Prometheus

Prometheus was one of the sons of Uranus (sky) and Gaia (earth). He took pity on the children of men because they lived in darkness, dwelling for the most part in mountainside caves. Prometheus stole the fire of the gods and gave it to humanity. His gift brought light to their lives and ushered in an age of human innovation. Fire gave man the ability to read, but it also gave him the means to forge weapons. These developments were not pleasing to the gods. In retribution, Zeus had Prometheus chained to a stony crag on Caucasus. Every day, an eagle would come to Prometheus and feast on his liver. Since Prometheus was immortal, this punishment was eternal. (Eventually Hercules took pity on Prometheus and came to his rescue...but that's another story.)

Sure we pray for peace
as if taking the easy way
was ever in our nature.
Gaia's a tough old broad
with a mean right jab
but didn't she have a time
deposing Chaos.

Sure we pray for peace--
while underneath we're Titans
slugging it out in the mud.
The gods smelled trouble
the day the fire went out,
and Prometheus still stinks
in our mirrors.

The Battle Between Carnival and Lent

Thomas Mann in his "Joseph and His Brothers" visualizes this scene almost as well as Brughel. I've always loved this painting, and Mann's words somehow give it a new perspective.

"For it is, always is, though the common phrase may be : It was. That is how myth speaks, for it is merely the garment of the mystery. But mystery's festal garment is the feast itself, the ever-recurring feast that spans all of time's tenses, making both past and future present in the mind of the people. Is it any wonder that on those feast days human beings were all in a ferment and custom accepted degenerate, lewd behavior, for it is then that death and life know one another? Feast of Storytelling, you are the festal garment of life's evoking the myth to be played out in the very present. Feast of Death, descent into hell---you are truly a feast, the reveling of the flesh's soul, which not for nothing clings to the past, to the grave and the 'It was' of piety. But may the spirit be with you as well, and enter into you, so that you may be blessed with blessings of heaven above and blessings of the deep that lies below."

Aside from the painting, Mann's writing in Joseph, the Descent into Hell, causes me to question a concept I've always felt I understood: Soul, Flesh, Spirit. In particular, what is the difference between Soul and Spirit? Clearly, Flesh is set apart. But what of Soul and Spirit? Two names for the same idea? or is Soul only the innermost being and Spirit the anima...the life-giving force that gives breath and unity to the whole?

Joseph Campbell Creative Mythology

One hundred posts is too long and clunky...so how about we continue the Campbell discussion here?

The writer and his work

Three beautiful passages in Nabokov's "The Gift," and I wonder about the truth behind them. The book is about a young poet, Fyodor, who has just published his first book. Here he is engaged in a battle between wakefulness and sleep...or perhaps the battle is between the poem and the self.

"On the table he saw the glistening keys and the white book. That's already all over, he thought. Such a short time ago he had been giving copies to friends with pretentious or platitudinous inscriptions and now he was ashamed to recall those dedications and how all these last few days he had been nurtured by the joy of his book. But after all, nothing much had happened: today's deceptions did not exclude a reward tomorrow or after tomorrow; somehow, however the dream had begun to cloy and now the book lay on the table, completely enclosed within itself, delimited and concluded, and no longer did it radiate those former powerful, glad rays."

(On his new work)
"Fyodor ventured imprudently to repeat to himself the unfinished poem---simply to enjoy it once more before the separation by sleep; but he was weak, and it was strong, twitching with avid life, so that in a moment it had conquered him..."

(Much later...)
"For a long time he could not fall asleep: discarded word-shells obstructed and chafed his brain and prickled his temples and there was no way he could get rid of them...."

Is this true of a writing life? Is there a point where the work takes over the creator? becomes the creator? Does a poem have a life apart from its creator? Can the creator survive without the poem?

Suppose there is a vast universe out there awash with words. The words exist as stars, whether we discover them or no.

Exiles of the New York Times

I set up this blog to make it possible to discuss books after the NYT forums closed, but another forums poster has set up a site called Exiles of the New York Times which is wonderful and extremely easy to post on. Of course, if anyone wants to post here, I'm up for that, too.

I've gotten hooked on Nabokov as a result of this month's discussion over at the NYT. I'm currently reading "The Defense," "The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov" and "Strong Opinions." I hope to read as much of Nabokov's stuff as I can get my hands on. I love Nabokov's awareness and skill at observing every aspect of his surroundings, his sense of humor and the puzzling games he plays with reality.

Also reading "Lover of Unreason," by Yehuda Koren and Eilat Negev; a biography of Assia Wevill. Hopefully next month's NYT selection. Very interesting perspective on life in Israel for the European emigres. Really like this image: "...the social ethos of the pioneers was one of ascetism and austerity, khaki shorts and sandals, and of denouncing the bourgeoisie with their tailored suits and bow ties." Tough times for little Assia, even moreso for her Gentile mother.

Started Joseph Campbell's "Masks of God" and alongside it, "The History of the Ancient World" by Susan Wise Bauer. Don't know if you read this blog, Johnr, but couple of things you might find interesting. First, Bauer describes the Sumerian King's List which tells of the Sumerian kingship as having "descended from heaven " and records the first king Alulim as reigning for 28,000 years. His heir (not his son) reined for 36,000. Also tells of the appearance of Sargon, who according to his own telling, appeared from across the water....ala the Danish King Sheaf (and his son Shield Sheafson) as related in Beowulf.

Pale Fire

Anyone interested in the book Pale Fire...or Nabokov in general? My earlier post was not set up to allow comments.

Beowulf (and Ancient Literature)

(Continuation of discussion from NYT Fiction Forum)

We have been discussing the Heaney translation of Beowulf. So far, we have discussed kennings and wordhoards, sources of Beowulf, mythology of various cultures as related to Beowulf, John Grigsby's book, "Beowulf & Grendel" and his theory that Beowulf is a story of one religion being usurped by another, the impact of the Christian religion on Beowulf. Very briefly touched upon Sutton Hoo, Edda, and the role of women in Beowulf.

(McGrail have I missed anything?)

Anything related to Beowulf or the Ancients is fair game.