18 September 2007

The Lais of Marie de France, transl. by Robert Hanning and Joan Ferrante


Utterly delightful. That's the only way to begin a description of these poems. I just completed this book as part of a school reading, and honestly when I began I was sure I would just read the primary assigned lais and then move on to something else. After the first few pages, though, I realized I was going to have to read the entire book. And it was a treat all the way through.

A lai is basically a poem told in song form that does not repeat lyrics or stanzas. It's simply a story, told with rhythm and melody. For readers who are not a fan of poetry (such as myself), this might not exactly propel you to the bookstore to get your hands on these poems. But let me persuade you to give them a try. For one, they don't read like complex Renaissance poetry. In many ways, they are quite simple and at times even deceptively simplistic. The stories themselves don't really have much of a plot, and all have the primary theme of love. But Marie (who is always styled Marie de France, because she never identified her family name) was quite the master of her craft. To get the best appreciation of the lais, it helps to read them together--or at least to read several of them together. She has the different lais play off one another, providing the reader with a more complete understanding of how she is representing love. In some cases, the stories have what I could only describe as icky, chivalric nonsense, complete with fainting damsels and impossible heroism. Underneath the surface, however, Marie is toying with her readers, manipulating the conventions of the form to present a very different look at love. In some cases, she outright mocks the love that is based solely on physical beauty or the "love" that comes when an attractive man sees an attractive woman. But again, you really have to read all of them to see this. To read only "Les Deus Amanz" would be to miss out on the much more complex "Equitan." And reading "Equitan" alone would be to miss the powerful contrast in "Guigemar."

So, what is Marie's conception of love? She sees love as a strong force, but one that must be fought for, one that requires action, and one that is not right if it is not pure. So, the married man who believes he has found his true love in a woman who is not his wife is penalized for it. That isn't real love according to Marie de France. And at the end of the lais, the ultimate love is sacrifical, only found in the love of God.

I read the Hanning and Ferrante translation, and I highly recommend it. At the end of each lai, they provide a nice overview about the themes of the poem and link it to other forms of the day, giving the reader a fuller understanding of just how skilled Marie was. Additionally, their comments are highly entertaining in places, and I actually found myself looking forward to seeing what they would have to say. I haven't seen other translations, so I can't make a comparison, but given that I was assigned this for school, I'm assuming it ranks up there with other recommended versions. I also don't know for certain if it contains every single lai that Marie composed, but if it doesn't it must be pretty complete, because the theme arc is there. All of these long-winded remarks to say that I encourage readers to give this one a try and to have a little fun discovering a new side of medieval poetry. It's surprisingly fresh and, as I said at the beginning, utterly delightful.

17 September 2007

Rathad Ièricho

Èisd rinn, Íosa, na do ghrádh
Tha do ghrádh gun chrích
Guidh ri d' athair air ar sgáth
Tha do ghrádh gun chrích
Os cionn fuaim cogaidh 's bláir
Thar gach truaigh is beud is cráidh
Seachad air cruadal is cás
Tha do ghrádh gun chrích

Neartaich sinn, do shluaigh fhéin
Tha do thrócair buan
Beó am muinntearas a chéil'
Tha do thrócair buan
Tha gach anam seo na fheum
Air do mhathas is air do mhéinn
Ionnsaich dhuinn dé th' ann bhith réidh
Tha do thrócair buan

O Íosa, bi na shráinnsear dhomh
Air rathad Iéricho
O Íosa, bi na shráinnsear dhomh
Air rathad Iéricho

Thighearna ghlórmhoir ghrásmhoir chaoin
Na cuir rinne cúl
Ged a bhiodh ar nádar claon
Na cuir rinne cúl

Líon suas gach soitheach traoight'
Soillsich dubhar gach cridhe claoidht'
Siab bhuainn smalan an t-saoghail
Na cuir rinne cúl

O Íosa, bi na shráinnsear dhomh
Air rathad Iéricho

From Rachel Walker's CD Bràighe Loch Iall

15 September 2007

Well, I guess I can put it on the list...

You Should Learn Swedish

Fantastisk! You're laid back about learning a language - and about life in general.
Peaceful, beautiful Sweden is ideal for you... And you won't even have to speak perfect Swedish to get around!

14 September 2007

The Death of Ivan Ilyich, by Leo Tolstoy


When discussing a book like this, I usually prefer to begin with something positive about how it's a classic and everyone should read classics. In this case, however, I'm going to cut straight to the point: this is one seriously depressing book. I bought it thinking I needed to read something completely unlike anything I'm reading in my classes right now. Apparently, I succeeded, but not in the way I anticipated. Collation formulas may be boring, but at least they aren't depressing.

In all fairness, I completely understand what Tolstory is doing in this book. He presents a case that is simultaneously average and extreme of a hard-working man who develops a serious illness that causes him to die, slowly and very painfully. Along the way, he fights death, feigns hope, questions the universe, and ends by discovering the light (although there isn't a great deal of detail in this; the light could be just about any deathbed revelation). Ivan Ilyich is an average case in that he is really like any other man who has set goals for himself and worked hard to accomplish them, only to find out at the end of his life that he was missing the meaning all along. On the other hand, Ivan is an extreme case in that his story has elements of real tragedy. He and his wife have little love for one another. As his illness progresses, his family sees him as more of an imposition than as someone who deserves love and kindness in the final days of life. What is more, his illness has come at the result of a bad fall he took while (I'm not kidding) hanging some draperies in his house. I'm honestly not sure if I should classify that as irony or tragedy.

And yet as a whole The Death of Ivan Ilyich is neither terribly ironic nor terribly tragic. Death comes for everyone, as Ivan must come to accept; what makes his story so sad is that the death doesn't even seem like a waste. Ivan realizes that his life has been made up of fleeting moments of folly that at the time masqueraded as great joy. He is forced to admit that the only joy he can remember is the simple joy of his childhood, when he still retained hints of innocence. In his last moments, he does see some kind of light and discover that death is not an end but a beginning. But I can't honestly say that there is a strong Christian message at the end. Instead, Tolstoy leaves the reader to digest the story as it is and reach a conclusion about what is missing in the reader's life.

Perhaps this is better, after all. I came away from it wondering what death means. Maybe in a couple of days I'll take time to think about what is missing in my life. For now, though, I need to take some moments to look for real joy. It's either that or medication.