Awhile back a woman whose kids play Special Olympics softball with mine told me she was wanting to read Dante's The Divine Comedy. Which surprised me, because it came out of the blue. It also stuck in my mind like a fly in Vaseline, as I hadn't read Dante in 50 years, and knew it was time to go back (Jack).
Then a few days later I found
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in the Little Library at Baptist Health, where my daughter and I volunteer to push a beverage cart around. So once again, the Universe was jabbing a fork into my ass. I started reading it, but only as a Car Book. Anytime I was in the car and waiting, I'd read a little bit. It wasn't exactly good, but it was an interesting concept--framing poems with prose commentary.
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I entered the words into a translation website and it came up with this:
"In the cock of the everlasting rose that expands, the smell of praise to the ever-vernating sun...."
Which wasn't all that helpful, so I Googled and found this:
"Into the yellow of the Rose Eternal
That spreads, and multiplies, and breathes an odour
Of praise unto the ever-vernal Sun...."
I guess that's as good a final "word" as any.
On to The Divine Comedy.
Read to page xix.
In the introduction, "How to Read Dante,"someone (presumably, John Ciardi, but it's not signed) asks the question, "What sin did Dante commit to get himself into this position in the first place? "Ciardi answers, "Acedia." π€·
Wikipedia?
"Acedia (/ΙΛsiΛdiΙ/; also accidie or accedie /ΛΓ¦ksΙͺdi/, from Latin acΔdia, and this from Greek αΌΞΊΞ·Ξ΄Ξ―Ξ±, "negligence", αΌ- "lack of" -κηδία "care") has been variously defined as a state of listlessness or torpor, of not caring or not being concerned with one's position or condition in the world. In ancient Greece akidΓa literally meant an inert state without pain or care. Early Christian monks used the term to define a spiritual state of listlessness and from there the term developed a markedly Christian moral tone. In modern times it has been taken up by literary figures and connected to depression."
Interesting. I have a "friend" (coughit'smecough) who suffers from that same disposition.
Oh, and speaking of St. Lucy, in the course of my Googling around, I happened upon this:
A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day
By John Donne
'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;
The world's whole sap is sunk;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compar'd with me, who am their epitaph.
Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death: things which are not.
All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;
I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
Of all that's nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.
But I am by her death (which word wrongs her)
Of the first nothing the elixir grown;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love; all, all some properties invest;
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light and body must be here.
But I am none; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all;
Since she enjoys her long night's festival,
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is.
And since I had a spare moment, I stopped at Goodwill to see if they had any books worth buying in their now dinky books section. I didn't see anything, so I decided to have a look through the vinyl lp bin. Which I usually don't bother with, because it is invariably filled with albums which were old when my parents were young. As I looked through the bin, I saw that someone had slipped what looked like a children's book in amongst the lps. I pulled it out to have a look:
In the introductory summary to Canto XIV Art is referred to as "the Grandchild of God." That's pretty beautiful, isn't it?
I think this would be a good title for a novel:
I'm only 45 pages from the end of Inferno, and I'll be checking out of the hospital tomorrow, so I'm thinking I'll read an extra 15 pages today so that my exit from the hospital will correspond to finishing the first book of The Comedy of Dante Aligheri.
Read to page 240. ✔
Day 14 (DDRD 2,510) September 14, 2024
Day 15 (DDRD 2,511) September 15, 2024
Day 16 (DDRD 2,512) September 16, 2024
Day 17 (DDRD 2,513) September 17, 2024
Day 18 (DDRD 2,514) September 18, 2024
Day 19 (DDRD 2,515) September 19, 2024
Day 20 (DDRD 2,516) September 20, 2024
Day 21 (DDRD 2,517) September 21, 2024
Day 22 (DDRD 2,518) September 22, 2024
Day 23 (DDRD 2,519) September 23, 2024
Day 24 (DDRD 2,520) September 24, 2024
Day 25 (DDRD 2,521) September 25, 2024
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Day 26 (DDRD 2,522) September 26, 2024
















