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Category: parsing art

how to listen to music if you don’t know your Beethoven from your Bach, Vll (cont.)

The Music Lesson, c.1769 - Jean-Honore Fragonard

                    

          The Music Lesson” (c.1769)

 

              Jean-Honoré Fragonard

 

                    _______________

                    

having spent too much time, perhaps,

giving context, from Classicism to

Romanticismin my last communication

brought on by the worlds that open up

to me when l Iisten to this kind of music,

rather than imparting specific information

about how to sharpen one’s aesthetic

sensitivity, about listening rather than

just hearing, this time I’ll get technical,

if you’ll allow, with the help of the same

two pieces, Mozart’s 16th piano sonata,

Chopin’s 3rd, how are they different,

how are they similar, how do they

compare

 

first, similarities, they are both sonatas,

pieces of music consisting of more than

one segment of music, traditionally, three

or four, Mozart here has three, Chopin

four

 

Chopin doesn’t diverge from the trinity

of imperatives that Mozart set up

during the Classical period, tempo,

tonality, and repetition, the pace of

the music remains constant within

the parameters established by the

directions at the top of the page,

an adagio doesn’t change its beat

throughout the movement for either,

nor would an andante, a presto, an

allegretto

 

this will change

 

neither does any element of the

music produce discords, tonality

remains mellifluous throughout

for both, lilting, harmonious ever,

even often, in either, enchanting

 

this will also change

 

and everywhere, a flight of musical

invention will eventually return to

its original source, and you find 

that you’ve come back from a sonic

adventure to home base, where the

whole thing starts all over again,

repetition, a condition considered

essential, until relatively recently,

to  the definition of music

 

this will also change

 

but how are they different

 

listen to the decoration, Mozart

applies trills to individual notes,

a flutter of adjacent tonalities 

to set the central one off, like

glitter, the twitter of birds

punctuating, here and there, 

the stillness of a forest

 

Chopin colours his entire

keyboard with arpeggios rather,

runs up and down the scales,

turning melodies into not only

delights, but stepping stones to

entirely other dimensions,

extrapolations from the original

tune, seemingly spontaneous

evolutions, the first burgeonings,

incidentally, of jazz, before returning,

notably, to his original air, much as

Mozart does, to his core statement,

fulfilling the Classical requirement

of repetition

 

here’s Mozart, trilling

 

here’s Chopin, arpeggiating

 

how to tell your Chopin from your

Mozart, how to sharpen your

aesthetic sensibility, listenlisten

 

 

R ! chard

how to listen to music if you don’t know your Beethoven from your Bach, Vll

The Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, 1818 - Caspar David Friedrich

                       

        The Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog” (1818)

 

                 Caspar David Friedrich

 

                       _____________

                       

by now, if you’ve been listening,

you’ll probably easily tell your

Chopin from your Mozart, even

without looking

 

if not, the one who isn’t Mozart

is Chopin, the one who isn’t

Chopin is Mozart, cause you’re

likely to recognize the one if not

the other

 

here’s Mozart’s Piano Sonata

no 16 in C major, K. 545from

1788, which even Mozart

deemed “for beginners”, but

its very elementary qualities

suit, here, my purposes

 

here’s Chopin’s Piano Sonata

no 3 in B minor, Op. 581844,

some sixty years later, the

epitome of the Romantic Era

 

Mozart is Classical, the foundation

of the shape and sound of music

in the West, think of Oriental music,

Chinese, for instance, opera, as an

alternative inspirational direction

 

he sets, along with Haydn, incidentally,

the parameters of Western music, I

call it its grammar, tempo, tonality,

and repetition, its hallmarks, its sine

qua non, as we say in Latin, its trinity

of imperatives, its without which there

would be no Western music as we

know it

 

Romanticism, after two revolutions,

the French and the American, comes

along to turn all of that into literature,

prompted by the spirit of democracy,

the first expressions of it since Caesar,

Ancient Rome, where earlier,

everywhere, kings had ruled, and by

extension, even more autocratically,

the Church, for monarchs had

received, morally, and consequently

politically, from it, their mandates

from God

 

one man, one vote, even theoretically,

upended that entire metaphysical

construct, therefore Romanticism

 

everyone had a voice, everyone had

a story, the birth of the individual,

and of, by extension, human rights,

for better or for worse, see above

 

therefore Chopin

 

listen, Chopin is the new Jesus,

prophet, but for a new age 

 

stay tuned

 

 

R ! chard

how to listen to music if you don’t know your Beethoven from your Bach, Vl

The Potato Eaters, 1885 - Vincent van Gogh

            The Potato Eaters” (1885)

 

                   Vincent van Gogh

 

                        ___________

                        

where do you start with Chopin, he is

in our Western cultural bloodstream,

as identifiable in music as, say, van

Gogh is in painting, you don’t need 

to be interested in any kind of art to

have not been given even only a

whiff of these iconic artists

 

nearly anything I might present here

of Chopin you’ve probably already

heard somewhere before, if only in

bits

 

of van Gogh, well, he goes back in

the public imagination to at least

Vincent1971, the song, no one

doesn’t know about him, when I

heard it playing in Amsterdam at

the museum, with the first piece I

saw, The Potato Eatersdominating

the first wall, insisting on van Gogh’s

vision, his prophecy, his profound

compassion, I cried, I understood

what art is, see above

 

Chopin exerts a different kind of,

however equally potent, magic

 

Mozart might sound like Haydn,

Beethoven might sound like

Schubert, all of the Impressionists

sound like all of the Impressionists,

be they Ravel, Debussy, Satie, or

Saint-Saëns, to the untrained ear

 

but no one sounds like Chopin,

he’s, culturally, a North Star

 

here’s one of his nocturnes, the

moonlit one, in E flat major  

 

here’s a polonaisehere’s an étude,  

in English, a study, a finger exercise,

an iconic, here, prestidigitation

                        

here’s an impromptu, his very,

indeed, Fantaisie-Impromptu, just

to get your categories going

 

consider its construction, having

some information already about

fantasias, a work of the imagination,

open to any experimentation within

the confines of one movement, with

an impromptu, something purported

to have been created on the spot,

also in one movement

                        

the answer requires you to sharpen

your aesthetic pencil, always a

delight – an impromptu, a

spontaneous invention, a fantaisie,

a work of the imagination, how do

they differ, which part is a fantaisie,

which an impromptu, how do they

nevertheless coalesce

 

this exercise is the first step in

listening

 

enjoy

 

 

R ! chard

how to listen to music if you don’t know your Beethoven from your Bach, V

Waltz, 1891 - Anders Zorn

           

       Waltz” (1891)

 

        Anders Zorn

 

           ________

 

having brought up the idea of

longevity in my last communication,

the fantasiaa musical form that

lasted about 150 years, with hats

off nevertheless to the later Disney

classic, Fantasiaa tribute, which,

full of Classical music references,

followed in its spiritual mode, and,

after introducing Chopin, perhaps

the very representation of the

Romantic Era, that we carry, or

intuit, in our very bones, I thought

I’d talk about the waltz, a Chopin

specialty, where he created,

incontrovertibly, utter magic

 

who hears of the waltz anymore, an

antiquated curiosity, though even in

our not so distant blood we feel the

reverberations of its memory, the

throb of its still vibrant cultural

intensity, relevance, rhythm

 

tangos, incidentally followed, and

other intimate interactions, which

had been earlier frowned upon

 

the waltz had been the minuet,

the difference was the physical

contact, young nobles left their

aristocratic salons, however

discreetly, to frequent the

more liberal, if disreputable,

establishments – like to

speakeasies during Prohibition

– where they could explore the

new, licentious venues, as

young nobles, ever, would, for

the lure of intimate connection

with the partner

 

the waltz was thereby born,

couples touched, breast upon

breast, composers followed

 

Chopin was metaphysical, you

didn’t dance to his waltzes, you

experienced them, here’s his

Minute Waltz, Opus 64, no 1,

here’s his equally delightful

Opus 64, no 2, its companion

 

but Strauss ll, Johann l‘s son,

got all of Vienna to dance his, 

and everywhere else after, until  

the waltz fell out of favour 

somewhere in the 1950s, leaving

only its memories behind,  here’s          

his incandescent By the Beautiful

Blue Danubemakes you wish

you’d been there

           

in the one case, the waltz is

idealized, in the other, it’s the

waltz in action, listen, you can

tell the difference, you won’t 

want to dance, for instance, to 

Chopinthough you might give

it an ineffectual try, to Strauss

you’ll careen

 

 

R ! chard

how to listen to music if you don’t know your Beethoven from your Bach, lV

Fantasy - Sergey Solomko

        Fantasy

 

               Sergey Solomko

 

                     ________

                     

trying to find a quick piece, nothing

ostentatious, like a symphony, or a

concerto, nor even a sonata, that

would get in the way of my point, 

the difference between, by way of 

the intermediary, and transformational,

Chopin, Mozart and Prokofiev, I found

the fantasia, the only musical form

that was carried forward, among them,

during the intervening years, a good

hundred and fifty, Mozart, 1756 – 1791,

Prokofiev, 1891 – 1953, Chopin, 1810 –

1849

 

what’s a fantasia, a musical form

consisting of one movement,

no breaks, but with, otherwise,

unlimited compositional liberties,

see above, only circumscribed by

the temper of the times

 

Western music has since its

Classical inception, and even

earlier, had a trinity of

commandments, that regulated,

even defined, what was meant

to be music, tempo, tonality,

and repetition, the history of

music in the West is the

chipping away at those

conventions

 

here’s Mozart, Fantasia in C

minor, K.475establishing the

form, but also the foundation,

the grammar, that aspirants

would follow in the footsteps

of so great a master, children

and grandchildren of their

erudite elder

 

Chopin followed, here’s his

Fantasy in F minor, Op.49,

in this instance, a historical

moment you won’t want to

miss, when Van Cliburn, an

enemy American at the time,

played it for Nikita Kruschev,

First Secretary of the Communist 

Party of the Soviet Union then, in

Moscow, and tempered thereby,

for an incandescent moment –

ticker-tape parades in New York

City ensued – the very Cold War

 

reliving it, I cried

 

the greatest difference between

Mozart and Chopin, I thought,

was volume, a consequence

of the development of the piano,

Mozart never gets as loud, also

tempo was much more expanded,

again a development of the piano,

neither was repetition with Chopin

so much in evidence, but shrouded,

less manifest

 

also Chopin wears his heart on

his sleeve, idiosyncratically

 

with Prokofiev, his Fantasia on

Themes from Scheherazade

tests tonality, gives us musical

conjunctions that are askew,

discordant, though completely

in syncopation with his own,

testy and unsettled, times

 

compare, consider, enjoy

 

 

R ! chard

how to listen to music if you don’t know your Beethoven from your Bach, lll

Flowering Garden in Spring, 1920 - Henri Martin

                        

            Flowering Garden in Spring” (1920)

 

                     Henri Martin

 

                          _______

                         

violin sonatas, apart from a few notable

exceptions, are accompanied by, usually,

a piano

 

the violin, as do a great many other

instruments, can only play one note

at a time, the piano can play as many

as you’ve got fingers, a harmonization

is a valued component of any musical

composition, therefore the piano

 

here’s a violin sonata of Mozart, here’s

a violin sonata of Prokofiev, you’ll

recognize Mozart, he’s the one you’ve

already got in your bones, the one we

grew up with, however ephemerally,

peripherally

 

Prokofiev is the other one

 

let me point out that Mozart is foursquare,

the music is straightforward, tonality and

pace, which is to say tempo, are never

eccentric, just delightful, while repetition,

another defining element of Classical

music, the recurrence of a theme, is

unmistakable, and often too often

reiterated, we get it, we want to

tell Mozart

 

Prokofiev is no longer any of those

things, but the underlying vocabulary

is the same, the rules set out by the

forefathers but extrapolated, turned

into unexpected, exotic flowers, just

as spring delivers its ever distinct,

and surprising, even astonishing,

blossoms every new year, see

above

 

we are so very blessed

 

 

R ! chard

“The Mariners transform’d to Dolphins” (ll) – Ovid

Bacchus - Sergey Solomko

                 Bacchus

 

             Sergey Solomko

 

                     ______

 

 

          “His base confederates the fact approve;

 

His base confederates, the shipmates who

would not protect the soft and lovely boy,

the little captive, that Acoetes believes to

be a god, if you’ll remember


          When Bacchus (for ’twas he) begun to move,

          Wak’d by the noise and clamours which they rais’d;

          And shook his drowsie limbs, and round him gaz’d:

          What means this noise? he cries; am I betray’d?

          Ah, whither, whither must I be convey’d?

 

whither, whither, where, where, to

what place, to what place


          Fear not, said Proreus, child, but tell us where
          You wish to land, and trust our friendly care.

 

Proreusanother of the several sailors

serving on Acoetes‘ ship


          To Naxos then direct your course, said he;

          Naxos a hospitable port shall be

          To each of you, a joyful home to me.

 

Naxosa Greek island, whither Bacchus /

Dionysus presently direct[s] his, however

questionable, hosts to repair


          By ev’ry God, that rules the sea or sky,

          The perjur’d villains promise to comply,

          And bid me hasten to unmoor the ship.

 

me, Acoetes


          With eager joy I launch into the deep;

          And, heedless of the fraud, for Naxos stand.

 

heedless, unaware

 

the fraud, [t]he perjur’d villains promise to comply

 

stand, proceed

 

          They whisper oft, and beckon with the hand,

          And give me signs, all anxious for their prey,

          To tack about, and steer another way.

 

They, the rebellious crew

 

anxious, wary,  suspicious

 

to tack, to change course


          Then let some other to my post succeed,

          Said I, I’m guiltless of so foul a deed.

 

succeed, take the place of, replace

 

guiltless, Acoetes will not accept

responsibility for the treachery of

his crew


          What, says Ethalion, must the ship’s whole crew

           Follow your humour, and depend on you?

 

Ethalion, again a shipmate


          And strait himself he seated at the prore,

          And tack’d about, and sought another shore.

 

prore, the prow, the fore part of a ship


          “The beauteous youth now found himself betray’d,

 

The beauteous youth, Bacchus / Dionysus


          And from the deck the rising waves survey’d,

          And seem’d to weep, and as he wept he said:

          And do you thus my easy faith beguile?

          Thus do you bear me to my native isle?

 

thus, in such a manner

 

beguile, deceive


          Will such a multitude of men employ

          Their strength against a weak defenceless boy?

 

this weak defenceless[ness] is his only

defence, apparently, to his captors, who

cannot, with the exception of Acoetes,

perceive the god’s divinity

 

          “In vain did I the God-like youth deplore,

 

deplore, express strong disapproval

of what the seamen were doing to

the god


          The more I begg’d, they thwarted me the more.

          And now by all the Gods in Heav’n that hear

          This solemn oath, by Bacchus’ self, I swear,

          The mighty miracle that did ensue,

          Although it seems beyond belief, is true.

 

make way,  says Acoetes, for the

metamorphosis, what you are

about to hear


          The vessel, fix’d and rooted in the flood,

 

fix’d, became affixed


          Unmov’d by all the beating billows stood.

          In vain the mariners would plow the main

          With sails unfurl’d, and strike their oars in vain;

 

plow the main, move forward on

the high seas


          Around their oars a twining ivy cleaves,

          And climbs the mast, and hides the cords in leaves:

          The sails are cover’d with a chearful green,

          And berries in the fruitful canvass seen.

          Amidst the waves a sudden forest rears

          Its verdant head, and a new Spring appears.

 

the ship is transformed into a

floating grove

 

stay tuned

 

 

R ! chard

“The Story of Pentheus” – Ovid

The Triumphal Procession of Bacchus, c.1536 - Maerten van Heemskerck

         The Triumphal Procession of Bacchus” (c.1536)

 

                   Maerten van Heemskerck

 

                             _______________

 

 

till now the separate stories in Ovid’s

Metamorphoses have been linked,

one being either a consequence of

the other,or its cause, but the story

of Pentheus, grandson of Cadmus,

king and founder of Thebes, who

earlier in this series had his own

tale told, starts, as my German

teacher used to say, from the

scratch

 

This sad event, therefore, in the

first line of the poem, refers to

what will follow, not what came

before

 

            This sad event gave blind Tiresias fame,

            Through Greece establish’d in a prophet’s name.

 

Tiresias, if you’ll remember, had been

blinded by Juno / Hera, goddess of the

gods, for having sided with Jove / Jupiter

/ Zeus, her husband, in a wager between

them he’d been called upon to decide,

Jove / Jupiter / Zeus, however, gave 

Tiresias, as consolation, having been

barred by a pact among the gods not

to undo each other’s spells, the gift

of insight, prophecy

 

the example that follows, of his divination,

establish[‘d] at that time his reputation

[t]hrough[out] Greece as a prophet


            Th’ unhallow’d Pentheus only durst deride

            The cheated people, and their eyeless guide.

 

unhallow’d, unholy, wicked, sinful

 

Pentheus, king of Thebes following

his grandfather, Cadmus, but that’s

an entirely other story

 

only, of all the people, none but

Pentheus durst, dared, deride,

mock, their eyeless guide, Tiresias

            To whom the prophet in his fury said,

            Shaking the hoary honours of his head:

 

hoary, grizzled, gray, aged


            “‘Twere well, presumptuous man, ’twere well forthee

            If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me:

            For the time comes, nay, ’tis already here,

            When the young God’s solemnities appear:

 

the young God[], Bacchus / Dionysus,

son of Semele and Jove / Jupiter / Zeus,

if you’ll remember, god of revelry,

intoxication, wild abandon

 

            Which, if thou dost not with just rites adorn,

            Thy impious carcass, into pieces torn,

            Shall strew the woods, and hang on ev’ry thorn.

 

impious carcass, dishonoured corpse, 

of any thou who wouldn’t’ve honoured

the celebrations

 

            Then, then, remember what I now foretel,

            And own the blind Tiresias saw too well.”

 

own, agree to, admit

            Still Pentheus scorns him, and derides his skill;

            But time did all the prophet’s threats fulfil.

            For now through prostrate Greece young Bacchus rode,

 

prostrate, beholden, reverent, observant

of the solemnities


            Whilst howling matrons celebrate the God:

            All ranks and sexes to his Orgies ran,

            To mingle in the pomps, and fill the train.

 

the rites of Bacchus were bacchanals,

orgies, celebrations of abandon, Mardi

Gras, for instance, in New Orleans,

annual Gay Parades, now everywhere,

or Hallowe’en since time immemorial

 

see above

 

 

            When Pentheus thus his wicked rage express’d:

            “What madness, Thebans, has your souls possess’d?

            Can hollow timbrels, can a drunken shout,

 

timbrels, tambourines


            And the lewd clamours of a beastly rout,

            Thus quell your courage;

 

quell your courage, overcome your

sense of discipline

 

                                            can the weak alarm

            Of women’s yells those stubborn souls disarm,

 

those stubborn souls, the Theban

spirit of pride and honour


            Whom nor the sword nor trumpet e’er could fright,

            Nor the loud din and horror of a fight?

            And you, our sires, who left your old abodes,

 

our sires, the older generation of

Thebans, of his grandfather

Cadmus‘ ilk


            And fix’d in foreign earth your country Gods;

 

foreign earth, very Thebes, from Tyre,

where Cadmus and his followers had

come from, in search of Europa, if

you’ll remember


            Will you without a stroak your city yield,

 

stroak, stroke

 

            And poorly quit an undisputed field?

 

undisputed field, there are no

military obstructions


            But you, whose youth and vigour should inspire

            Heroick warmth, and kindle martial fire,

            Whom burnish’d arms and crested helmets grace,

            Not flow’ry garlands and a painted face;

           

Remember him to whom you stand ally’d:

 

him, Pentheus himself, their king


            The serpent for his well of waters dy’d.

 

The serpenta reference here to the

dragon that Cadmus slew, which had

guarded the cavern where his crew

had been scouting for water, if you’ll

remember

 

            He fought the strong; do you his courage show,

            And gain a conquest o’er a feeble foe.

 

a feeble foe, licentiousness, abandon,

undisciplined revelry

 

            If Thebes must fall, oh might the fates afford

            A nobler doom from famine, fire, or sword.

 

Pentheus appeals to a loftier reason

for defeat, famine, fire, or sword, than

mere, and ignoble, debauchery


            Then might the Thebans perish with renown:

            But now a beardless victor sacks the town;

 

beardless victor, the young Bacchus /

Dionysus


            Whom nor the prancing steed, nor pond’rous shield,

            Nor the hack’d helmet, nor the dusty field,

            But the soft joys of luxury and ease,

            The purple vests, and flow’ry garlands please.

 

Bacchus / Dionysus is not impressed

by armour, military accomplishments,

prowess, but by grace, elegance, and

poetry


            Stand then aside, I’ll make the counterfeit

            Renounce his god-head, and confess the cheat.

 

the counterfeit, Bacchus / Dionysus


            Acrisius from the Grecian walls repell’d

            This boasted pow’r; why then should Pentheus yield?

 

Acrisius, a king of Argos, who must’ve

also repell’d from his city Bacchus /

Dionysus, according to the poem


            Go quickly drag th’ impostor boy to me;

 

th’ impostor boy, the counterfeit,

Bachus / Dionysus


            I’ll try the force of his divinity.”

 

try, test


            Thus did th’ audacious wretch those rites profane;

 

th’ audacious wretch, Pentheus


            His friends dissuade th’ audacious wretch in vain:

            In vain his grandsire urg’d him to give o’er

            His impious threats; the wretch but raves the more.

 

his grandsire, Cadmus

            So have I seen a river gently glide,

            In a smooth course, and inoffensive tide;

            But if with dams its current we restrain,

            It bears down all, and foams along the plain.

 

nature will have its way, so will the

gods, watch out, the narrator says,

who it is that you challenge

            But now his servants came besmear’d with blood,

            Sent by their haughty prince to seize the God;

 

his servants, Pentheus‘ men

 

the God, Bacchus / Dionysus


            The God they found not in the frantick throng,

            But dragg’d a zealous votary along.

 

votary, follower, adherent,

acolyte

 

the servants, Pentheus‘ men,

who did not, apparently, deliver

 

stay tuned

 

 

R ! chard

“The Story of Narcissus” (lll) – Ovid

The Metamorphosis of Narcissus, 1937 - Salvador Dali

 

         The Metamorphosis of Narcissus” (1937)

 

                   Salvador Dali

 

                            _____

 

 

              This said, the weeping youth again return’d

              To the clear fountain, 

 

This said, you’ll remember that Narcissus

had pondered suicide, but was afraid that

such an act would also have an impact on

his reflection

 

                                          where again he burn’d;

 

burn’d, from the unusual fire that kindled
his breast
 

 

                His tears defac’d the surface of the well,

                With circle after circle, as they fell:

 

disfiguring reverberations in the water

from the tears

 

               And now the lovely face but half appears,
               O’er-run with wrinkles, and deform’d with tears.
               “Ah whither,” cries Narcissus, “dost thou fly?
               Let me still feed the flame by which I die;

 

the flame by which I die, the fire which

burns in his chest


              Let me still see, tho’ I’m no further blest.”

 

Narcissus will not willingly forego the

sight of his reflection though it will

manifestly not at all still his desire,

nor quell his fate

 

              Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast:
              His naked bosom redden’d with the blow,
              In such a blush as purple clusters show,
              Ere yet the sun’s autumnal heats refine
              Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.

 

bruises the colour of wine blush in

purple clusters on his chest where

Narcissus has struck himself

repeatedly


              The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,
              And with a new redoubled passion dies.

 

The glowing beauties, the throbbing

discolorations left by the redoubled

blows

 

              As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run,
              And trickle into drops before the sun;
              So melts the youth, and languishes away,
              His beauty withers, and his limbs decay;
              And none of those attractive charms remain,
              To which the slighted Echo su’d in vain.

 

slighted, rebuffed

 

Echo, the nymph who’d pursued him,

in vain, if you’ll remember

 

su’d, sued, implored


              She saw him in his present misery,
              Whom, spight of all her wrongs, she griev’d to see.

 

spight, in spite


              She answer’d sadly to the lover’s moan,
              Sigh’d back his sighs, and groan’d to ev’ry groan:
              “Ah youth! belov’d in vain,” Narcissus cries;

 

to his reflection


              “Ah youth! belov’d in vain,” the nymph replies.

 

Echo can only echo


              “Farewel,” says he; the parting sound scarce fell
              From his faint lips, but she reply’d, “farewel.”

 

Narcissus, interestingly, is reproduced

not only visually in the water by his

own reflection, but audibly as well by

Echo‘s reverberating sounds

 

see above

              Then on th’ wholsome earth he gasping lyes,
              ‘Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.
              To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,
              And in the Stygian waves it self admires.

 

Stygian, of the river Styx, which forms

the boundary between Earth and the

Underworld

              For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,

 

Naiads, water nymphs

 

Dryadstree nymphs


              Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn;

 

Echo also mourns


              And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn:
              When, looking for his corps, they only found
              A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crown’d.

 

corps, corpse, dead body

 

rising stalk, with yellow blossoms

crown’d, the narcissus, the flower

 

 

R ! chard

Ovid / Shakespeare

Ophelia, 1851 - 1852 - John Everett Millais

               Ophelia(1851 – 1852)

 

                   John Everett Millais

 

                              _________

 

 

for a while now, I’ve been feeling the

spirit of Ovid in many of the works of

William Shakespeare, a recent, in

some depth, project of mine, the

nearly pagan perspective in many

of his works, a lust for life, for

instance, that is not at all that of his

contemporary Protestantism, not

to mention an obvious Catholic, and

therefore potentially treacherous, at

the time, prominent bent of his

 

but that’s another story

 

many of his plays set scenes in places

right out of Roman mythology, with a

morality to match,and even character

names, Hippolyta, Hero, Polonius,

Titania, Oberon, Greek and Latin

patronyms redolent of Classical

Antiquity

 

here’s Ovid, for instance, from The

Story of Narcissus

 

           There stands a fountain in a darksom wood,

           Nor stain’d with falling leaves nor rising mud;

           Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,

           Unsully’d by the touch of men or beasts;

           High bow’rs of shady trees above it grow,

           And rising grass and chearful greens below.

 

here’s Shakespeare, from his Hamlet,

Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, gives

the news of Ophelia’s death, in a

particularly Ovidian, I think, manner

 

           There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
           That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
           There with fantastic garlands did she come
           Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
           That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
           But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them:
           There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
           Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
           When down her weedy trophies and herself
           Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
           And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
           Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
           As one incapable of her own distress,
           Or like a creature native and indued
           Unto that element: but long it could not be
           Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
           Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
           To muddy death.

 

see above

 

 

there is the influence of Dryden to

consider, it must be noted, Ovid‘s

translator into Englishbut the

similarity in the spirit of the text is

so great, the characteristic voice

so evident, regardless of elapsed

time, the intervening fifteen hundred

years, 8 CE for Ovid, to somewhere

around 1600 CE for Shakespeare,

for the congruence to be coincidental,

Shakespeare had to have been reading 

his Ovid, imbibing it, what, do you think

 

then again, as Shakespeare would

have said, There are more things in

heaven and earth, Horatio, / Than

are dreamt of in your philosophy

 

 

R ! chard