branches silhouetted like so many written symbols... the calligrapher's ink... against the white parchment of the snow. I can't help but immediately think of Breughel's famous painting, Hunter's in the Snow:
Beware of the man with just one book. -Ovid
The man who doesn't read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them.- Mark Twain
My Blog: Of Delicious Recoil
http://stlukesguild.tumblr.com/
I think Cambon has really put his finger on it. Montale starts out with a description of day returning once more: the usual silver on the wall and the old glimmer around the edges of the shut windows. But this day is different. Why? He notices the lack of the usual noises and muffled sounds that accompany the start of day. I wonder if it is not the snowfall itself that has transformed this day into something "magical". Surely, we all have experienced the almost silent world of morning the snow has fallen and muffles the usual sounds. How common is such an experience in the Italy where Montale lived? Might it not be imagined as something even more magical...? Might it not trigger memories of the past... a childhood experience of the snow? But Montale transforms this experience into something even more poetic/ecstatic. He answers the question of "Why?" himself:
Why? I think of a day of enchantment,
my reward for the pageant of hours
too much alike. In me the power
welling, unconscious wizard,
will overflow. Yes, I'll be standing at the window,
I'll overwhelm tall houses, treeless streets.
Beware of the man with just one book. -Ovid
The man who doesn't read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them.- Mark Twain
My Blog: Of Delicious Recoil
http://stlukesguild.tumblr.com/
By the way... the original:
Quasi una fantasia
Raggiorna, lo presento
da un albore di frusto
argento alle pareti:
lista un barlume le finestre chiuse.
Torna l'avvenimento
del sole e le diffuse
voci, i consueti strepiti non porta.
Perchè? Penso ad un giorno di incantesimo
e delle giostre d' ore troppo uguali
mi riparo. Traboccherà la forza
che mi turgeva, incosciente mago,
da grande tempo. Ora m'affaccerò,
subisserò alte case, spogli viali.
Avrò di contro un paese di intatte nevi
ma lievi come viste in un arazzo.
Scivolerà dal cielo bioccoso un tardo raggio.
Gremite d'invisibile luce selve e colline
mi daranno l'elogio degl'ilari ritorni.
Lieto leggerò i neri
segni dei rami sul bianco
come un essenziale alfabeto.
Tutto il passato in un punto
dinanzi mi sarà comparso.
Non turberà suono alcuno
questa allegrezza solitaria.
Filerà nell'aria
o scenderà s'un paletto
qualche galletto di marzo.
Beware of the man with just one book. -Ovid
The man who doesn't read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them.- Mark Twain
My Blog: Of Delicious Recoil
http://stlukesguild.tumblr.com/
the poem seems to be ambiguous in the extreme, so no accurate reading I think that can safely be done with any certainty, still I will attempt an interpretation of sorts here.
In the first paragraph the poet seems to be anticipating a return of a moment of pure clarity. This begins with him anticipating the 'return of the sun', shining on the 'old silver on the walls:'. But the problem is, what is this daylight bringing. We know that it is encroaching the illusion of the room, and beginning to spill in through the windows, but what does it symbolize? the last line is quite puzzling at this point, a return 'no diffused voices', implying a moment of clarity, without the 'customary din', seeming to echo the concept of line shining the truth on the moment/the life of the speaker.
In the second paragraph the speaker expands, 'Why?' he asks, as if asking what this means, to which he answers, the 'day of enchantment' is his 'reward for the pageant of hours / too much alike.' He then goes on to explain in further depth, that the sleeping power of his 'unconscious wizard', which has been 'welling' inside him will now 'ooverflow'. The light now shines on him and he proclaims "I'll overhwhelm tall houses, treeless streets." imply that something great is in store, in what is symbolized by the returning day.
The next paragraph takes a turn, explaining what awaits for him: a 'land of virgin snow," which "powdered, as in a tapestry." implying that it is free for him to leave a definite mark - the powdered snow being impressionable to the footprint, and being clear of the previous marks of others - and therefore ready for the taking/impressing, the Snow being transformed into a sort of canvas for his own designs.
The last paragraph takes another drastic turn; the speaker says his purpose and desire now - to, from his elated level, 'read the black / signs of branches on the white, like an alphabet of being.' The white here referring to the snow, being marred by time and nature, fallen branches symbolizing the growth and destruction of the tree in winter, in the time when the sun was down, and he was symbolically sleeping. He wishes to use these branches to view 'the whole past', for he believes they 'will open out before' him. They will say what has occurred while he hid behind his window, and the snow was down.
The last few lines through another curve ball. What is so significant about reading the branches? Well, if 'no sound will jar' his 'solitary joy' than it can be assumed that this act is bringing him clarity and understanding - a oneness with himself. The final lines take it into another direction all together - the 'hoopoe... come / to usher in the spring.' must symbolize the end of the winter, after the light has risen, and the spring, bringing rebirth, and the end of winter - and with it the end of his need for clarity.
The problem therefore, in the poem, I would think, is in interpreting the symbolism behind the branches on the snow, and what the speaker desires to get or understand from them. He mentions the whole past opening up before him, but what does he mean by that? It must be assumed then, that he is implying the tree branches are somewhat of the observer of time - the natural, and therefore eternal world, and therefore he can gain clarity about himself, and about time, before spring will come, and bring about a wanted fundamental change in him.
I think it would be unfair also to view this poem as just a collection of happy images, or of a Wordsworthian moment as seen in Wordsworth's prelude and Tintern Abbey. Montale is a very different poet, who builds more with metaphor and synechdoches, and likes to load his poems with symbolic depth, at this time probably influenced strongly by the symbolists, who were just finishing up. I think it is more sensible then, to consider the elements as a contrast - the night is cloaking the tree branches, and therefore not letting him enjoy the view of the past, and the future, and also the lack of understanding in the past is obscuring the future, and making it unwanted.
We must then consider the context - this was written a little after the first world war (my edition doesn't have an exact date, but the whole collection was from 1925, so we can assume somewhere after the war, and to this date) and the world was in a rather uncertain point.
It can be assumed then, that this poem pushes time from two fronts - the darkness before the sun returns, and the spring after the clarity occurs. Winter is a transitional period, awaiting the new growth, after sense and order can be divulged from the branches, from the past.
Stlukes and JBI: Your analysis of this poem, i.e. both of you, is grounded as can be in academic terms. My question (which uncomfortably co-incides with a pet theory) arises from the expression "incosciente mago" and is this a key to the ultimate meaning? (= fantasy). My sense of the poem, albeit problematic because of the translation factor, is that this expression ...if it may mean Montale's unconscious prophet (or wizard if you must) ....turns the piece into a desire for the quiet period between to warring periods (as JBI mentions with regards to the poems historical place). Also, if true, this fantasy becomes an irony, being that the writer has as high desire for something most consider normal.
I took the 'unconscious wizard' to be in apposition to 'the power welling', thereby acts as him comparing the power welling inside him to an unconscious wizard, a sleeper ready to awake and throw fire. The term isn't significant, in my reading, I think it is just the speaker being metaphorical.
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