One of the curious things about Homeric studies is the way in which, although opinions in this field fluctuate violently, from time to time certain among them tend to become crystallized for no particular reason and are then accepted as something approaching orthodoxy. It is to try to delay such a crystallization, if it is not already too late, that I direct this brief coup d'ail at some current opinions on whether Homer—for the sake of clarity I apply this name (...) in the first instance to the monumental composer of the Iliad—used the aid of writing, and in general at the value of comparative inferences based on the heroic poetry of modern Yugoslavia. (shrink)

Lacoue-Labarthe's Poetry as Experience addresses the question of a lyric language that would not be the expression of subjectivity. In his analysis of the historical position of Paul Celan's poetry, Lacoue-Labarthe defines the subject as the principle that founds, organizes, and secures both cognition and action—a principle that turned, most violently during the twentieth century, into a figure not only of domination but of the extermination of everything other than itself. This thoroughly universal, abstract, and finally suicidal subject (...) eradicates all experience, save the singularity of this experience of voiding. But what is left, as Paul Celan insisted, is a remainder to the lyric voice alone: Singbarer Rest. -/- Lacoue-Labarthe's detailed analyses of two decisive poems by Celan, "Tübingen, Jänner" and "Todtnauberg"—the one a response to Hölderlin, the other to Heidegger—and his sustained reading of "The Meridian" present Celan's verse of singularity as the movement at and beyond the border of generalizable experience, i.e., as an experience, a traversing of a dangerous field, in which language no longer dominates anything, but rather commemorates the voiding of concepts and the collapse of the constitutive powers of the subject. For Lacoue-Labarthe, poetry after the Shoah, the poetry of bared singularity, is no longer a poetry that would correspond to the concept of the subject—or, for that matter, to the concept of poetry—but is rather the language of the decept. Only by being disappointed of the heroic language of idealistic poetry, and of the mytho-ontological tendencies of philosophy, can Celan's poetry keep open the possibility of another history, another future. (shrink)

The article deals with a hitherto largely neglected group of poetic texts that is characterized by the representation of the vicissitudes and deeds of a single hero through a third-person omniscient authorial voice, henceforth called ‘aretalogical poetry’. I want to demonstrate that in terms of form, contents, intertextual ‘self-awareness’ and long-term influence, aretalogical poetry qualifies as a fully-fledged epic genre comparable to bucolic or didactic poetry. In order not to blur my argument, I will focus on (...) class='Hi'>heroic aretalogies, and on Heracleids and Theseids in particular, because of their prominence in the minds of ancient literary critics. In the case of Heraclean aretalogies, it is expedient to distinguish further between aretalogies of ‘epic’ and ‘lyric epic’. (shrink)

ZusammenfassungDer Beitrag stellt zum einen die These auf, dass das Hildebrandslied den erzählten Vater-Sohn-Kampf aus Hildebrands heroischer Exorbitanz ableitet, die im Figurendialog analytisch vorgeführt wird. Die darin zum Ausdruck kommende Reflexionsdistanz des Liedes zu seinem Gegenstand kann als postheroische Perspektive stricto sensu bezeichnet werden. Da diese Perspektive somit bereits in einem frühesten Zeugnis europäischer Heldenepik konstitutiv für die narrative Sinngebung ist, schlägt der Beitrag zum anderen vor, die postheroische Perspektive als ein heuristisches Instrument zu gebrauchen, mit dem nicht nur Erscheinungsweisen (...) und Entwicklungen der europäischen Heldenepik neu beurteilt werden können, sondern auch das gesellschaftliche Relevanzpotenzial von ›Heldentum‹ bis heute im Rückbezug auf jene Heldenepik erklärt werden kann.The article, on the one hand, proposes that the OHG Hildebrandslied derives the narrated battle between father and son from Hildebrand’s heroic exorbitance, which is analytically explained in the characters’ dialogue before. That implies a deliberating distance of the lay’s narration from its subject matter, a distance which can be referred to as a post-heroic perspective in the strict sense. Thus, this perspective is a constitutive component of heroic poetry already in one of its earliest testimonies. Therefore, on the other hand, the article suggests to employ the post-heroic perspective as a heuristic device, which allows us not only to reevaluate the appearances and evolutions of European heroic poetry, but also to explain the persistent social and cultural relevance associated with the idea of ›heroism‹ by tracing it back to pre-modern heroic poetry. (shrink)

James H. Donelan describes how two poets, a philosopher, and a composer - Hölderlin, Wordsworth, Hegel, and Beethoven - developed an idea of self-consciousness based on music at the turn of the nineteenth century. This idea became an enduring cultural belief: the understanding of music as an ideal representation of the autonomous creative mind. Against a background of political and cultural upheaval, these four major figures - all born in 1770 - developed this idea in both metaphorical and actual musical (...) structures, thereby establishing both the theory and the practice of asserting self-identity in music. Beethoven still carries the image of the heroic composer today; this book describes how it originated in both his music and in how others responded to him. Bringing together the fields of philosophy, musicology, and literary criticism, Donelan shows how this development emerged from the complex changes in European cultural life taking place between 1795 and 1831. (shrink)

I. Language is a witness of change in the field of the knowledge. In its system of signs, also the “traces” that show “the movement of the signs” are conserved, meaning those dynamic signs that indicate problems and solutions of problems, and sometimes even the invention of new problems, which modify the paradigms of knowledge. In the case of the creativity problem, if we take language as the witness, we see the following: 1. In the first half of the 20 (...) th century, the term used to denote the innovatory phenomena is that of creation. This notion refers, most often, to the artistic works, but is step by step extended also to denote the great scientific discoveries or technical inventions and, more seldom, other types of activities which bear the mark of novelty or originality, generally with an “out of the ordinary character” . The word has an obvious value content and exactly by its evaluative significance, it is disseminated in the current cultural vocabulary. It can have more general meanings, due to the fact that it keeps, in its semantic memory, the archaic layers of the myths of creation, but also because it can be resignified metaphysically, as a cosmogony principle or one of the evolution of life . But its established place in the philosophical discourse is found mostly in the area of the philosophy of culture or in that of the philosophy of value and especially in the philosophy of art. From here, it is overtaken by the art sciences, as the psychology of art, the history of art or the sociology of art. The term creation means both the works, the products of the creation process, and the processes through which these works are accomplished. In the analysis of the creation process, the significance of the term become more psychological, and the rationalization to which it is subjected to seems to furthen it both from its religious origin as well as from the Romantic mythology of the genius. However, if we regard more attentively, we see that terms as “inspiration”, “incubation” or “invention”, from the so called explanations of the creation process, preserve the magic obscurity of the enigma. Generally, the idea of creation, even totally transferred to the human sphere, secularized, rationalized and psychologized, still keeps something from the history of a notion charged with “mystery”, “heroic admiration” and a sort of “sacred terror”, which can be understood by considering the religious origin of the idea of creation; because about creation, in the human sphere, it has been commenced to be talked at first by analogy to the divine creation, in the discourse about art of the Renaissance, and the semantic evolution of the notion has not, for a long time, furthen itself from it spiritual root. Creation – even when it denotes the human products- still remains a metaphor- which transports to something difficult to comprehend, rather than facilitates the understanding of what it denotes. 2. After the middle of the 20 th century, a new term, creativity, makes its way in the discourse, replacing the word creation. It comes from the vocabulary of the humanistic sciences, firstly from psychology and afterward by the other sciences which adopted it. It becomes, in a short period, a frequent term of the cultural world and of public communication. The discourse in which this neologism appears has completely changed suppositions: a). Firstly, it is a discourse of scientific nature ; b). Secondly, its notions are descriptive: creativity denotes the capacity to produce innovative works in any domain and is seen as a generally human dimension ; the creative products are described following criteria such as novelty, originality, relevance, adequacy or utility, attributes that are intelligible but also rationally computable. c). Thirdly, the suppositions of the discourse on creativity contains the idea that the creative phenomena can be understood rationally, described, analyzed, explained and measured, and their knowledge can be applied in the so called techniques to stimulate creativity or transferred in the methods of learning and education. The notion of creativity indicates thus a discourse articulated on a type of representations which we could call positive, to mark this way the change in knowledge on which they are based. 3. In the last decades of the 20 th century, in the vocabulary of the sciences on creativity appears a new notion: creatology . According to the significance that results from the terms which compose this linguistic invention, creatology can denote, in a general sense, the study or the theory of creation or creativity, accomplished in a discipline or other from the sciences which assumed it as a research problem. Still, the discussions on creatology have requested more - the constituting of an autonomous discipline of creativity. These three notions – creation, creativity and creatology - have an obvious “family resemblance”, although, as we have seen, the semantic differences are significant. Through these notions we can reconstruct not only the history of a problem which appeared as important to the knowledge of the 20 th century, but perhaps even the history of some ideas which have accompanied the understanding of the cultural history or, wider, the history of the mentalities of the 20 th century. It is exactly why the emergence of creatology can be researched from the perspective of cultural analysis. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Solon and Early Greek Poetry: The Politics of ExhortationGregory HaysElizabeth Irwin. Solon and Early Greek Poetry: The Politics of Exhortation. Cambridge Classical Studies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. xiv + 350 pp. Cloth, $90.Thirty years ago we understood archaic Greek elegy pretty well—or so we imagined. The elegists sang of the new developments of the archaic period, above all the rise of the polis. They wrote (...) first-person poetry celebrating their own individuality; most modern anthologies open emblematically with Archilochus's... They invoked the phraseology of epic only to reject its values: Homer's aristocratic warriors retreated in disarray before the bandy-legged general of the mercenary Archilochus. The arrival of the citizen soldier was reflected in Tyrtaeus and Callinus, whose exhortations hoplites chanted as they marched into battle. Solon was a little harder to accommodate in this picture: an odd hybrid of Jeremiah and Polonius, rising to occasional grandeur, but weak on logic and organization. Still, his praise of Eunomia helped bridge the gap between Homeric naiveté and the abstract thinking of the fifth century. And of course there was that law code...This explanatory model reflects the Geistesgeschichte approach of Bruno Snell, Hermann Fränkel, and Werner Jaeger, and it has been notably tenacious. But as a tool for explaining elegy (and lyric generally) it has come to seem pretty dated. Archilochus's "I" was problematized as early as 1964 in K. J. Dover's contribution to the Fondation Hardt Archiloque volume. But it was in the 1980s that the ice really started to break up. In an influential article (JHS 106 [1986] 13-35), [End Page 427] Ewen Bowie stressed the symposium's centrality as the performative context for elegy, thus making conservative aristocrats the genre's primary consumers (so much for the citizen soldier and the rising middle class!). The rise of "cultural poetics" left archaic society—and its poets—looking much less familiar. Finally, the conventional relationship between elegy and epic was being reexamined. Many supposed Homeric allusions melted away under closer examination (notably in Robert Fowler's The Nature of Early Greek Lyric [Toronto, 1987]). Recent scholarship has proposed dramatically later dates for the stabilization of the Homeric poems, calling into question their priority to lyric even in a chronological sense. The old picture of elegy as an archaic response to a monolithic "epic" has given way to theories of an ongoing and dynamic dialogue between (and within) both genres.These trends are reflected in Elizabeth Irwin's study of Solon, a revised version of her 1999 Cambridge dissertation. It also reflects renewed interest in the poet, appearing soon after commentaries by Maria Noussia (2001) and Christoph Mülke (2002) and almost simultaneously with a collective volume edited by Josine Blok and André Lardinois (Solon of Athens: New Historical and Philological Approaches [Leiden, 2006]), to which Irwin has contributed. Along with Solon, Irwin focuses on Callinus and Tyrtaeus, and one of her stated goals is "to help us unlearn what we think we know about this poetry and its historical significance" (18).The book is divided into three parts. In part 1 ("The Politics of Exhortation") Irwin examines the tradition of martial exhortation represented by Tyrtaeus and Callinus. The conventional view had these poets discarding Homer's individualistic front-fighters in favor of the new citizen-armies of the polis— is now a civic virtue. But as Irwin observes, "fighting for one's fatherland" is not alien to Iliadic values. For her, the similarities between martial elegy and epic outweigh any differences. As she notes, the evocation of future warfare in sympotic elegy mirrors a corresponding appeal to past feasting in the exhortations of the Iliad. Martial elegy provides (or sees itself as providing) an off-duty complement to Homeric warriors' battlefield vaunts—the sort of thing Sarpedon might have directed to Glaucus back in Lycia while the slave-boys were refilling the goblets. Such Iliadic self-fashioning constructs its sympotic audience not simply as heroic, but specifically as a heroic elite. While martial elegy may pay lip service to the polis, its center of gravity is elsewhere. Thus Tyrtaeus fragment 11W can conclude with patronizing advice to the... (shrink)

This short article pairs the realms of “Mathematics”, “Philosophy”, and “Poetry”, presenting some corners of intersection of this type of scientocreativity. Poetry have long been following mathematical patterns expressed by stern formal restrictions, as the strong metrical structure of ancient Greek heroic epic, or the consistent meter with standardized rhyme scheme and a “volta” of Italian sonnets. Poetry was always connected to Philosophy, and further on, notable mathematicians, like the inventor of quaternions, William Rowan Hamilton, or (...) Ion Barbu, the creator of the Barbilian spaces, have written appreciated poems. We will focus here on an avant-garde movement in literature, art, philosophy, and science, called Paradoxism, founded in Romania in 1980 by a mathematician, philosopher and poet, and on the laboured writing exercises of the Oulipo group, founded in Paris in 1960 by mathematicians and poets, both of them still in act. (shrink)

This study brings together literary and philological criticism to offer a reading of Job 28 as poetry. The heart of the study consists of two major sections. The first is an interpretation of the poem against the heroic deeds of ancient kings described in Mesopotamian royal narratives, especially the Gilgamesh epic. The second is a thorough philological and textual commentary which employs an aesthetic rationale for restoring the text of the poem as a work of art. The study (...) reveals a multileveled masterpiece whose complexity impacts how one reads Job 28 as poetry and theology. (shrink)

In their introduction to the recent excellent volume Plato & Hesiod, the editors G.R. Boys-Stones and J.H. Haubold observe that when we think about the problematic relationship between Plato and the poets, we tend to narrow this down to that between Plato and Homer. Hesiod is practically ignored. Unjustly so, the editors argue. Hesiod provides a good opportunity to start thinking more broadly about Plato's interaction with poets and poetry, not in the least because the ‘second poet’ of Greece (...) represents a different type of poetry from Homer's heroic epics, that of didactic poetry. What goes for Plato and Hesiod goes for Proclus and Hesiod. Proclus , the productive head of the Neoplatonic school in Athens, took a great interest in poetry to which he was far more positively disposed than Plato had ever been. He wrote, for example, two lengthy treatises in reaction to Socrates' devastating criticism of poetry in the Republic as part of his commentary on that work in which he tries to keep the poets within the Platonic pale. This intriguing aspect of Proclus' thought has, as one might expect, not failed to attract scholarly attention. In Proclus' case too, however, discussions tend to concentrate on his attitude towards Homer . To some extent this is only to be expected, since much of the discussion in the Commentary on the Republic centres on passages from Homer. Proclus did not, however, disregard Hesiod: we still possess his scholia on the Works and Days, now available in a recent edition by Patrizia Marzillo. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 25.1 (2001) 142-154 [Access article in PDF] Critical Discussions The Fortunes of Avant-Garde Poetry Mary Anne O'Neil Invisible Fences. Prose Poetry as a Genre in French and American Literature, by Steven Monte; xii & 298 pp. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2000, $50.00. Modern Visual Poetry, by Willard Bohn; 321 pp. Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2000, $47.00. The situation of French (...) class='Hi'>poetry at the turn of the twenty-first century is far different from what it was during the last fin de siècle. In 1900, poetry was a booming art, and France was home to numerous poets of varied inspiration and expression. The religious verse of Claudel and Péguy shared the attention of the reading public with the philosophical poetry of Valéry and the futuristic celebrations of Paris and modern life found in Apollinaire's Alcools and Calligrammes. Long poems, short poems, poems written in standard verse, free verse, prose, and even published as drawings, suggested that the golden age of poetry begun in the early nineteenth century by the Romantics and continued after 1850 by Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud, and Mallarmé, would not soon come to an end. This indeed proved to be the case, for the heirs of the Symbolist tradition of the first decade of the twentieth century were soon followed by the Surrealist revolutionaries of the 1920s and 1930s, many of whom directed their talents to the composition of political verse at the time of the Second World War. Political poetry by and large disappeared from France after 1950, only to be [End Page 142] succeeded over the next two decades by two very different types of verse. On the one hand, writers like St. John Perse and Pierre Jean Jouve produced difficult works whose appeal was limited to a sophisticated audience, while lyricists, such as Jacques Prévert and even the songwriter Georges Brassens, made poetry more accessible to the general public, often through popular songs. The fact that, during the days of May 1968, students scrawled verses of the Surrealist-Communist poet Paul Eluard on the walls of the Sorbonne to encourage efforts to bring down the social order attests to the power exerted by poetry on the intellectual life of France well into the second half of the twentieth century. Such, however, is no longer the case today. There are only two well-known living French poets, Francis Ponge and Yves Bonnefoy. While reviews dedicated to original poetry do still exist, especially in the south of France where the poetic arm of the French Resistance was most active in the 1940s, poetry attracts many fewer readers--and fewer writers--than it did even fifty years ago.Such a radical change merits some reflection. What has happened to French poetry since the mid-twentieth century? In a sense, all good things must come to an end sometime, and a century and a half of inventiveness and poetic energy may simply have run its natural course. French publishing houses, well aware that prose sells better than verse, have done little to encourage young poets. However, certain trends in the subject matter and form of contemporary French poetry have probably contributed to the current lack of interest. Since the end of the Second World War, French poets have concerned themselves almost uniquely with everyday life--common objects, geographical locales, and ordinary people. This obsession with the ordinary has produced some excellent poetry, especially René Char's evocations of Provençal landscapes and Yves Bonnefoy's treatments of childhood. Yet, this concentration on everyday life has severed poetry from the traditional subjects that have sustained it ever since classical antiquity, such as the celebration of heroic figures and heroic deeds, philosophical and religious inquiry, love, loss, prophetic vision. This very narrow range of subject risks consigning poetry to the status of a minor art. At the turn of the twenty-first century, French poetry also finds itself at the end of a very long period of formal experimentation that began in the second half of the nineteenth century and which includes... (shrink)

International array of contributors, bringing together both traditional and more recent approaches to provide valuable insights into the poets’ use of language.Covers authors from Lucilius to Juvenal.Of the peoples of ancient Italy, only the Romans committed newly composed poems to writing, and for 250 years Latin-speakers developed an impressive verse literature.The language had traditional resources of high style, e.g., alliteration, lexical and morphological archaism or grecism, and of course metaphor and word order; and there were also less obvious resources in (...) the technical vocabularies of law, philosophy and medicine.The essays in this volume show how the poets in the classical period combined these elements, and so created a poetic medium that could comprehend satire, invective, erotic elegy, drama, lyric, and the grandest heroic epos. (shrink)

Resumen El artículo tiene como objetivo revisar y analizar los pasajes referentes al territorio chileno en los poemas épicos que cantaron la Guerra de Arauco en el siglo XVI. Aun cuando su argumento central consistió en los acontecimientos bélicos, algunos pasajes dieron cabida a la descripción del espacio como un paisaje épico. Así como se demostrará, su representación no solo se configuró atendiendo a las condiciones fisonómicas del territorio, sino también a los recursos literarios propios de la epopeya que caracterizaron (...) al sur de Chile como un escenario desafiante y peligroso, espacio histórico y a la vez literario, representativo de la condición heroica e indomable del Reino de Chile.The aim of this article is to review and to analyze the passages relating to the Chilean territory in the epic poems that reported Arauco's War in the 16th century. Even if their central argument consisted of the warlike events, some passages gave content to the description of the space as an epic landscape. As it will be demonstrated, the representation of the territory not only was formed attending to the physical conditions of the land, but also to the literary resources of the epic that characterized to the south of Chile as a challenging and dangerous scene, historical and simultaneously literary space, representative of the heroic and indomitable condition of the Kingdom of Chile. (shrink)

In a recent article Margalit Finkelberg raises the question of whether or not the phrase κλοσ π;θιτον at Iliad 9.413 is indeed a Homeric formula: λετο μν μοι νóατοσ, τρ κλοσ π;θιτον σται Her purpose is to ‘test the antiquity of κλοσ π;θιτον on the internal grounds of Homeric diction’ .1 Proposing to use specifically the analytic techniques of oral theory, she argues that this phrase does not represent a survival from an Indo-European heroic poetry, as has been (...) suggested from the occurrence of its exact cognate, śápos;rdvas áksitam, in Vedic poetry. To this end Finkelberg presents a precise and carefully organized argument. I briefly summarize its two branches as follows: It is the formulae that comprise the oldest stratum of Homeric diction, and so it is here that one would find survivals of Indo-European poetic diction. κλοσ π;θιτον σται , however, cannot be judged a Homeric formula by the criterion of repetition since it is a unique phrase in Homer. Nor can it be judged a formula by the ‘functional’ criterion since the better attested κλοσ οὒ ποτ óλεται expresses the same essential idea in the same metrical shape. A unique phrase such as that in question might nonetheless be ancient. The development of the use of π;θιτοσ, first to modify concrete nouns, and only later with abstracts, however, would indicate that its use with κλοσ is late. The demonstration that κλοσ θιτον σται is a ‘formulaic expression’, moreover, argues that it was coined for this specific context in Iliad 9 by analogy with other Homeric formulae, and so does not preserve an Indo-European formula. (shrink)

Arthur Hatto was an outstanding scholar of German studies at the University of London who formulated a theory of epic heroic poetry. He was recruited to work in the cryptographic bureau at the Foreign Office in February 1939 and afterwards worked at Bletchley Park. Later, in order to study epic poetry, Hatto taught himself Russian and Kirghiz. He was elected as a Senior Fellow of the British Academy in 1991. Obituary by John L. Flood.

Since being brought to light in 1853 by Adalbert Kuhn, the fact that the Homeric expressionκλέος ἄφθιτονhas an exact parallel in the Veda has played an extremely important role in formulating the hypothesis that Greek epic poetry is of Indo-European origin. Yet only with Milman Parry's analysis of the formulaic character of Homeric composition did it become possible to test the antiquity ofκλέος ἄφθιτονon the internal grounds of Homeric diction.It is generally agreed that the conservative character of oral composition (...) entails a high degree of correlation between the antiquity of a Homeric expression and its formulaic character. In other words, although not all Homeric formulae are necessarily of ancient origin, it is nevertheless in the formulaic stock of the epic diction that archaic and backward-looking expressions should be sought. Consequently, demonstration thatκλέος ἄφθιτον is a Homeric formula would constitute valuable evidence for its origin in Indo-European heroic poetry. Strangely enough, however, as Parry's analysis won the recognition of scholars,κλέος ἄφθιτονwas identified as a Homeric formula simply because of its agreement with the Vedicśráva ákṣitam. Yet examination ofκλέος ἄφθιτονfrom the internal standpoint of the Greek epic casts serious doubts on the formulaic and traditional character of this Homeric expression. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Job, Boethius, and Epic TruthJames G. WilliamsJob, Boethius, and Epic Truth, by Ann W. Anstell; xiii & 240pp. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994, $32.95.Ann Anstell succeeds in showing that the book of Job and Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy served as vehicles for the transmission and transformation of heroic poetry through the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance. The style is sometimes forbidding for the nonspecialist because (...) of dry descriptions of various texts and the extensive quotation of Latin without translation. There are certain sections, however, where the author is clearly passionately engaged in the subject and consequently comes across much more clearly and vividly to the reader; this is especially true of part of the discussion of Gregory’s Moralia in Job and the chapter on “Boethian Lovers,” particularly the treatment of Abelard’s Historia Calamitatum.The thesis and argument of the book are of great potential interest both to literary critics and literary historians and to philosophers and historians of philosophy. The “epic truth” of the title is a bridge between literary genre and transmission and the kind of philosophy concerned with concepts of self and [End Page 379] world. Anstell argues that the conventional distinctions between classical epic and medieval romance tend to overlook the historical continuity between the two genres. “The Middle Ages interpreted classical epic in a way that entailed its subsequent imitation in romance” (p. 212). Romance makes explicit what epic is implicitly about, namely a way or journey to self-knowledge.Boethius, writing about 525 as a prisoner, draws upon Virgil’s Georgics and Stoic and Neoplatonic writings. Lady Philosophy appears to him and educes him into recollection of his own true being through remembering the heroes of the past. He thus recognizes his own mortality and passions, the importance of reason, and the reality of his immortal soul. This journey to concrete awareness of the immortal soul is a key step towards the epic truth that emerged in Christian thinking, but in Boethius the centrality of Christ as Logos-Redeemer does not come into view. It does, however, in the tradition of reading and interpreting Job.Through his meditations and moral instructions on Job, Gregory (Pope, 590–604) used the precedent of Boethius’ Consolation to draw the classical form of the vir, the heroic mortal and the model of virtus, virtue, into the Christian configuration of sainthood. Using a Christian form of allegory, the “other-speaking” of a text that articulates its deeper structure and truth, Gregory portrays Job as a man of fortitude, courage, and patience whose suffering becomes the occasion truly to understand that his immutable soul is not the prisoner of the body that is sick and dying. “Job’s human nature, perfected in wisdom and power through suffering, reflects Christ’s own divine humanity, and far surpasses in heroic virtue the excellence of even an allegorized Aeneas” (p. 91).These two works, then, are the chief exemplars of the “heroic poetry” of the Middle Ages, which joined the literatures commonly designated as “epic” and “romance.” This medieval synthesis insisted on figural or allegorical continuity with classical antiquity but departed formally from classical literary conventions. Job and Boethius provided critical authorization for these tendencies. Job as Christ-figure was the model for legends of the saints, while the Consolation influenced the romance literature that featured stages of spiritual growth; this literature “extended into a history of personal salvation by assimilating the lover’s sufferings to those of Job and Christ” (p. 214). These two paradigmatic works, which provided models of the stable saint as Christ-figure and the emotional pilgrim on a spiritual journey, began to dissolve in the Renaissance. Boethius’s Consolation ceased to be understood in terms of the epic and Job came to be seen as a drama and a tragedy. Thus the author concludes that “the virtues... the Middle Ages attributed to Job, especially wisdom and fortitude, belong no longer to man but to God” (p. 215). Human beings must make their way in an inconstant, puzzling world separated from God.James G. WilliamsSyracuse UniversityCopyright © 1995 The Johns Hopkins University Press... (shrink)

Homer and the heroic ideal -- Hesiod, poet of everyday life -- Aeschylus and the institution of justice -- Sophocles, the Theban plays -- Euripides and the twilight of the gods -- The inquiries of Herodotus of Halicarnassus -- Thucydides, power and pathos -- Aristophanes and the serious business of comedy -- Plato, philosophy, and poetry -- Aristotle and the invention of political science.

In its contents as well as discursive strategy, Plato’s Republic occasions a few reflections on the phenomenon of memory. The essay situates the philosophical discourse, along with that of divination and poetry, in the context of the practices of memory and, more broadly, within the sphere of Mnemosune. The figure of the philosopher retains traces of archaic humanity, most notably of the Homeric hero. At the same time, in the Platonic Socrates we discern a transfiguration of heroic heritage, (...) in the direction of a thorough ethical recalibration emphasizing the awareness of mortality, the art of finite life, and the visionary celebration of life in its excessive and indestructible movement. In this way, at the very heart of the Republic we may heed the cipher and resonance of Dionysus. (shrink)

In classical Greek poetry there is a familiar distinction between verse which repeats line upon line, and that which forms patterns liable to closure at intervals, in stanzas or lyric sections. This is often equated with the distinction between spoken and sung verse, but the equation is only approximate. At an earlier stage all verse had some musical accompaniment—so much can be deduced from a number of passages in Homer, and is in any case implicit in the nature of (...) quantitative verse. By Hellenistic times it seems that, in new composition, the more complex lyric structures had died out, while of the simpler ones more and more were being taken over as spoken verse. In the fifth century—and this can probably be extended to at least the late sixth and most of the fourth—only two kinds of verse are known to have dispensed with music altogether in performance: the heroic hexameter and the iambic trimeter. (shrink)

Thomas Mann’s famous novella “Death in Venice” is more than social critics or metaphor of artistic search for means. Its ambiguous poetry of forbidden longing offers a game we play ever since, a drama of strange, dreamlike romance unfolding itself in a highly troublesome atmosphere of ordinary life succumbing to the oncoming devastation and catastrophe of the outer world that inexplicably links with the wishes of a soul. This plot became a focus of ideas, a web of meanings covering (...) more and more areas of mentality and imagination while living on. One of the latter writers rarely compared to Mann, a popular American author Stephen King, master of macabre fantasy, suddenly shows some extraordinary level of coincidence of his works’ throughout motives/invariants with those of the European classic. The answers both of them are chasing after lie in the mysterious character of the Whole of the world denying any isolate and solid sense, medium lands of affection and connection, Gordian knots of disastrous dialectics interweaving will and passivity, creation and destruction. Why dark fantasy (that King embodies) constantly insists on destroying, erasing the entire world for the sake of some bittersweet heroic pathos upon its ruin, as before Mann unleashes the epidemics to his story’s bourgeois backgrounds to celebrate the phantom love of his characters? Why does Beauty transgress the borders of subjectivity very much like Death does the borders of physicality, and they both lead us to the same revelation of some great apophatic quasi-Platonian chora at the core of our being where everything is born and we are all one? (shrink)

The integrity of the human being made in the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:26) has been a challenge confronting not just the theologian, but great rulers, politicians, reformers, scientists, poets, artists, composers and novelists over centuries. The Orthodox Tradition might note that our human condition in time and space is shaped and challenged by this journey from likeness to image. Biblically we journey to see the face of God. Less theologically, the human condition is shaped by the tensions (...) and contradictions as we journey to seek 'freedom'. Paradigms of Freedom explores, in the context of the unfolding of modern history, how this challenge has been compounded and enriched by the people and institutions who have sought to find and promote the concept of freedom (and issues of personal liberty) in the face of contrary or oppressive circumstances and systems. Importantly, it will examine the contribution of the artist to various models of freedom, some of which may be identified as vectors of transcendence; when image becomes likeness. The nature of human society, the sense of social harmony and paternalistic control that characterized society for centuries, and especially the emergence of Western culture, began to crumble in the fourteenth century with the cataclysmic onslaught of the Black Death; the challenge to the monolithic power of the Church and the nature of feudalism; the growth of new philosophical and political theories; and overall crumbling of authority. In the fifteenth century new developments like the invention of printing; the standardization of modern languages; and the global expansion of exploration, mercantilism and colonization presented unprecedented horizons of growth and challenges to the place and meaning of humanity in the world. These challenges are embodied in the Renaissance and Reformation, where the very foundations of belief and knowledge were questioned in new processes of discovery in both the world and the cosmos. The nature of freedom to search, to question and to discover new things brought about political and intellectual developments in an ever-expanding series of movements and interrogations. Moved by the annals of the times, individuals have sought to understand and perpetuate the heroic struggles through their own creative power. This in turn can draw us to share in those lost or sorrowful times, and reflect on the sacrifice and vision of those who have been prepared to witness fearlessly to the indomitable spirit of mankind, and his slow but inexorable movement or journey into the light. This exposition will examine various types/paradigms that have proposed and embodied concepts of freedom. These have tried, and often succeeded, in serving as vectors of transcendence, meditating on and mediating human aspiration. Such reflective movements of mind and heart are embodied both contemporaneously and retrospectively in various historical movements, political gestures and artistic creativity that have provoked thoughts on human liberty: political actions, decrees, philosophy, books, pictorial art, novels, poetry, theatre, opera and film. Representatives and examples (in words and imagery) of all these modes are exemplified in the chapters that explore certain iconic movements and personalities in some of the key historical and social events of the past six centuries. The process is of necessity selective. Religious conflict, freedom of thought and denomination, the wars fought over faith and control of the land, the desire for liberty of choice, challenging new discoveries in science and geography, cosmology, colonialism and slavery, Enlightenment, revolution and the search for national identity and independence-these are all areas that have absorbed human thought, knowledge and aspiration, and resulted in inevitable artistic reflection. This is not a history but a consideration of mankind's search to be free, and how this striving is embodied in the poetry of liberation. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:On Women Englishing Homer RICHARD HUGHES GIBSON Seven kingdoms strove in which should swell the womb / That bore great Homer; whom Fame freed from tomb,” so begins the fourth of “Certain ancient Greek Epigrams ” that George Chapman placed at the head of his Odyssey at its debut in 1615.1 The epigram was no mere antiquarian dressing for the text. It suggests a historical parallel with the translator’s (...) own feat—for this Odyssey appeared on the heels of Chapman’s 1611 Iliad, the first complete English translation of Homer directly from the Greek. Indeed, the title page of that Iliad boasted, “Never before in any language truly translated” (italics mine). In “Englishing ” Homer (as he put it), Chapman had vanquished not only local rivals but also the whole international field.2 Through Chapman, England bore Homer anew. Yet within a few decades challengers appeared. An octogenarian Thomas Hobbes published an Odyssey translation in 1675 and an Iliad the following year. Alexander Pope’s versions (Iliad, 1715–1720; Odyssey, 1726) were bestsellers in the next century, yet others soon enough sought to better them, including the poet William Cowper (Iliad, 1791; Odyssey, 1809). The rate of Homeric production then intensified in the nineteenth century, becoming in Edith Hall’s apt phrase a “national pastime” in Victorian Britain—and, I would add, in the United States too.3 In the 1860s, a new English Iliad or Odyssey debuted nearly every year, making Matthew Arnold, then Professor of Poetry at Oxford, seem prescient in selecting “On Translating Homer” as the topic for his 1860 lecture series. Anglo-American output of new English Homers has been steady ever since. The opening decades arion 26.3 winter 2019 of our century have been especially high-yielding—more than ten new Iliads and eight new Odysseys have appeared in print alongside fresh editions of twentieth-century favorites. Digital versions now circulate, too. To Chapman we might thus reply: Once seven Greek cities strove to be Homer’s nurse; now seventy tomes vie to be his English verse. Run down the complete bibliography, and a pattern already hinted in my list of notables becomes pronounced: name after name after name belongs to a man. Flip around a bit, and one can often find traces of women in these volumes. Hobbes, for example, argued in the preface to his translations that women have as “just” a “pretence” (in the sense of “claim”) as men to the moral education afforded by heroic poems, though one might cynically read this as a marketing strategy.4 Pope readily acknowledged his debt to the scholarship of Anne Le Fèvre Dacier, Homer’s first French female translator, and listed prominent female supporters in the subscription lists at the front of his editions.5 Women thus long factored into the business of “Englishing” classical texts, though almost exclusively as paying audience members. For more than four centuries, Homer’s English audience listened to a boys’ choir. That tune has only just begun to change thanks to the efforts of three women: the classicist and nonfiction writer Caroline Alexander, who became the first woman to publish a complete English Iliad in 2015; Emily Wilson, Professor of Classical Studies at the University of Pennsylvania, who published the first English Odyssey by a female translator in 2017; and the poet Alice Oswald, whose selective translation of the Iliad, Memorial, appeared in 2011.6 By virtue of their appearance in such short order, these books have been, and surely will be henceforth, grouped together. And rightly so: ending the male monopoly on the English channel to Homer is a major development. The Homeric epics have not only shaped Western culture; they enjoy enduring prestige. You still need to know Homer to fancy yourself “well-read.” These three books are thus 36 on women englishing homer potent symbols. They mark the passage of English-speaking women from the audience of male efforts to curate and transmit tradition to participants in those endeavors—from the subscription lists, we might say, to the title page. We sell these translations short, though, if we allow their collective meaning to obscure the patent differences in Alexander’s, Wilson’s, and Oswald... (shrink)

The account in Part I of this essay posited two related but distinct sequences of development: of literary systems proper and of critical systems. Or, more simply, we must recognize that literary practices and systematic ideas about them develop in different ways. Today we can see in retrospect that lyric, narrative, and lyric-narrative or narrative-lyric begin literary cultures. Systematic ideas about literature develop, however, more by accident, what seems to be the result of conditions producing important critical minds at times (...) propitious for reflection. Any full account would have to consider such things as bipropertied conceptions. This has been mentioned before, but a specific example can be given here. Chinese wen designated not merely poetry but also prose historical writing: the fu established a kind of middle ground between them. In any event, such combinations, such bipropertied conceptions, do exist in very sophisticated times. Another matter of crucial importance involves the difference between the actual or descriptive existence of a literary variety and normative or valued critical consideration of a given kind. Various evidence shows that ancient Greece had lyrics as well as narrative, and preliterary Japan, narrative as well as lyrics. In the case of Greece, we tend today to think of narrative normatively as the early literature, although Plato and Aristotle lumped it with lyric and concerned themselves almost entirely with their crucial genre, drama. As for early Japan, the narrative was largely a possession of reciters, and so few heroic cycles are left from the nondominant peoples that narrative poetry is more a supposition that a presence. But there is in what remains from early times a mixture of lyric poetry with narrative prose. That combination did not prove crucial for a systematic poetics, although it is of utmost significance for later developments. It can hardly be said emphatically enough that the literary system comes first and the critical system after some interval. But the various complexities in different cultures are such that to get our bearings we may well consider the course of literary development in a single culture. Earl Miner is Townsend Martin, Class of 1917, Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Princeton University. "That Literature is a Kind of Knowledge," his previous contribution to Critical Inquiry, appeared in the Spring 1976 issue. His works include Literary Uses of Typology from the Middle Ages to the Present and Japanese Linked Poetry. Part I of the present essay appeared in the Winter 1978 issue of Critical Inquiry. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Transvestite Achilles: Gender and Genre in Statius' AchilleidNeil W. BernsteinP. J. Heslin. The Transvestite Achilles: Gender and Genre in Statius' Achilleid. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. xx + 349 pp. Cloth, $80.You do a girl tolerable poor, but you might fool men, maybe. Bless you, child, when you set out to thread a needle, don't hold the thread still and fetch the needle up to it; hold (...) the needle still and poke the thread at it—that's the way a woman most always does; but a man always does t'other way.... Why, I spotted you for a boy when you was threading the needle; and I contrived the other things just to make certain.(Mark Twain, Huckleberry Finn, chap. 11)In the wake of important briefer studies by Barchiesi, Feeney, and Hinds, and new editions by Rosati and Shackleton Bailey, Heslin has now produced the first full-length monograph in English on Statius' Achilleid. Although he surveys the entire poem, Heslin devotes particular attention to the episode of Achilles' transvestism at the court of Lycomedes on Scyros. By turns as witty, sophisticated, and learned as its object of examination, this book focuses on the themes of "the relationship of the Achilleid to the epic tradition and to the mythical biography of Achilles, Statius' manner of characterization, and the way he explores the nature of sex and gender" (xviii).Chapter 1, "Opening Nights at the Opera 1641–1744," demonstrates the Scyros narrative's appeal to a performance genre that commonly features transvestite masquerade. Assuming that his readers have little familiarity with the history of opera, Heslin surveys nine operas over a century and provides an "Epilogue" that brings his discussion into the twentieth century. The extended discussions of operas such as Gay's Achilles and Metastasio's Achille in Sciro (and the latter's numerous revivals) skillfully relate the libretti and staging to contemporary political, social, and literary debates. This chapter succeeds admirably in bringing out many of the major issues to which subsequent chapters return, such as the opposition of biologically essentializing and socially constructed models of gender and the conflict between heroic and burlesque approaches to mythological narrative.Chapter 2, "The Design of the Achilleid," takes up more traditional questions of form and genre. Though clearly an incomplete narrative, the Achilleid was carefully revised, and the text features a coherent design. Heslin suggests that Statius produced a prospectus designed to attract further patronage and thus intentionally left the reader unable to determine the future course of the epic either from the proem or extant narrative. Viewing the Achilleid as a prospectus permits Heslin to account for the proem's lack of specificity (in contrast, for example, to the "table of contents" found in the Thebaid's proem). The latter part of the chapter offers a close analysis of the proem and an assessment of Statius' engagement with the literary tradition. The Achilleid's proem bluffs the reader by advertising a linear, non-Aristotelian narrative, where in fact the epic begins in medias res and proceeds selectively. In contrast to the mad, vatic poet of the Thebaid, this narrator asserts his control over the narrative. Through passages such as Achilles' song in Chiron's cave, the epic enters "an ongoing discussion [End Page 142] regarding the proper version of a myth" (91) in the manner of learned Hellenistic poetry. The chapter concludes with a discussion of Statius' corrections of Vergil, such as his introduction of Deidamia (Achilleid 1.290–300) that responds to contemporary criticisms leveled at Vergil's Dido/Diana simile.Chapter 3, "Womanhood, Rhetoric, and Performance," offers a reading of the performances of gender by Thetis, Deidamia, and Achilles. Thetis' incompetent use of rhetoric makes her "the Mrs. Malaprop of Latin epic" (137). In her entreaty of Neptune, she fails to recapitulate the success enjoyed by literary models such her Homeric counterpart and the Vergilian Juno and Venus, in part because of her misuse of mythological exempla. She continues to misuse exempla in her persuasion of Achilles, undermining her case by associating his transvestism with the transsexuality of Caenis/Caeneus. Heslin further claims that Thetis engages in "discursive 'transvestism'" (133... (shrink)

continent. 1.4 (2011): 230—233. A word about the quotation marks. People ask about them, in the beginning; in the process of giving themselves up to reading the poem, they become comfortable with them, without necessarily thinking precisely about why they’re there. But they’re there, mostly to measure the poem. The phrases they enclose are poetic feet. If I had simply left white spaces between the phrases, the phrases would be read too fast for my musical intention. The quotation marks make (...) the reader slow down and silently articulate—not slur over mentally—the phrases at the pace, and with the stresses, I intend. They also distance the narrative form myself. I am not Alette. Finally they may remind the reader that each phrase is a thing said by a voice: this is not a thought, or a record of thought process, this is a story, told.(1) We read (reread) the poems that keep the discourse with ourselves going. —Wallace Stevens We have to break open words or sentences, too, and find what’s uttered in them. —Gilles Deleuze “The Descent of Alette” “is an allegorical poem” “in four books” “first published” “in 1992” “by Alice Notley.” “In the Descent of Alette,” “the double quotation mark” “is wrapped around” “words, phrases, sometimes whole sentences, and utilized as bones for structure and tonality.” “The winged” “dbl quotation” “like angels or devils” “descending from elsewhere” “function as” “poetic feet.” “Distance” “in the text through the use of dbl quotes,” “according to Notley,” “was a way to distance” “her self” “from the narrative.” I know someone who tattooed double quotes on her shoulder blades. In other words, the body is quotable. To be able to say that one is quotable. A body filled with other’s sayings. I never asked her what for, what is the double quote tattoo for and why on the shoulder blades? I prefer my own interpretation that keeps shifting every time I see her. First words of every poem in every book: Book One One ... On ... A ... There ... I ... We ... An ... A ... A ... I ... At ... A ... When ... When ... There ... I ... In ... At ... I ... Once ... A ... A ... In ... A ... A ... Two ... I ... I ... Eyeball ... In ... I... A ... I ... I ... On ... I ... There ... What ... As ... As Book Two I ... When ... I ... I ... As ... I ... I ... There ... I ... There ... I ... A ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I ... I Book Three The ... Presently ... I ... I’m ... I ... We ... What ... My ... I ... Who ... But ... Lay ... My ... I ... The ... Your ... The ... I ... It’s ... As ... The ... Talon’s ... When ... We ... I ... Slowly ... I ... I ... The ... How ... The Book Four I ... I ... You ... The ... Now ... She ... The ... There ... As ... Then ... The ... All ... Let’s I ... You ... The ... Thus ... The ... I ... The ... I ... There ... Have ... The ... As ... The Defamiliar Object “Poetry is a defamiliarized language, whose formations, so far from being simply formations of meaning, are aesthetic structures...”(2) “The same can be” “irresponsibly associated” “with the use of punctuation.” “The dbl quotation as a measure” “of poetic feet” “is treated as such” “because the author” “injects artfulness into it.” “The dbl quote is an object—” “a joystick” “to control breadth” “(of breath.)” “To de-familiarize” “said sign” “is also to” “impart the sensation of [it] as [it is] perceived and not as they are known.”(3) “The dbl quote” “nests previous words, phrasings and sayings.” “How many have come and gone” “through the doorway of this punctuation sign.” “There are also air quotes and virtual quotes.” “There is emphasis and there’s irony.” “It would be aggravating” “or interesting” “to watch a reading of” “The Descent of Alette” “with someone” “raising and curling” “fingers” “bent out of shape” “in what could be used as” “peace signs.” “I am trying to avoid” “scare quotes.” “I looked up” “what they are” “and supposedly they arose” “in the early 20th century.” “The scare quote” “is a mark around a word or phrase to indicate that it doesn’t signify conventional or literal meaning.” “This isn’t how Notley” “intended to use them” “in The Descent of Alette.” “The characters, places, and things” “signify nothing” “beyond” “their literal meaning” “ within the allegory .” “I’d like to stress” “within the allegory;” “that’s why its” “italicized.” “It is told through” “the main character/voice of” “Alette.” “The author reminds us she is not Alette.” “The author marvelously found a way” “to distance” “her self” “from the narrative.” “This was attempted” “by tonal and intimate” “affect of the dbl quote” “used as poetic feet.” “Its as though” “punctuation in this regard” “becomes a magical toy.” “Arguably, punctuation” “(as perceived)” “undergoes a kind of” “ defamiliar ” “make-over.” “The text” gently forces the reader” “to slow down,” “read slowly.” “At some point” “one begins to sense” “lines of text” “moving on its own.” “Broken words, phrases, and sentences” “shuttling left to right” “like a subway” “that stops” “from station to station;” “open quote to end quote.” Double Quote Occupied “There are two worlds; one above ground” “and one underground.” “The world above ground is where,” “the tyrant” “with a capital t” “lives.” “(The “T” gets tangled in the claws of the dbl quote.)” “Alette becomes an owl and kills him.” “In the last book the tyrant dies.” “ “...the tyrant” “a man in charge of” “the fact” “that we were” “below the ground” “endlessly riding” “our trains, never surfacing” “A man who” “would make you pay” “so much” “to leave the subway” “that you don’t” “ever ask” “how much it is” “It is, in effect,” “all of you & more” “Most of which you already” “pay to live below” “But he would literally” “take your soul” “Which is what you are” “below the ground” “Your soul” “your soul rides” “this subway” “I saw” “on the subway a” “world of souls” ”(4) “New York;” “the city of cities” “and its subways—” “worlds underground,” “above ground,” “& above the above ground.” “Skyscrapers,” “Wall Street,” “old money,” “new money,” “and falling further down a cleavage;” “the middle class” “slipping away.” “Contemporary artist ” “Ligorano Reece” “recently made” “a sculpture of ice ” “a block of ice” “carved to read” “middle class” “(in all upper case letters)” “and let it melt” “naturally” “for however long—” “hours,” “days.” “It didn’t take very long to melt.” A global uprise of mass demonstrations; a cacophony of bodies on the street, in parks and universities, on City Hall lawns, coastal ports, neighborhoods, etc., and for what? The reasons are endless and finite. Not a single body is unaffected by the movement even when not “occupying.” “Occupiers” “stormed into a Sotheby’s auction” “protesting” “via human microphone” “that the CEO takes home” “about” “six thousand dollars” “a day.” “(The a/Art market” “is not a reflection” “of a desire” “for a/Art” “but a reflection” “of a desire” “for money” “confused with a/Art.)” What could it mean to occupy that which has been written or said? Someone with double quotes tattooed on both shoulders attempts to reclaim the sign; re-invent it privately-publicly since the body is always split between both spheres. A genre of hide-and-seek; the speaking and silent body which can never mean what it says even while it so desires to mean something. To nest (and hold hostage) someone in double quotes is an act of violence; a gesture of displacement where one is arrested, dislocated, and scrutinized under a distant gaze. “The air quote” “also known as” “finger quote or ersatz quote” “supposedly” “harks back to” “1927.” “The brevity of this gesture” “ as something invisible” “like virtual money or credit” “doesn’t really exist” “though it take up space;” “its the ghostliest of all punctuation signs” “and one that requires the presence and appearance of a body.” “ “she made a form” “in her mind” “an imaginary” “form” “to settle” “in her arms where” “the baby” “had been” “We saw her fiery arms” “cradle air” “She cradled air...” ”(5) “The air” “gets occupied” “by one or two hands” “with thumb, forefinger, and middle finger” “which alternately could be used” “to shoot rubber bullets,” “pepper spray,” “tear gas.” “How three fingers” “could be responsible for so much:” “satire, sarcasm, irony” “and ultimately” “bruises, blood, death.” (“The violence of the dbl quote is to eagerly to place oneself inside a tornado.)” “The violence of this” “embodied punctuation mark” “stems from a discordance with others.” “Is the name, word, or phrase” “placed in dbl quotes” “heroic” “ or brave?” “An act of displacement;” “must there always be” “bright or negative lights—” “a leaderless act” “to inhabit, to occupy” “space removed” “from normative use.” “Of course” “I’m also wondering” “what it means to re-occupy” “public/private space—the street, neighborhood or page” “policed” “by laws, limits, and” “to some extent” “punctuation.” Echo, Mirror “There are first, second, and third voices interwoven.” “ “Braid of voices,”(6) ” “Some lines read as internal thoughts,” “dialogues,” “and scene descriptions,” “all of which make up the allegory.” “It seems appropriate” “for the word” “allegory” “to nest in dbl quotes” “for perhaps it might be” “a gesture to echo on and on” “eternally referencing” “whatever came before.” I notice the first tooth of the double quote, when paying too close attention, gets caught in the hook of the “f”. I space bar to untangle them; the f does not resist the closed bite of “deaf” and I resist to know what it could mean, because it could doubly mean nothing. “ “He looked” “so familiar” “to me...”(7) ” “The second-person” “echoes in one of two directions:” “further into” “or farther from” “me.” “Its as though” “the second-person amplifies” “or else the opposite” “in which he,” “who looks so familiar,” “retreats further” “like stars in a telescope.” “The dbl quote” “has this kind of affect” “concerning distance and dimension” “as also illusory” “as something twice removed” “and unreal” “in a similar way” “movie stars are unreal and far away.” “ “I entered” “a car” “in which I seemed” “to see double” “Each person I” “looked at seemed” “spread out” “as if doubled” “Gradually” “I perceived that” “each person” “was surrounded by a ghostly” “second image” “was encased in it” “& each” / “of those images,” “those encasings,” “was exactly the same” “each was in fact” “the tyrant...” ”(8) A daydream of a mirror-less world while staring through window blinds; a palm tree behind. It was dark with nothing there. A world with no mirrors “in my mind,” though my mind could only reflect what it knew: a palm tree. Naturally then, palm trees multiplied; a world of palm trees reflected the daydream with no mirror in sight. “The mirror” “(prior to obsidian manufacturing ca. 6000 B.C)” “was wherever water” “could be found.” “Its interesting” “mirrors have been around” “before humans—its funny” “animals and humans” “get born into” “a world of mirrors,” “therefore, simulation” “is always already” “a given—” “a sparkly consequence to be born with a dbl.” NOTES 1. Notley, Alice. “Author’s Note” in The Descent of Alette (New York, 1996) 2. Bruns, Gerald L. “ From Intransitive Speech to the Universe of Discourse” in Modern Poetry And The Idea of Language (New Haven & London, 1974), p.75 3. Ibid. p.77 4. Notley, Alice. The Descent of Alette (New York, 1996). p.3 5. Ibid. p.10 6. Ibid i. p.9 7. Ibid ii. p.16 8. Ibid iii. p.12. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Achilles and Hector: The Homeric HeroBryan R. WarnickAchilles and Hector: The Homeric Hero, by Seth Benardete. South Bend, IN: St. Augustine's Press, 2005, 140 pp., $17.00 cloth, $10.00 paper.Seth Benardete (1930-2001) was one of the twentieth century's premiere scholars of the classical world. His prominence was largely due to his technical excellence in both ancient philosophy and classical philology, a rare combination that allowed him to become, as (...) Harvey Mansfield has written, "Our greatest student of the relation between poetry and philosophy."1 He wrote groundbreaking discussions of Greek literature (especially the tragedies) and the Platonic dialogues. His work culminated in his study of The Odyssey, The Bow and the Lyre (1997), a book that compared the plot of epic poetry to the development of a Platonic dialogue.Before Benardete achieved lasting fame, however, he was a doctoral student at the University of Chicago, working with Leo Strauss and the Committee on Social Thought and developing friendships with people like Allan Bloom. The writing of his dissertation is the stuff of scholarly legend. According to the story, it developed from a pile of nonsensical notes on the Iliad to a work of budding genius in four weeks. This dissertation, "Achilles and Hector: The Homeric Hero," was published in St. John's Review in 1985, and it has now been reprinted so that we can examine for ourselves the significance of Benardete's early work.As the title suggests, Benardete's dissertation looks at the theme of heroism in Homer, focusing on the Iliad. He examines the relationships between the poem's smallest parts and its largest themes. The book is divided into two sections. In the first section, Benardete grapples with how the small components of the Iliad, the epithets and similes, work together meaningfully to inform the larger heroic themes of the epic. The second section examines Homer's view of the tragic hero through an analysis of the plot. The analytic skill exhibited in both sections is fascinating: some parts of the study are brilliant, others strained, but none are boring.Benardete's purpose in the first section, he says, is to "vindicate the epithets" (135). This vindication is necessary because, as scholarship on the oral nature of the Homeric epics has developed, the significance of the smaller components has seemed to diminish. The epithets and similes have come to be seen as mere crutches for the oral poet; they are linguistic tools whose characteristics allow them to be plugged into Homer's unrelenting dactylic hexameter whenever a particular rhythmic pattern is needed. The poet uses the epithet of "swift-footed" Achilles, then, not so much because he particularly wants to say something meaningful about Achilles' swiftness, but because the particular rhythmic pattern of the epithet is a handy way to complete a line of poetry. The meaning of things like the epithets in any particular moment, it has seemed to many, should therefore be taken with a grain [End Page 115] of salt. In contrast, Benardete wants to argue that each particular use of an epithet has a significant meaning that informs, and even constructs, the epic's larger themes (for Benardete's purposes, the theme of heroism).Benardete's success in this goal is somewhat uneven, as even he later came to realize. A few of his conclusions appear rather stretched and neglect to consider the whole in the analysis of the parts. For example, Benardete looks at the Trojan epithets megathymoi ("great spirited") and hippodamoi ("tamers of horses") and finds them to be two manifestations of a constant Trojan character. One epithet is for the activities of war (megathymoi), the other one for peace (hippodamoi). But for Benardete, they both say the same thing about the constantly emotional, almost animalistic nature of Homer's Trojans, who are perfectly defined by passionate warfare: "The Trojans are more readily affected than the Achaeans, who can remove their armor and be different in peace than in war: but the Trojans cannot so easily shake off their temper" (21). While certainly interesting, such an analysis neglects to take into account prominent scenes like the one in which Astyanax, Hector... (shrink)

Among the most characteristic motifs in Greek mythology is the sexual union of a god with a mortal woman and the resultant birth of a hero. The existence of hexameter poetry listing the women thus favoured – the famous women in the underworld in the eleventh book of the Odyssey, and above all theEoiai– is evidence of an interest in the women involved, not only in their heroic sons, and suggests that already at an early date the theme (...) was the object not merely of passive reception but of an active consciousness. TheEoiai, indeed, saw such unions as an integral part of an earlier and better age, when mortals and immortals were closer:ξυναὶ γὰρ τότε δαῖτες ἔσαν, ξυνοὶ δὲ θόωκοιἀθανάτων τε θεῶν καταθνητοῖς τ' ἀνθρώπων(fr. 1 Μ–W)But it was not to be supposed that such a potentially rich theme would receive a unitary treatment. Already in their first appearances – at least, the first appearances for us – many individual stories are clearly distinguished by their different circumstances. A common variable is the existence, the kind and the degree of difficulty experienced by the woman as a result of the encounter. Polymele, for instance, mother of Eudorus by Hermes atIliad16.179–92, has seemingly no difficulty in leaving her child to be brought up by her father while she goes on to marry a mortal husband. But suffering of some sort is perhaps more usual, and famous sufferers include Cassandra, punished for spurning Apollo's advances; Danae, first imprisoned by her father in a brazen tower to prevent her pregnancy, and then locked in a chest with her baby and set afloat on the waves; and Semele, destroyed when her lover Zeus appeared to her in his true form. Such different experiences could suggest further multiple versions of the same general theme, diverging especially in the consequences of the union (or attempted union) for the mortal partner. Even the same characters could potentially undergo quite different variants of the story; the chief constant is the unfailing popularity of the mythical motif. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Wild Justice: A Study of Euripides’ HecubaGeorgia Ann MachemerMossman, Judith. Wild Justice: A Study of Euripides’ Hecuba. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. xiv 1 283 pp. Cloth, $55. (Oxford Classical Monographs)Judith Mossman’s monograph on Euripides’ Hecuba deserves its accolades. It is well-written, well-argued, and shows a quality sometimes lacking in today’s publish-or-perish world, scholarly integrity. Sceptical of the theses she seeks to refute, Mossman nevertheless adopts no arrogant poses, (...) but carefully weighs the merits of each position before casting it aside. Having found questions in a vast array of comparative and critical material, she meticulously develops answers from the ancient evidence itself, comprehensively drawing into one orbit not just classical Greek poetry and Attic tragedies, but also a variety of prose works, both early and late. In no way arbitrary, her comment avoids easy solutions garnered from contemporary fields of thought and faces even intractable textual problems head-on. With its sights high, the book never wanders wide of the mark, claiming neither too much nor too little. Nor does it pretend to [End Page 134] a fashionable last word on its subject, preferring rather to advance a tradition of interpretation so that those who later raise objections will happily find themselves engaged in a dialogue with its author in the common search for new insights.Dr. Mossman’s obvious admiration for Hecuba is affirmed by the play’s history as a select text in the Byzantine manuscript tradition, and, as she demonstrates in her “Epilogue” (210–43), by the esteem accorded it in subsequent ages, especially the Renaissance, which considered it an ancient type of the then popular revenge tragedy. As I lack the background, however, to judge her winning treatment of Hecuba’s Renaissance heritage, I shall confine my remarks here to her presentation of the play’s internal dramatic excellence. This I found to be well conceived, thorough, and convincing.The opening chapters on antecedent myth, the structural unity of spoken dialogue with conjectured stage spectacle, and the dramatic integration of the chorus serve as a suitable warm-up for the more controversial topics of the later chapters. Of these preliminary exercises I was most taken by Mossman’s reconstruction of the play’s original staging and its possible effect on the contemporary audience (chapter 2). It was a good idea to pay attention to this experiential dimension at the outset. By doing so the author alerts her readers not only to the natural indeterminacy of dramatic texts, but also to the enormous gap between our literary readings of ancient plays and our perusal of them as vehicles for performances, ancient or otherwise. Mossman plays this critical game well. What she says is lucid and enlivening. Nevertheless, the heart of her discussion lies elsewhere, in the chapters on Euripides’ “rhetoric as a characterizing force” (94), Polyxena’s heroic sacrificial death, and the justice of Hecuba’s savage revenge.In these chapters Mossman successfully takes up the cudgel, first against the rhetorical formalists who argue that characters in Greek tragedies are often poorly motivated, inconsistent, generalized types that have been created largely without regard to individualizing details of the plot, a view sometimes wrongly attributed to Aristotle (see especially the excursus on Aristotle, 138–41); she then counters Nicole Loraux’s post-Freudian, feminist belief in the erotic nature of Polyxena’s sacrifice (Tragic Ways of Killing a Woman, tr. Anthony Forster [Harvard 1987; orig. publ. Paris 1985] 56–61); and finally she argues against the many who, like Martha Nussbaum (The Fragility of Goodness [Cambridge 1986] 408, 414–16) claim that in the play’s second half Hecuba degenerates into subhuman brutality.As regards character development, Mossman contends that what we see in ancient drama is never a change of ethos, but the interplay of ethos and events and the delineation of “successive emotions which arise in response to successive situations” (102). As in the rhetorical handbooks, speeches must be judged by their appropriateness to type of both speaker and addressee and to the specifics of the individual case. Using these ancient principles, Mossman reviews the speeches of the play and, by means of their opposing and... (shrink)

Chaldaea and Egypt.--China: duty and detachment.--The Indian annihilation of individuality.--Zarathushtra.--The prophets of Israel.--The heroic adjustment in Greek poetry.--Greek philosophers.--Intermediaries.--Jesus.--Paul.--Augustine.--The arrows are beyond thee.

This is a new edition of "A Problem in Greek Ethics," originally published in London in 1901 for "private circulation." Part of the project Immortal Literature Series of classic literature, this is a new edition of the classic work published in 1901-not a facsimile reprint. Obvious typographical errors have been carefully corrected and the entire text has been reset and redesigned by Pen House Editions to enhance readability, while respecting the original edition."A Problem in Greek Ethics" is an account of (...) sexuality between men in all its forms, with Greek culture as a backdrop. Perhaps the best description of "A Problem in Greek Ethics" is this one in "Queer Religion" (Praeger, 2012, edited by Donald L. Boisvert and Jay Emerson Johnson, pp. 180-181): "Published at the turn of the century, 'A Problem in Greek Ethics' is a systematic and well-documented exposition of the role of homosexuality in the different historical periods of ancient Greek society. Throughout most of his work, Symonds prefers to use the term 'paiderastia' to 'homosexuality,' the latter a term he only uses in rare instances. Nevertheless, 'paiderastia,' in Symonds's work, amounts to a broad concept of homosexuality rather than to our current concept of pederasty. Whitman and his work are never mentioned by Symonds in 'A Problem in Greek Ethics,' but the conceptual connection had already been made explicit in Walt Whitman: 'A Study' eight years earlier. In the introductory lines to 'A Problem in Greek Ethics,' the reader is alerted that ancient Greece offers a unique example in history of 'a great and highly developed race not only tolerating homosexual passions, but deeming them of spiritual value, and attempting to use them for the benefit of society.' According to Symonds, while homosexual relations were not prominent in the so-called heroic age of Greece, it was nevertheless the love of Achilles for Patroclus, as narrated by Homer, that conferred in a later age of Greek history an almost religious sanction to the martial form of paiderastia. This episode in the Iliad inspired in later generations an ideal of manly love, which he describes as 'a powerful and masculine emotion, in which effeminacy had no part, and which by no means excluded the ordinary sexual feelings.' To which he adds that the tie created by these relationships was 'both more spiritual and more energetic [than] that which bound man to woman.' While Homer knew not about homosexuality, very early in Greek history paiderastia became a national institution giving rise, according to Symonds, to a distinction between a noble, spiritual, form of masculine passion, which he calls "heroic love," and a base and sensual one, which he identifies as 'vulgar love.'"About the Author: John Addington Symonds was born in Bristol, England, in 1840. He was an English poet, an author of several works, and a literary critic. In 1873 he wrote "A Problem in Greek Ethics," which discussed homosexuality between men. He printed ten copies in 1883, before effectively publishing the book in 1901. He was also known for his work on the Renaissance, as well as for his translations and biographies. He wrote "Our Life in the Swiss Highlands" (1891), biographies of Philip Sidney (1886), Ben Jonson (1886) and Michelangelo (1893), several volumes of poetry and essays, and a translation of the "Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini" (1887). John Addington Symonds died in Rome in 1893. In 1896, Havelock Ellis published, in German, prepared with the collaboration of Dr. Hans Kurella, "Das konträre Geschlechtsgefühl" (Leipzig, by Georg H. Wigand's Verlag), later revised and published by Ellis as "Sexual Inversion"-the first medical text in English about homosexuality, which he had co-authored with Symonds, and which would become a part of Ellis's six-volume "Studies in the Psychology of Sex.". (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Victorian DoorsErnest L. FontanaILet us begin with a simple observation. If we confine ourselves to mid- and late-nineteenth Anglophone (Victorian) poetry that employs traditional verse stanzas or rooms, it is perhaps not surprising that a line terminating with door most often rhymes with more, particularly as more is found in such locutions as no more or evermore.1 For example, in the work of Emily Dickinson, door rhymes with (...) a more phoneme in 14 of 20 instances. What is of special interest, and the focus of this essay, is the use of door as a rhymed word at the end or near the end of a poem. Of related but secondary interest is its appearance as a rhymed word at the end of an intermediate stanza. Since more signifies a quantitative concept, the frequent use of it to rhyme with door suggests that the designated door often demarcates a site of transition from a state that is quantitatively different (most often less) from the state to which one passes through the door. This imagined other state often involves quantities of time as in the frequent use of no more and evermore. In the first instance the time imagined is completely negated, in the second it is affirmed as a perpetual duration. Poe acknowledged the significance of the door/evermore rhyme in the "The Raven" in which this rhyme occurs at the end of 5 of its 18 stanzas.2 Thus this common English rhyme of door and more requires a signification of transition from one state to another that differ from each other in quantity. Often, particularly in Dickinson, the other state lies beyond the walled or enclosed room of [End Page 277] the self. My essay raises the question of whether without this accidental acoustical concurrence in English, the signification in Anglophone poetry of an implied transition from certain quotidian or phenomenal states to certain visionary or noumenal states would be as frequent or so easily rendered. Does this accidental rhyme in fact generate certain significations or metaphors?3I shall begin my demonstration with what I believe are telling examples of doors as a closural effect of both poems and stanzas.4 In the second, revised version of Hopkins's sonnet "In honour of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez: Laybrother of the Society of Jesus," written in Dublin in 1888, the concluding sestet of this Italian sonnet ends with door.Yet God (that hews mountain and continent, Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment, Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more) Could crowd career with conquest while there went Those years and years by of world without event That in Majorca Alphonso watched the door.5The sonnet is built on the contrast between honor that is "flashed off exploit," the highly visible exploits of the early Jesuit martyrs and missionaries, with the "Unseen," apparently un-heroic life of the obscure Spanish Jesuit laybrother and hall porter, whose war was "within." While God, through his Jesuit martyrs, "could crown [His] career with conquest," Alphonsus's life passed "without event" as he "watched the door." Hopkins's rhymes his terminal door with the more that results from the silent "trickling increment" of God's ongoing creative act. The foregrounded closural door of the poem becomes, through its position and rhyme, a metaphor for a passage to the abundance resulting from God's creative action, a quantification that extends beyond the perceptible world.Alphonsus is the guardian of the passage to this abundance, one that is subtly implied by the more/door rhyme. The sonnet ends with the reader and Alphonsus positioned on the threshold of an unnamable abundance that is signified by the silence and blank space that follows upon this terminal door. In Browning's "A Lovers' Quarrel," from Men and Women (1855), the male speaker recalls, during the advent of an Italian spring, the amatory intimacies he and his beloved shared during the past winter in their Tuscan farmhouse: "'Twas a time when the heart could shew / All'" (ll. 75–76).6 But the amatory union of the [End Page 278] two lovers has been ruptured by an unidentified, chance "hasty word" spoken... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Cervantes in Italy:Christian Humanism and the Visual Impact of Renaissance RomeFernando CervantesToward the end of 1569, shortly after his twenty-second birthday, Miguel de Cervantes arrived in Rome to serve as chamberlain to the young monsignor Giulio de Acquaviva, soon to be made a cardinal by Pope Pius V.1 The event marked the beginning of a six-year sojourn about which surprisingly little is known with certainty. From scattered semiautobiographical references (...) we can infer that Cervantes traveled widely and that he developed a particular fondness for Italy. We know for sure that he fought bravely against the Turks at the battle of Lepanto in 1571, where he received wounds that rendered his left arm useless for the rest of his life, and that he remained in service as a soldier, based in Italy, until his ill-fated attempt to return to Spain in 1575. Ten years later, in the dedication of his pastoral romance La Galatea to Ascanio Colonna, he reminded his dedicatee that the reverence he had for him did not only stem from having served under his illustrious father, the famous general Marco Antonio Colonna, but also from the many things that he had heard Cardinal Acquaviva say, "like prophesies," about him in Rome. There follows a brief encomium about the "noble virtues," "magnificence," "goodness," and "Christianity" that sustain the "clear and generous line" of the Colonnas, known to all for the "virtuous and heroic deeds" that have been their mark since time immemorial.2 Some of Cervantes's best lyric poetry dates from these years. In it, as in the rest of his work, the unmistakable mark of Petrarch, Boccaccio, Sannazaro, Ariosto, and Bembo, to name but the most explicit ones, leaves us in little doubt about his genuine love of Italian literature.For good reasons, modern biographers have been loath to take these scattered [End Page 325] references too candidly. Can we, for example, assume that Cervantes had more than a very superficial acquaintance with the Colonnas and the Acquavivas? Could a writer still widely regarded as a self-taught, untutored mind realistically have attracted the favors of some of the most illustrious Roman and Neapolitan noble families? More pointedly, is it safe to take the varied and abundant observations about Italy scattered throughout his works as reliable reflections of his own personal experiences? After all, between the latter and the written page there is a time lag often approaching forty years. Add to this the weight of subsequent intellectual influences and of literary conventions, of novelistic invention and of the viewpoints of the characters themselves, and we are left on rather shaky ground. As Jean Canavaggio has remarked, it is not Cervantes the keen visual observer, but rather Cervantes the devoted reader of Boccaccio and the novellieri who brings Italy and Italian themes into his fiction. Even the memorable descriptions of Italian cities to be found in some of his novelas are rather formulaic passages, perfectly in tune with the rhetorical canons of the time.3Our topic, however, is not biography but intellectual history; and here we can afford to be more candid. There can be no doubt that many of Cervantes's descriptions have the unmistakable ring of genuine experience. Take Tomás Rodaja's arrival, "soaked, sleep-deprived and with bags under the eyes," in Genoa's "sheltered Mandraccio,"4 where he becomes acquainted withthe smoothness of the Trebbiano, the fullness of the Montefiascone, the strength of the Asperino, the generosity of the Greeks Candia and Soma, the grandeur of the one from the Five Vineyards, the sweetness and mellowness of the lady Vernaccia, the rustic touch of the Centola, while the lowly one from Rome dared not appear in the presence of such illustrious gentlemen.5Charmed by the gallantry of the Genoese, Rodaja leaves by land for Rome, "the queen of cities and mistress of the world." "Just as the size and ferocity of a lion can be gauged by its claws," Cervantes observed,so Rome's greatness became manifest by its broken marbles, its statues..., its fallen arches and ruined baths, its magnificent porticoes and large amphitheatres, its famous and sacred river whose waters... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Who Wrote This?: How AI and the Lure of Efficiency Threaten Human Writing by Naomi BaronLuke MunnBaron, Naomi. Who Wrote This?: How AI and the Lure of Efficiency Threaten Human Writing. Stanford University Press, 2023. 344pp.Who Wrote This? is Naomi Baron’s latest book exploring the emergence of AI language models and their potential implications for writing. A linguist, educator, and emeritus professor at American University, Baron should be (...) well placed to tease out the nuances of language, showcase the creativity of human literary canon across history, and deliver a set of findings and recommendations informed by deep experience. Indeed, since the release of ChatGPT in November 2022, there is a hunger for this kind of expertise and guidance both inside and outside academia, as the deluge of debates, panels, and forums in the past year have attested. This is the perfect storm, one that should be harnessed by a linguist with two decades of work on digital writing and reading into a powerful book. Instead, the reader must wade through a morass of truisms, historical anecdotes, and wiki-like summaries of research studies, interspersed with surface-level ponderings.The problems begin almost immediately with the structure of the book itself. While the book is ostensibly divided into chapters, each chapter is atomized into dozens of subsections, some no more than a paragraph or two in length. In this whirlwind tour, the reader is swiftly confronted with a jumble of quotes from journalists, jokes about language, historical events, a “laypersons AI roadmap,” and recent news stories, flitting from one to the next with barely a pause. The “AI Applications” section takes this same piecemeal approach, laying out the possible uses of artificial intelligence and then painstakingly stepping through each one. Each subsection features a few paragraphs that regurgitates material you might find, more cohesively and in-depth, in a Wikipedia article. The material on the history of artificial intelligence is handled simplistically and uncritically, skipping across a handful of heroic figures like Yann LeCun, Yoshua Bengio, and Fei-Fei Li.While anecdotes and quotes abound, an argument is much harder to locate. On the one hand, Baron seems to uncritically echo the AI hype that has dominated news headlines in the past year. “We’ve come a long way,” she opines, “we have vacuum cleaning robots, drones, and self-driving [End Page 156] cars” (59). The reader learns that AI can generate poetry, correct grammar, play games, and beat masters (AlphaGo), and even identify cancer (machine learning for mammograms). These use-cases, and the ambitious claims that accompany them, are never really challenged in any sustained theoretical or methodological way. On the other hand, Baron seems to be highly conservative when it comes to the proper domain of “the human” and of writing in particular. “AI isn’t up for self-expression or thinking” (14) she says in passing, dismissing the recent revolutionary improvements in large language models that she’s just hyped up.The possibility of machinic intelligence and creativity, in fact, is a fascinating if messy one. Turing was not so interested in demonstrably “proving” that computers could be intelligent, but instead (and very much in line with his everyday navigation of British sexual norms) in developing something that could “pass” as human. Intelligence was not an acid-test, but a set of gestures that could be performed or pantomimed, emulated until they were “good enough” to deceive. N. Katherine Hayles has continued this trajectory in her work on “non-conscious cognition,” removing the barriers to what qualifies as intelligence and subsequently extending cognition down to unicellular organisms and plants. Within my own work on language models alongside colleagues (Munn et al. 2023; Magee, Munn, and Arora 2023), we highlight how models like GPT 3.5 achieve an approximation of natural speech. What is important is not the authenticity or actual intelligence of this feat, but that this “good enough” ability means that users treat language models as an interlocutor, a listener, a subject. This projection, even if misplaced, opens up this interaction and requires a conceptualization that is at least as attuned to memory, affect, and subjectivity as software interfaces and linear... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women and Archaic Greece by Kirk OrmandAndromache KaranikaKirk Ormand. The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women and Archaic Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. x + 265 pp. Cloth, $90.The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, a text in fragmentary form that poses questions about its date, performance, and genre context, is put in new light in the rigorous study by Kirk Ormand, who traces the main themes (...) and mythological details of the Catalogue’s intriguing storytelling. With the external façade of a recounting poem largely connected to heroic genealogies, the Catalogue has attracted significant scholarly attention. Ormand breaks new ground by focusing consistently throughout his book not solely on matters of poetic production but rather on the “end result” and the social forces that produced and proliferated the poem. The key themes of contest, rape, marriage, and changes in the institution of marriage become the template on which the mythological structure of heroic genealogies is set. Ormand sees them not as a static platform but as the moving axis that problematizes female roles as women change home and status. The Catalogue presents largely the consumption of women without ever presenting a female point of view; the female figures are tools in creating heroic genealogies with the birth of the hero as a focal point without much interest in further births or other moments of the female life. As becomes clear from the first introductory chapter, Ormand assumes an authorial stance that is well aware of the oral hexametric epic tradition but is also consciously creating an act of aristocratic nostalgia of the past in the new political frame of the polis.The second chapter delves into much-needed research on the socioeconomic exchange of hedna, a practice often conflated with dowry and aristocratic wedding gift exchange. Ormand carefully disentangles the literary attestations and underlines how hedna was a marker of aristocratic values distinct from other forms of gifts. Influenced by Ian Morris’ view that oral poetry reflects social practices at the times of performance that resonate with audiences, Ormand brings a new understanding of hedna not as economic exchange in a bride-wealth social nexus (according to the anthropological work of Jack Goody) but rather as something that ensures a kind of membership, so to speak, in an aristocratic club. Functioning like a hidden auction, the offering of hedna creates a competitive framework that silently raises the price of aristocratic membership. Displaying and offering more wealth ensures belonging to the elite but also defines the measure that marks and solidifies aristocratic status while raising the bar for others. Marriage offers the forum of competition, and the bride becomes a marker of value (through her beauty) that enables such a kind of gift-giving, and, through it, belonging to the elite. By exploring the historical context and literary attestations of this type [End Page 171] of gift exchange, Ormand presents a convincing case that the Catalogue, an epic poem that can be largely seen functioning as a counterpart of sympotic poetry, has a similar role: within the early context of the rising polis it provides an elite ideology connecting aristocrats to heroes through the nexus of the poetic (undemocratic) device of hedna.In chapter 3, Ormand’s analysis of the story of Mestra, a well-known shape shifter in myth, lucidly illustrates his arguments about elite ideology and how marriage defines female identity in the narrative of the Catalogue. Connections between the female and mobility are of course not new, but Ormand brings a new point of view to a central issue in archaic and classical literature, namely, the implicit struggle between natal and spousal families for the woman (as in the myths of Demeter and Persephone, the Danaids, Antigone, and Electra, among others). In the Hesiodic narrative of Mestra, her shape-shifting and passage from rape to marriage exemplify social tensions and the evolution of social and legal thinking on citizenship, endogamy, and exogamy and ultimately the oikos as a unit of the polis.The fourth chapter shifts toward the fluidity in oral poetic production and culminates in a parallel reading of Atalanta’s race with Hippomenes as a recasting of the... (shrink)

This challenging interdisciplinary collection of essays sets out to find cultural significance and value in America’s post modern society. The book includes analyses of a wide range of contemporary cultural artifacts—poetry, novels, myths, painting, cinematic images—from different vantage points, but especially from the perspective of those working in the area of religion and culture. While the contributors recognize that there are no simple solutions for identifying satisfactory values in today’s society, they all emphasize the close kinship between ethics and (...) aesthetics in their interpretations. Imagery of many sorts comes up for a closer look: the imagery of the anti-abortion movement, heroic and mythic figures, rituals, politics, gender issues, and race relations. Giving voice to “difference” and “the other,” the essays provide a lively discussion about where our common future is headed and how we can remain responsible to values that are beneficial to the largest number of people. _Contributors: William G. Doty, David H. Fisher, Matthew Fox, Stephen Karatheodoris, Gary Kochhar-Lindgren, Hank Lazer, Mark Ledbetter, Irena S. M. Makarushka, Daniel C. Noel, Jerome Rothenberg, Lynda Sexson_. (shrink)

Plato and Xenophon: Apologies compares two key dialogues on the death of Socrates. Socrates was accused of impiety and corrupting the youth of ancient Athens and was tried, convicted, imprisoned, and executed. Both Plato and Xenophon make clear that the charges were not brought forward in the spirit of true piety, and that Socrates was a man of real virtue and beneficence. To this day, his trial and execution remain a mark upon the democracy that put him to death. These (...) dialogues underscore the limitations of democratic relativism and emphasize the nature of philosophy or the free mind. Plato’s Apology of Socrates is both poetry and an act of reformation, justifying the life of philosophy, challenging the authority of the pagan gods and heroes, and introducing Socrates as a heroic and even divine figure. In contrast, Xenophon’s Socrates is not dialectical and otherworldly, but makes a different appeal for philosophy. From Xenophon emerges the heroic tradition of Plutarch with its reflections on the virtues and vices of great historical men. Focus Philosophical Library translations are close to and are non-interpretative of the original text, with the notes and a glossary intending to provide the reader with some sense of the terms and the concepts as they were understood by Plato and Xenophon’s immediate audience. (shrink)

“Artworks are not being but a process of becoming” —Theodor W. Adorno, Aesthetic Theory In the everyday use of the concept, saying that something is grotesque rarely implies anything other than saying that something is a bit outside of the normal structure of language or meaning – that something is a peculiarity. But in its historical use the concept has often had more far reaching connotations. In different phases of history the grotesque has manifested its forms as a means of (...) subversive resistance against society’s prevailing notions of form and power. What aids this impact and distinguishes two of its basic stylistic features is the grotesque’s dissolution of form and its hyperbole. Such grotesqueries, however, soon solidify into new forms, new structures of meaning, hierarchy and practice, and in this sense the history of the grotesque is, on one hand, a continual opposition and transgression of the prevailing notions of art as well as of God and humanity, while on the other hand it offers continual resistance to its own solidifying process. As such the grotesque will not and cannot be contained in form without it losing the very thing that makes it grotesque. Even though it is somewhat easy to point out certain stylistic features of the grotesque, the sum of those features tell us very little about what is at play within it. Definitions concerned with the grotesque’s content rather than its form faces similar difficulties. Throughout history, expressions relating to the grotesque have been used in defense of a whole host of different social and cultural discourse including, for instance, Catholicism (See Erhard Schön’s Der Teufel mit der Sackpfeife , 1536), Protestantism (See Lucas Cranach’s Der Papstesel , 1523), a material folk culture (see Mikhail Bakhtin’s Rabelais and his World , 1984) and an idealistic romantic structure of meaning (see Wolfgang Kayser’s The Grotesque in Art and Literature , 1957). Thus though the grotesque cannot be reduced to the expression of certain forms or meanings, in order to examine what the grotesque is about one has to try to see how it’s relationship to flow and process and how, by maintaining this relationship, it attempts to avoid solidifying into form and meaning. The process of the grotesque alluded to here revolves around a play between periphery and center, the marginalized and the dominant. Most often this is expressed as a direct negation of the center of power. In the medieval grotesque tradition of the carnival, for example, it is expressed by its emphasis on the nether regions of the body as the center of creation of meaning. Spirit does not come from above, but from the belly, buttocks and genitals, and there is, expressed in this manner, a mockery of the predominant Christian notion of truth and meaning. Such inversions of the sites of meaning most often explicitly express an increased interest in materiality instead of ideal content which comes to the fore through the play between periphery and center. Even in early grotesque Renaissance art (for example in the works of Raphael) the depiction of the mythological or ideal reveals an exploration of the possibilities of the material. The works of art thus explore their own boundaries rather than act as vessels of the divine and in this way the grotesque explores the limits of form and materiality. This in turn brings to the fore a metaphysical dimension in the workings of the grotesque: It is an immanent exploration of its own boundaries. Materiality and metaphysics are joined together, because it is through the awareness of itself as a structuring (dis)order that it places itself in opposition to the prevailing notions of form and power. This way the grotesque expresses an awareness of the division of sign and reality and a search for this reality. It implicitly expresses the awareness that meaning is not something God-given and static, but fluctuating and man-made. In modern explorations of the history of the grotesque it is commonly seen as a form of realism that manifests a shift from the ideal towards the material, freeing art from representing some hidden higher order and instead making the work of art the very site of creation and meaning. Going even further, the grotesque actively opposes the notions of the ideal by marking a shift from an ahistorical view of the world towards the historical. However, this also makes clear why the grotesque has a tendency to solidify into new static forms of meaning, for by establishing itself as a subversive counterforce there is an idea of transgression and emancipation. That is why the grotesque often historicizes and relativizes only to repeat the mistakes of that which it negates: putting itself in the king’s chair. The exploration of the material seems to create new forms and notions of the ideal. The representation of an otherness outside the prevailing notions of meaning and truth becomes a positive manifestation of this otherness as truth itself. Thus the historical “truths” of the grotesque are superseded by history itself. When the expressions of the grotesque solidify into static form and meaning, they become mere objects like anything else in the world. Instead of being this elusive thing of process and flow, it becomes tangible to the existing hierarchy of power as well as history itself. In this way the grotesque can be expunged, included or simply revealed as yet another false notion of truth, which is precisely what has happened with the grotesque throughout the course of history. If from the beginning the expression of the grotesque has not already been in the service of some structure of meaning and truth, it has quickly been included or has quickly included itself in such a structure. But by doing so it rejects its own basis: the tension between periphery and center is replaced by the attempt to create a new center, a new structure of meaning and truth. The doubleness, ambiguity and flow of the grotesque are then rejected by the grotesque itself. THE NON-FORM OF FORM In the critical thinking of Theodor W. Adorno (1903-69) the problem of art, caught between a reductive and prevalent notion of truth and meaning and a peripheral and alienated otherness, is reexamined and reformulated. For Adorno, the instrumental rationality of Enlightenment itself reverts into a new form of mythology which is every bit as static and exclusive as the hierarchies of religion it supersedes. All is excluded that is non-identical to the instrumental mastery of the objects of the world, "For the Enlightenment, anything which cannot be resolved into numbers, and ultimately into one, is illusion; modern positivism consigns it to poetry." 1 As such the non-identical has been banished from the realm of thought and action, and banished specifically to the realm of art. But the realm of art is not able to provide a decent home for it because even modern art is not something entirely autonomous. While it is excluded from the notions of truth and meaning provided by instrumental rationality, it still originates from society. Just like instrumental rationality art is about mastery, structuring and exclusion. Therefore, the problem for art is that it cannot directly provide a space for the non-identical because its mode of operation is similar to that of instrumental rationality. Even worse, art has very few possibilities to free itself from this. If it becomes l’art pour l’art it is at the same time reduced to the very thing instrumental rationality claims it to be: a subjective judgment of taste.expressionism also stands as an example of this. Conversely, art cannot work within the framework of the identity-thinking of society, because any notion of freedom or emancipation would reproduce the exclusive practices of instrumental rationality. For example: Explicit socialist literature may establish itself in opposition to instrumental rationality while at the same time reproducing it. Its language may seem different, but in reality it merely provides a different set of reductive schematics for human life and experience. The problem for the art of the grotesque was, as I mentioned earlier, that far too often it was merely a symbolic manifestation of a notion of otherness—not otherness itself. Because of this the subversive character of the grotesque ends up shaping and containing otherness instead of providing a space for it. According to Adorno the only way to avoid this is to radicalize the grotesque. In order to avoid solidifying into form the work of art has to be an object which cannot be contained in thought or form—a non-form of form. The work of art has to work in a way that it strives for autonomy but without entirely leaving a discernible reality. In other words, it has to pull in two directions at once. Thus the work of art is a paradox. It is autonomous in the sense that it closes itself off from everything outside of the work of art, trying to shy away from the contaminating influence of the identity thinking of instrumental rationality. At the same time though the work of art is heteronomous in the sense that it originates from a specific historical context and is bound to be what society is not. Autonomy and heteronomy are inseparably intertwined. Unable to display otherness itself, but still trying to be a refuge for it, there is only one option for art: It has to turn against itself and destroy its own logic of form, thereby demonstrating how any representation of otherness is impossible. Art becomes a lamentation of the victims of the identity thinking of instrumental rationality and shows the traces of the otherness that is unable to appear. Adorno’s pessimistic theory of art and history stages art as a negative dialectical process where the work of art closes itself off and rejects everything outside, while the individual elements in the work of art destroys its very own logic of form from within: Artworks synthetize ununifiable, nonidentical elements that grind away at each other; they truly seek the identity of the identical and nonidentical processually because even their unity is only an element and not the magical formula of the whole […]. The resistance to them of otherness, on which they are nevertheless dependent compels them to articulate their own formal language, to leave not the smallest unformed particle as remnant. This reciprocity constitutes art’s dynamic; it is an irresolvable antithesis that is never brought to rest in the state of being. 2 Relative to a traditional understanding of the grotesque, Adorno radicalizes the tension between center and periphery, autonomy and heteronomy. In the traditional understanding of the grotesque, as we find it for example in the writings of Mikhail Bakhtin, the grotesque establishes the display of otherness as a new center of meaning and truth. However Adorno rejects such notions and argues instead for a modernism of the grotesque in which both center and periphery are included in a negative dialectical process and continually synthesizing and destabilizing each other’s positions. A modernism of the grotesque works on the inside of the sign or the artwork, continually outlining and questioning the boundaries between materiality and form. This moves the focus away from the relation between the sign or work of art as a conceptual manifestation on one side and the object it refers to on the other side. Instead it implicitly points to the amorphous mass from which the signs and thereby meaning have been carved, the remnants that have been left behind. Modernism of the grotesque does not imply that it is emancipatory or that it reconciles man with nature, and does not represent a new position or a new ideology. It merely remembers and insists on the double nature of man and art: to write or paint yourself or an artwork whole by inscribing meaning in life or by applying form on a canvas is at the same time both creation and destruction. The very signs we use to center meaning in our lives carry its own alienation in them. Meaning surfaces only when process and flow comes to a halt—solidifying, but at the same time excluding parts that do not fit into that particular structure of meaning. NOTHING DONE AND NOTHING UNDONE It has always been difficult for art historians to find a suitable category for the works of the Danish artist Leif Lage (b. 1933). In his paintings the sensitive figuration seems so fragile that it is on the verge of turning into abstraction. Or conversely: the figurative emerges cautiously and hesitantly out of abstraction. As an art critic once wrote, he can almost paint things away. 3 Working in some undefinable space between abstraction and figuration, the Lage’s works shy away from the realm of words, and as a result few critics have been able to write anything meaningful about his works. In fact even fewer have been able to write more than one or two pages. The Danish author and art critic Leif Hjernøe is one of those few, but even he starts off by saying how impossible it is to write about Lage, confessing that his works exist both as process and in a field of in-between which words cannot reach. He writes: Always you find yourself in a place where nothing is done and nothing left undone, and where the elements of the work of art rest in a continuous motion. Always there is the open wound, where infection rather than surgical intervention is considered as an opportunity. And the conflict between matter and antimatter makes all diagnoses uncertain and allows conditions of uncertainty to spread in a place of raw presence. 4 The art works against the diagnosis and the certainty. Words are being eaten up by what is outside the realm of words: tension, process and doubleness. An approach to an understanding of the work of Lage could be to follow his connection to Samuel Beckett (1906-89). One can note, therefore, that Lage has illustrated several of the Danish translations of Beckett’s works. Though one is an author and the other a painter both seek a place where figuration, where the word, erodes. For both this entails an attempt to question and examine and so move in behind the façade of the surface in an exploration of that something or nothing that may be behind representation. At the same time even in the vanishing point of figuration or words, the meaningless words or the disjointed lines still stand as signs of human activity—signs of movement in emptiness. With very few exceptions Lage’s artworks revolve around one motif: Man—most often “en face.” But unlike traditional portraitures Lage’s people are found within. The artworks do not sense the reality of appearances, but rather the existential dimensions within man. As a seismograph they are sensitive to the utmost subjectivity in order to display an objective, sensuous depiction of the very problem of subjectivity. Instead of a static façade of a man, Lage’s “en face” shows the process-character of man. The people in Lage’s paintings are always in process—in the midst of becoming or dissolving. I will take a closer look in the following at the ways in which Lage establishes this sense of being in constant process, of being in-between modes or categories. THE DOUBLENESS OF THE STROKE Lage’s etchings attract attention in particular for the tension conveyed there between the material and the form. The material physically opposes the violence of the needle. But instead of embracing the violence of the needle and the victory over matter—instead of making the artistic creation and figuration express a heroic mastery of the background it is made out of—Lage uses the stroke to express the very tension between stroke and material, figuration and background. In the drypoint etching Untitled from 1983, which illustrated the Danish translation of Beckett’s Ill Seen, Ill Said , the needle tears up the material in long rough lines: Together, the primarily horizontal and vertical lines form a face. Thus the force needed to etch a line in the metal-plate draws attention to itself: It is there in the absence of curves and nuances. Man emerges on the metal-plate after great exertion and in a very simplistic form. This way Lage enhances the nature of the material, as the material’s resistance is not something to overcome. On the contrary the figuration is smitten by its very resistance and as such expresses the violence of its own becoming. Even more pronounced is the fact that the lines do not just show the violence of creation—it actively erases figuration in the same process that creates it. For example the mouth consists of 8-10 horizontal strokes, of which some seem to be connected to each other as if the mouth has been quickly scratched out. The mouth speaks of the inability to speak. In the same way, the eyes are black holes due to a large amount of criss-cross cuts, which together form a dark middle. Those lines, at the same time, form the eyes of the figuration and scratch out the eyes of the figuration. The extroverted aspects of the face—connected to speech and sight—are portrayed as introverted as well. Just as the etchings down into the metal-plate makes something appear. Leif Lage, Untitled , 1983 (etching) The figuration of the etching is connected to creation. It expresses that something is wrought into existence out of nothing by sheer artistic force. However, this force is at the same time presented as a violence of creation, which makes it impossible for form to truly emerge. Herein lies one of the basic principles of Lage’s art, namely that art cannot be that nothing or something behind the realm of words or signs. Without form, art would lose its ability to express anything at all. Form is a necessity if art is to avoid becoming as devoid of expression as the reality is that we cannot reach behind the appearance of things. On the other hand, art cannot raise itself above its own material in joyous celebration of the beauty of form. This would use the material in the manner of an instrument and thus would suppress the otherness it attempts to rescue. When art becomes mere form, any traces of otherness will have dissolved. Then art would be a question of technique, in no way different from the instrumental rationality of society. Therefore art works in a particular space between form and non-form. As Hjernøe says of the works of Lage, it is in the center of the event, in the in-between where things neither are nor are not, "And everything takes place just before it changes character. As the blood just before it coagulates, as the milk just before it separates, as fried egg just before it turns white […]." 5 The precise emphasis on the in-between of Lage’s art points in particular to the work of art as both outside of and in time. The work of art is a singular point in time, but at the same time it is continually in process. In the borderland between form and non-form, between creation and destruction, it shimmers like a fata morgana . The work is done but at the same time undone. It is only there as a cry in response to the inability to come into being. Akin to the etching is the drawing, but while both, of course, use the stroke or line as their main instrument, the paper does not resist the line in the same sense as the metal-plate of the etching. As a result in Lage’s drawings the stroke frolics in a space with almost no tension at all. There is nothing there to keep the pencil stroke at bay, but at the same time this means that there is nothing there to keep it together. One of the more expressive examples of this is found in an untitled drawing from Tegninger og Text ( Drawings and Text ) from 1999. The drawing consists of one unbroken pencil stroke. It is as if the stroke is confused—it darts around on the paper making doodles on the way or gathers itself in more straight lines in the center of the paper. It is in this manner that the semblance of a body is established. A couple of small circles serve as eyes and are the reason that the rest can be read as both face and body instead of pure abstraction. In fact the unbroken stroke serves as both abstraction and figuration as on the one hand it is the stroke that seemingly outlines the shape of a figure, while on the other hand the unbroken stroke dissolves any truly recognizable figuration by continuously, without end or aim, overflowing the boundaries of the figure. Seen again here is a doubleness to the stroke and the act of creation. In the etching it was all about the tension between the resistance of the material which created the doubleness. Here it is the opposite. It is the lack of tension. The stroke is free to do anything, but has no aim: without some kind of resistance, there is nothing to hold figuration together. It threatens to dissolve into nothingness. Conversely, the drawing can also be seen as a process of becoming. Like a form of automatic writing, the pencil darts around until it finds a point of densification. But even in such an interpretation of the drawing, the figuration appears artificial—it points to itself as the result of the artistic act of creation. The stroke is primarily stroke and only secondarily figuration. With its wild movement it calls attention to itself as stroke. Thus the figuration never becomes something in its own right. It points to the basic principle of creation: Someone has drawn me, I am the result of artistic endeavors, and therefore I am not for myself but always overflowing the boundaries that contain me. It is the stroke that in the very same movement creates figuration and dissolves it. Leif Lage, Untitled , 1999 (drawing) THE LIGHTNESS OF COLOR, THE DENSITY OF PAPER Often the watercolor is used as a precursor for larger paintings, because it has an immediacy in which one can quickly paint the main lines of a composition. However, Lage’s watercolors are not temporary points in a process leading to another final painting. They are not sketches, later to be filled with details in another material. For him watercolor is an end in itself. This also implies that he doesn’t try to work against the paper’s absorption of the water color and its tendency to absorb detail. On the contrary, he examines the possibilities inherent in this blurring of the line and absorption of color. As in the previous examples, there are of course recognizable shapes in Lage’s water colors. But these shapes are rarely separable from color, line or even paper. In other words: the figurative and the abstract more or less become one. One of the reasons for this is that Lage often works on wetted paper which means that the paper hungrily absorbs color into its fabric instead of it being on top of the paper. The paper becomes line because it is the absorption of the color which, together with the brush stroke itself, separates the colors from each other. The line is also color and the color is also line, because there is no separation between the different colors other than the colors themselves. At times this results in almost complete abstraction. In such cases Lage add lines with a pencil as if he wants to hold some sort of figuration together. At other times it is the other way around: the strokes of the pencil are a being dissolved by the water color blurring out the figuration. Untitled 1 from 1999 displays various tones of green. The contour of the colors appears unusually rough. Most of all it is reminiscent of a shoreline which has found its form through the work of thousands of years between water and land. Pockets of resistance surface as islands not yet drowned in color—as paper or color not yet consumed by the dominant color. The shape of the colors does not seem created by the hand of the artist, but rather by the inner workings of the watercolor: color against color over time has resulted in this very image, as if it is all a part of a natural process of change and decay. Despite the fact that there are no strong differences in color there seems to be a struggle taking place in the watercolor. For example, inexplicable holes in the dark color, which cover most of the right side of the watercolor, appear as if the underlying color is eating away the dark color, or that the dark color is in the process of covering up the underlying color. The small pockets of resistance demonstrate a process and development that, almost as a happy accident, evokes a couple of small eyes and a large mouth. Behind the colors a few slanted lines can be discerned, but the hand of the artist has long ago disappeared behind the life of the colors. Thus the watercolor seems to be held at precisely the point in time where figuration randomly appears. The small eyes and wide mouth seemingly express the realization of the figuration’s temporality. It is just a moment in time, soon to be consumed again in the life of the colors. The nature, the background it stems from and is part of, moves on undeterred, continuing its everlasting process of creation and decay. In this sense, the watercolor provides an experience of how neither artist nor man is able to transcend the materiality they consist of. The colors of man, the materials man consists of are “becoming” and “progress” but also “decay” and “disappearance”. The artist’s pencil strokes have been eaten up long ago, and the figuration is living on borrowed time. Human or artistic activity is about creating form, transcending mere matter by shaping and applying meaning to it. But Untitled 1 shows the doubleness of such creation: the transience and fragility of human life. Should the figuration come into being, should it rise and transcend the material, which binds it to its temporal existence, it would become nothing because its very existence is conditioned by the life and work of the colors. In the same sense man cannot escape his own temporality. He too, for better or worse, must accept a life in the volatility of sensation. Leif Lage, Untitled 1 , 1999 (watercolor) In most of Lage’s watercolors there seem to be a stronger artistic control than in Untitled 1 . Most often both the arrangement of colors and the technique in which they are painted express the hand of the artist. An example of this is Untitled 2 from 1999. While figuration in Untitled 1 seemed to appear as a happy accident, the figuration is much more “created” in Untitled 2 . Here the most important parts of the figuration, the eyes, the mouth and part of the skull, are colored black and painted on top of the background’s play of colors. The background primarily consists of blue and yellow tones. Only parts of the paper are covered in color, however, which yet again stresses the act of painting: There is a surface which is being filled by color by an artist. The blue tones are concentrated in the figuration, while the yellow tones surround it. All this means that the figuration stands out more clearly in this watercolor. This is also underlined by the fact that the blue and dark tones cover part of the yellow tones as spots here and there. Thus it is not a background which is in the process of consuming figuration, but rather the emerging figuration which blots out the background. Such an understanding is even suggested by how the mouth and eyes are placed in the larger blue color field. The eyes and mouth are in the center of the watercolor, while the blue color field is placed from center out towards the left side. This gives the impression of a face turned slightly to the right and slightly upwards, which again makes the mouth appear to emerge from the paper. It also helps that the mouth cuts the center axis of the watercolor. In other words, the arrangement of the blue and black colors create some depth and perspective which gives the illusion of a figuration, seen partially in profile, emerging from the background. Seen in profile, the eyes and mouth seem extroverted—they almost seem as if they are put on top of the face. But at the same time they are painted as black holes, sucking in the gaze of the onlooker. The watercolor is even more challenging if one follows what may be the faint outline of the skull, which, on the right side of the watercolor, no longer works together with the blue color, but rather alone postulates the outline of the skull. If not the blue color field, but this line, is the outline of the skull, then all of a sudden the face is not in profile but “en face”—staring directly towards the onlooker. Outline and color seemingly work against each other and establish two different expressions. Without the slightly upward tilted expression of the profile, the eyes and mouth do not seem to emerge from the paper. On the contrary, seen “en face,” the eyes and mouth are really gaping pits of darkness. In this sense Untitled 2 is at the same time surface and depth of perspective. The line gives form but at the same time it dissolves the form created by the colors, and vice versa. Leif Lage, Untitled 2 , 1999 (watercolor) As the last example of Lage’s artistic method, I have chosen another untitled work (as indeed nearly all of Lage’s artworks are)—this time from 2000. This is perhaps one of the most figurative watercolors Lage has created, though that doesn’t tell us too much. The painting depicts a human face in blue and green tones on a yellow toned background. The colors create a clear demarcation between the figure and the background, which compensate for the watercolor’s lack of outline. Beneath the face darker tones imply the beginning of the torso, and nuances of color even hint at something which could be a collar. The hair is in even darker tones and its structure is emphasized using pencil strokes on top of the water color. One eye is marked by a brown spot with a darker spot in the middle, while the other eye is added by pencil. The mouth is a round, red dot. In Untitled from 2000 the work between abstraction and figuration is much less pronounced than in the previous examples cited here. Nonetheless the watercolor has a delicacy to it which almost makes the figuration disappear, even as it appears. This has something to do with the fact that all the individual brush strokes have dissolved. The only outlines are those created by the clash of colors. Even the red mouth seems to be more paint than mouth—unable to be formed truly as anything other than a speck of color with some small semblance to a mouth. In contrast to the other watercolors, there is no movement, no progress or decay, just a vibrating standstill. The figure is not emerging or disappearing but embedded in and as surface, and as such it makes the figure seem stuck in its condition rather than freed by the act of giving form: mouth open as a wound. Pencil strokes add detail and life to the hair as an attempt to help the figure emerge. But all this does is create two levels in the watercolor: The pencil strokes are put on top of the figuration rather than being part of it. Thus they end up highlighting the endless distance between the movement and form-giving of the pencil strokes and the static and stuck figure behind these strokes. Leif Lage, Untitled , 2000 (watercolor) MAN AND THE VIEW OF THE ONLOOKER Lage’s works seem at the same time to be an examination of tensions between form and material in art and a display of an image of man full of the same tensions. This is because the people who are emerging in Lage’s images are not just in his works, They are his works. This means that man is not something emerging from a background but is part of this background and vice versa. The art of Lage inscribes man in its surroundings and background. Man is not the ruler of nature. Man does not rise above matter; there is no truly transcendent position for man to occupy in the art of Lage. Instead man is a part of the very matter, it, at the same time, tries to distance itself from in order to distinguish itself from its surroundings. Man emerges in an attempt not to be line, stroke, color. In an attempt to free itself of matter. Should it succeed in this, however, it would turn into nothing. On the other hand, if man fully accepted itself as mere matter it would disappear in it—in instincts, urges and lack of reflection. The appearance of man is thus subject to a state of being in-between. Only in the tension between material and its negation can the outlines of man be traced. However this also means that in the art of Lage man is never something in itself but always in process—on the way to its freedom and its loss. However, Lage’s art is not just about showing the tensions inherent in man but also about showing such tension on the verge of breaking point. In the moment before everything is done, or when nothing yet has been done, the delicate tension between form and material has been stretched to its utmost in such a way that man’s character of process emerges and is contained on the paper or canvas. Therefore, Lage’s art contain traces of human life. Not only is it an autonomous unity of tensions where man is stretched out between its singularity and the surroundings it is a part of. It is also this pulsation between figuration and material which brings about the traces of human endeavor and activity. Even when man almost seems to have disappeared into the material, strokes and lines are still there as a reminder of human activity and potential creative power—as a reminder that hope is still possible and that man is still there. The view of the onlooker seeks out forms and meaning. It seeks outlines and edges. But first and foremost it is the eyes in Lage’s works of art that allow the onlooker to decode the figuration at play. This creates a distinctive relationship between the onlooker and the artwork. The onlooker tries to wrest the enigma from the artwork, tries to reduce it to solid, meaningful form. But the very same moment that hints at such a possibility sees the view of the onlooker confronted with a gaze of its own. The eyes of the figure in the work of art are most often dark pits, as if they were an illustration of the violence committed against the eyes of the onlookers and their search for meaning. Or as if they were a dark reflection of the onlooker’s failed attempts to delineate the traces of life in the artwork to a solid meaningful form. Therefore, the gaze of the figuration speaks not only of its own powerlessness but also of the powerlessness of the onlooker. When the view or sight has trouble finding solid meaningful forms, it has something to do with the fact that the precondition for sight, light, no longer stems from something transcendent. In Lage’s art there is nothing outside the works of art, nothing outside of human life, and as such nothing to shed light on the works of art or human life and reveal solid meaningful forms. All light comes from within. In a western context, light as a medium for sight is central to the understanding of meaning. People speak of the clarity of thought, while knowledge is tied together with enlightenment, and so forth. But the light no longer originates from a divine point of view. It originates from man, who has created himself in the image of God. The problem with this is that light always covers up its own base. Light illuminates something but at the same time it hides itself. 6 While it was previously God who was unknowable, now it is man. It is also problematic that sight and the medium of sight stem from the same place. Following this thought one can posit two final problems. Firstly, the immediacy and presence established by light by making forms and objects accessible to sight is fake. Light is not some independent entity which present things in a neutral manner for the onlooker. It is inextricably tied together with the gaze’s desire after meaning. In other words: Light perverts the appearance of things because it doesn’t originate from some objective entity which allows them to appear as they are. Instead light is based upon and originates from the subject and its conquering gaze, seeking out meaning and form constantly. Secondly, the joining of sight and light makes introspection within human life impossible. Everything can be illuminated by its use value for the subject but only as long as it is separated from the subject, as long as it is an object. But the subject itself cannot be illuminated. Lage’s art tears down such a dividing line between subject and matter, but it does so without reestablishing a divine position from where the light emanates. Therefore, the light in Lage’s art may not illuminate very well. It may not have the certainty presented by modern science or the religions of yesterday. But it does show what such light tries to hide, namely, the subject as it is in its material reality—inscribed in time and death, which are the basic conditions of materiality, but at the same time also full of life in its joy and will to create. For the onlooker the meeting of the gaze in Lage’s works of art is thus also a destruction of the view of the onlooker. The ability to see is challenged in a radical way. Those outlines will not solidify into static form, as if the light was too dim to see. Just as in Lage’s figurations, the view of the onlooker turns to black: turns towards the onlooker in recognition and becoming—or disappearance. NOTES Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno. Dialectic of Enlightenment . (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 2002): 4-5. Theodor W. Adorno. Aesthetic Theory . (London & New York, 2002): 176. Carsten Bach-Nielsen. “Mere glæde end gru.” Kristeligt Dagblad . September 24, 2002. Leif Hjernøe. “Den yderliggående inderlighed.” LEIF LAGE—Retrospektiv udstilling 1983 . (Copenhagen: Brøndum, 1983): 18. Ibid. Maurice Blanchot. The Infinite Conversation . (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993): 162-163. (shrink)

Film is the supreme medium for mythmaking. The gods and heroes of mythology are both larger than life and deeply human; they teach us about the world, and they tell us a good story. Similarly, our experience of film is both distant and intimate. Cinematic techniques--panning, tracking, zooming, and the other tools in the filmmaker's toolbox--create a world that is unlike reality and yet realistic at the same time. We are passive spectators, but we also have a personal relationship with (...) the images we are seeing. In Cinematic Mythmaking, Irving Singer explores the hidden and overt use of myth in various films and, in general, the philosophical elements of a film's meaning. Mythological themes, Singer writes, perform a crucial role in cinematic art and even philosophy itself. Singer incisively disentangles the strands of different myths in the films he discusses. He finds in Preston Sturges's The Lady Eve that Barbara Stanwyck's character is not just the biblical Eve but a liberated woman of our times; Eliza Doolittle in the filmed versions of Shaw's Pygmalion is not just a statue brought to life but instead a heroic woman who must survive her own dark night of the soul. The protagonist of William Wyler's The Heiress and Anieszka Holland's Washington Square is both suffering Dido and an awakened Amazon. Singer reads Cocteau's films--including La Belle et la Bête, Orphée, and The Testament of Orpheus--as uniquely mythological cinematic poetry. He compares Kubrickean and Homeric epics and analyzes in depth the self-referential mythmaking of Federico Fellini in many of his movies, including 8½. The aesthetic and probing inventiveness in film, Singer shows us, restores and revives for audiences in the twenty-first century myths of creation, of the questing hero, and of ideals--both secular and religious--that have had enormous significance throughout the human search for love and meaning in life. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 126.1 (2005) 135-138 [Access article in PDF] Jenny Strauss Clay. Hesiod's Cosmos. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. xii + 202 pp. Cloth, $65. This book, following on The Wrath of Athena (1983), The Politics of Olympus (1989), and a number of articles, continues Clay's distinctive work on "early Greek theology" (1), that is, the nature of gods and their relations with human beings as treated (...) in archaic epic poetry. For Clay, the works of early Greek epos can be seen as a coherent and interconnected whole, in which the combined subject matter of the Homeric Hymns, Iliad, and Odyssey is book-ended, as it were, by the two major Hesiodic poems: Theogony tells the story from the beginning of things to the accession of Zeus, whereas Works and Days describes life in the post-heroic Iron Age. Hesiod's Cosmos argues for a closely interrelated and complementary relationship between these two works, in which one poem looks at the world from a divine standpoint, paying little attention to human life, while the other focuses on the here-and-now exigencies of human existence, considering the gods mainly as they intersect with those realities. Together they make up a view of the world that transcends any single perspective, displaying the superior skill, intelligence, and inspiration of their poet. As a pragmatic explanation for this thoroughly intertextual relationship, Clay proposes that Hesiod may have been at work simultaneously on both compositions.Dealing succinctly with the Hesiodic Question about authorship and authorial persona, Clay locates the composition of Theogony and Works and Days in a middle ground, somewhere between the work of a historical poet, whose biography is reflected in the poems, and the product of a didactic tradition in which "Hesiod" is the persona that a performer of this poetry adopts (a view developed especially by Gregory Nagy). A historical Hesiod seems likely to Clay, but even so, "the voice we hear is constructed within the text for its own ends" (3). Although she maintains that this question is not central to her analysis of the Hesiodic poems, the nuanced and subtle cross-references that she postulates between the two works prompt her to write as if there were an individual, thoughtful author behind the texts—one working with ideas that will be taken up later by acknowledged "philosophical" writers. Further, and central to her methodology, Clay maintains (9) that it is both possible and desirable, if hardly simple, to seek authorial intentions in the works under discussion. The admittedly provocative goal of Hesiod's Cosmos, then, is to "demonstrate a coherent plan that unites the poems into a consistent vision that is both thoughtful and subtle" and thereby "to recover the reputation the Hesiodic poems long enjoyed in antiquity" (2: a discussion of Hesiod's ancient reputation would have been welcome here). [End Page 135]The book is well organized to achieve that end. It begins with a general chapter on Theogony and another on Works and Days, summarizing each work while emphasizing its structural peculiarities and teasing out the meanings suggested thereby. The five chapters that follow compare salient aspects of the two poems: their divergent proems, what they say about the origins of humankind, their two versions of the Prometheus story, the presentation of gods in Works and Days and men in Theogony, and finally each poem's treatment of what Clay terms "hybrids" (monsters and heroes, both being of mixed birth) in a chapter that includes substantial discussion of the Hesiodic Catalogues. A brief conclusion, focusing on the ancient theme of a contest between Hesiod and Homer, argues that Hesiodic poetry makes a claim to broader knowledge and scope than Homeric.A conspicuous and valuable characteristic of Clay's approach is her insistence on treating both texts in their entirety. Each poem is reviewed in linear sequence in the two introductory chapters, with an eye to its "intratextual" content—especially the relation of digressions to the structural backbone. The Theogony's basic structure is obviously genealogical, but its narrative digressions come at unpredictable junctures, some of them (such... (shrink)

Hegel's philosophy of literature, in the Aesthetics and other texts, gives no extended discussion of the novel. Hegel's predecessor Friedrich Schlegel had produced a philosophy of literature with a central position for the novel. Schlegel's discussion of the novel is based on a view of Irony which allows the novel to be the fusion of poetry and philosophy. Hegel retained a place for art, including poetry, below that of philosophy. The Ironic conception of the novel has themes, which (...) also appear in Hegel, of the unity of opposites. However, for Hegel Irony does not allow the unity of artistic form and does not allow art to be guided by law and science. Therefore Hegel's philosophy of literature owes much to Schlegel but needs to attack Irony and minimise the role of the novel. Irony is criticised as a purely negative position of a 'beautiful soul', which cannot act and in its absolutely subjective resistance to evil in the world becomes evil itself. Hegel gives great importance to Epic which foreshadows the emergence of philosophy in its unity, but it is a unity based on conflicting individuality and lawlessness. In the modern world Heroic lawlessness can only be approached as nostalgia, the novel cannot integrate individuality and law, only religion and philosophy above aesthetics, including the novel. (shrink)

The idea of heroism has become thoroughly muddled today. In contemporary society, any behavior that seems distinctly difficult or unusually impressive is classified as heroic: everyone from firefighters to foster fathers to freedom fighters are our heroes. But what motivates these people to act heroically and what prevents other people from being heroes? In our culture today, what makes one sort of hero appear more heroic than another sort? In order to answer these questions, Ari Kohen turns to (...) classical conceptions of the hero to explain the confusion and to highlight the ways in which distinct heroic categories can be useful at different times. Untangling Heroism argues for the existence of three categories of heroism that can be traced back to the earliest Western literature – the epic poetry of Homer and the dialogues of Plato – and that are complex enough to resonate with us and assist us in thinking about heroism today. Kohen carefully examines the Homeric heroes Achilles and Odysseus and Plato's Socrates, and then compares the three to each other. He makes clear how and why it is that the other-regarding hero, Socrates, supplanted the battlefield hero, Achilles, and the suffering hero, Odysseus. Finally, he explores in detail four cases of contemporary heroism that highlight Plato's success. Kohen states that in a post-Socratic world, we have chosen to place a premium on heroes who make other-regarding choices over self-interested ones. He argues that when humans face the fact of their mortality, they are able to think most clearly about the sort of life they want to have lived, and only in doing that does heroic action become a possibility. Kohen's careful analysis and rethinking of the heroism concept will be relevant to scholars across the disciplines of political science, philosophy, literature, and classics. (shrink)

That there is something not altogether honest about a didactic novel can be seen once we imagine a novel which violates our political sympathies or our moral principles, such as a novel that shows the Nazis or the American soldiers at My Lai as heroes. We certainly would not like this novel. But could we refute it because of our certain knowledge that these men, in real life, were murderers? I don't think so, since a skillful writer could easily make (...) his characters act heroically in the situation—and even make us dislike their victims. Could we say that the situation is false? Perhaps, but since the actions and the characters are fictional, what does it mean to refute them? We can say that a novel is bad or unconvincing if the characters do not resemble people in real life or if the actions do not satisfy our sense of logic or probability. But these are literary objections, not political ones. And because the writer cannot be refuted by evidence from the real world, he cannot make pronouncements about this world. For example, even if there were evidence that no slave resembled Tom and no overseer resembled Legree, such evidence could not refute the novel Uncle Tom's Cabin. And as Moody Prior points out in his essay , our disagreement with the philosophy of spiritual, rather than physical resistance to slavery cannot take away the heroism of Tom's action. His final act of forgiveness is indeed Christ-like, and no philosophy of political activism which is validated by, let us say, our admiration for Tom within the novel cannot validate Tom's kind of inward action in the real world. If it did, then our admiration for Tom, a fictional character, would prelude our support for a more active resistance to oppression. But, of course, it does not, or at least it should not, if we are to see fiction as performing a different role than politics and philosophy. Lawrence W. Hyman, professor of English at Brooklyn College of the City University of New York, is the author of The Quarrel Within: Art and Morality in Milton's Poetry. His previous contribution to Critical Inquiry, "The 'New Contextualism' Has Arrived: A Reply to Edward Wasiolek," appeared in the Winter 1975 issue. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Juvenal: Satires, Book IRichard A. LaFleurSusanna Morton Braund, ed. Juvenal: Satires, Book I. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. viii 1 323 pp. Cloth, $64.95; paper, $22.95. (Cambridge Greek and Latin Classics)This new text and commentary on Juvenal’s book 1 (Satires 1–5) is for two reasons a most welcome addition to the Cambridge Greek and Latin Classics series. First, Susanna Braund has published extensively and incisively on Roman satire, (...) Juvenal in particular, over the past fifteen years; her several articles and the books Beyond Anger: A Study of Juvenal’s Third Book of Satires (Cambridge 1988), Roman Verse Satire (Greece and Rome New Surveys in the Classics no. 23, Oxford 1992), and The Roman Satirists and Their Masks (Bristol 1996) have all made valuable contributions to our understanding of the genre. Second, modern editions of Juvenal with text and commentary are in short supply (J. Ferguson’s remains the best in English; see my combined review of his 1979 Macmillan and E. Courtney’s important but expensive, and textless, 1980 commentary in CJ 79 [1984] 257–62), and Braund’s work, while it includes only the satirist’s first book, not only offers enough material for an undergraduate course (nearly a thousand lines) but elucidates the volume’s thematic unity in a way that will enhance our students’ appreciation of Juvenal’s later books as well and of Roman poetry books in general.The book’s apparatus is standard for the Cambridge series: a succinct but helpful and up-to-date bibliography and brief index conclude the volume, and the forty-page introduction discusses Roman verse satire generally, Juvenal’s major predecessors (Lucilius, Horace, and Persius), the little we know for certain of Juvenal’s life, what Braund rightly characterizes as the overarching characteristics of his art—indignation, rhetoric, and epic—along with various details of style and meter, the Satires’ influence on subsequent literature, and finally the manuscript tradition. All of this is economically managed and cogent, not least the discussions on several pertinent topics: persona and the “autobiographical monologue as the chief mode of presentation” in satire as in the other “personal” genres of elegy, lyric, and epigram; indignatio and the “moral ambiguity of anger,” which must condition our response to Laronia in Satire 2, Umbricius in 3, and the other “unreliable satirist” figures who control so much of the rhetoric in Juvenal’s early books; and his exploitation of epic motifs from the [End Page 474] heroic past in depicting the sordid realities of contemporary Rome. One could go further with this last point: it is a major purpose of the epicisms in Juvenal’s programmatic first poem to define satire as anti-epic and its topsy-turvy world and all its players—the satirist included—as utterly anti-heroic. The satirist’s Rome, quintessentially vicious, is on the brink of destruction (omne in praecipiti vitium stetit, 1.149), on the eve of another Great Flood, in fact, like that survived by only Deucalion and Pyrrha (this is the point, deliberately recalling through ring composition the flood sequence in 1.81–84, of utere velis, / totos pande sinus at 1.149–50, a point missed by commentators generally and not just Braund, who explains the phrase simply as a grandiloquent “nautical metaphor” with the sense of “off you go at full pelt”). And yet the best this latter-day Lucilius can do, as he whimpers in Satire 1’s closing verses, is to decline his predecessor’s battle-wagon, helmet, and sword and wage war only against Rome’s villainous dead.The most profitable section of Braund’s introduction is her “Overview of Book I” (30–36), which thoughtfully surveys “the persistence and development” of several dominant themes and images that recur throughout the book: the city of Rome itself, its palaces and alleyways seething with corruption (“the Book is a catalogue of Rome’s vices”); the “degradation of the patron-client relationship (amicitia),” which can be viewed as book 1’s major unifying theme (see Illinois Classical Studies 4 [1979] 158–77); the “day in the life” motif, advancing the action from morning to night both within Satire... (shrink)