Записи пользователя: Lika_k (список заголовков)
10:01 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Как доказать моему защитнику, что инстинкты убийцы я знаю не по К.-Г. Юнгу, ревность не по Марселю Прусту, Испанию не по Хемингуэю, Париж не по Эрнсту Юнгеру, Швейцарию не по Марку Твену, Мексику не по Грэму Грину, страх смерти не по Бернаносу, блуждание в пустоте не по Кафке и все остальное не по Томасу Манну; как, черт возьми, ему это доказать? Нет надобности даже самому читать этих писателей. Они, так сказать, просачиваются в сознание через наших знакомых, которые, в свою очередь, живут одними плагиатами. Что за время! Допустим, я видел меч-рыбу, влюбился в мулатку, - с тем же успехом это могло произойти на утреннике культур-фильмов. А мысли... - о, боже! - в наше время редко встретишь даже человека, избравшего для себя определенный тип плагиата. Ведь это уже свидетельствовало бы о наличии индивидуальности, если, скажем, человек видит мир по Хайдеггеру, и только по Хайдеггеру, тогда как мы, остальные, купаемся в коктейле, содержащем всего понемножку, в благороднейшей смеси, сбитой не кем-нибудь, а самим Элиотом, мы всезнайки, чего только не нахватавшиеся, и даже рассказы о видимом мире, как я уже говорил, ровно ничего не значат. В наше время нет больше terra incognita (кроме России). К чему же все эти россказни! Они не доказывают, что кто-то что-то видел воочию. Мой защитник прав. И все же!..

Макс Фриш, “Штиллер" (1954)

@темы: ф, swiss, literature, frisch, max, art, 20

10:00 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Снова знакомое чувство: я должен летать, стою на карнизе (горящего дома?), спасенья нет, разве что внезапное уменье летать. И при этом знаю: броситься вниз, на улицу, - бесполезно; самоубийство - иллюзия. А это значит: надо лететь, в уверенности, что именно пустота держит меня. Следовательно, полет без крыльев, прыжок в никуда, в непрожитую жизнь, в упущенное, в пустоту - в единственно принадлежащую мне правду...

Макс Фриш, “Штиллер" (1954)

@темы: ф, swiss, frisch, max, 20

12:03 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Когда Босси, вождь расистского движения Лига Севера, впервые приехал в Рим, чтобы произнести речь, люди в городе потрясали плакатами с надписью: «Когда вы еще сидели на деревьях, мы уже вовсю болтали».

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, к (rus), italian, history, francaise, eco, umberto, carriere, jean-claude, :))), 21, 20

12:01 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
И среди этих знаменитых анонимов фигурирует, быть может, самый великий, некий Джулио Сер Джакоми: он издал книгу в 1500 страниц — свою переписку с Эйнштейном и Пием XII, книгу, в которой содержатся только письма, написанные автором тому и другому, потому что, по всей видимости, ни тот ни другой ни разу ему не ответили.

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, к (rus), italian, francaise, eco, umberto, carriere, jean-claude, :))), 21

12:00 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
В 1779 году некий месье Шассеньон написал четырехтомник, озаглавленный «Нарывы воображения, разлитие графомании, литературная рвота, энциклопедическая геморрагия, парад уродов» ["Cataractes de l'imagination, déluge de la scribomanie, vomissement littéraire, hémorragie encyclopédique, monstre des monstres"], — предоставляю вам самим вообразить его содержание (например, там есть похвала похвале и размышления о лакричном корне)."

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, к (rus), italian, francaise, eco, umberto, carriere, jean-claude, :))), 21, 18

11:54 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Когда-то я написал, что неверно считать, будто религия — опиум для народа, как писал Маркс. Опиум нейтрализует, успокаивает, усыпляет. Нет, религия — это кокаин для народа. Она будоражит толпу. Ж.-К. К.: Скажем, смесь опиума и кокаина. Действительно, мусульманский фундаментализм сегодня, похоже, поднимает факел воинствующего атеизма, и в ретроспективе мы можем рассматривать марксизм и нацизм как две странные языческие религии. Но какие кровавые!..

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, м, к (rus), religion, marx, karl, italian, francaise, eco, umberto, deutsche, citatus, carriere, jean-claude, 21, 20, 19

11:44 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Во всяком случае, мы подошли к той точке нашей истории, когда мы можем перепоручить умным машинам — умным с нашей точки зрения — обязанность запоминать вместо нас хорошее и плохое. В интервью, которое Мишель Серр дал журналу «Монд де л'эдюкасьон», он сказал по этому поводу, что поскольку нам больше не требуется прилагать усилий для запоминания, то теперь «нам остается лишь разум».

напомнить о различии во французском языке между знанием (savoir) и познанием (connaissance). Знание — это то, чем мы загружены и что не всегда находит себе применение. Познание — это превращение знания в жизненный опыт. Таким образом, вероятно, мы можем доверить обязанность этого беспрестанно обновляемого знания машинам и сосредоточиться на познании. Наверное, именно в этом смысле надо понимать фразу Мишеля Ceppa. В самом деле, нам остается лишь разум (какое облегчение!). Нужно добавить, что если какая-нибудь глобальная экологическая катастрофа уничтожит человеческий род и если по случайности или просто со временем мы исчезнем, то вопросы памяти, которыми мы задаемся и которые мы обсуждаем, сделаются тщетными, бессмысленными. Мне вспоминается последняя фраза из «Мифологик» Леви-Стросса: «То есть ничто». «Ничто» — последнее слово. Наше последнее слово.

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, с (rus), к (rus), carriere, jean-claude, citatus, memoria, л, technology, italian, francaise, 21, eco, umberto, 20, philosophy, levi-strauss, claude

11:40 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
процитирую баварского комика Карла Валентина. Он сказал: «Раньше и будущее было лучше». Кроме того, мы обязаны ему и другим весьма здравым замечанием: «Все уже было сказано раньше, но не всеми».

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, к (rus), в, italian, francaise, eco, umberto, deutsche, citatus, carriere, jean-claude, 21, 20

11:35 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Переводы пьес Шекспира, сделанные в XVIII веке аббатом Делилем, все имеют счастливый финал, вполне пристойный и высоконравственный, как ваши «Отверженные» из серии «La Scala d'Oro». К примеру, Гамлет там не умирает. Французская публика— если не считать Вольтера, который перевел (кстати, весьма неплохо) несколько отрывков, — могла познакомиться с Шекспиром только в этой подслащенной версии. Автор, которого называли варварским и кровавым, превратился в сплошной сироп и елей. Знаете, как Вольтер перевел «То be or not to be, that is the question»? «Arrête, il faut choisir et passer à l'instant / De la vie à la mort ou de l'être au néant». В сущности, неплохо. Возможно, название «Бытие и ничто» Сартр позаимствовал из этого перевода Вольтера.

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, с (rus), к (rus), в, ассоциативная гиперактивность, voltaire, translations, shakespeare, sartre, jean-paul, italian, francaise, eco, umberto, dramaturgy, carriere, jean-claude, 21, 18, 16

11:06 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Нет ничего недолговечнее, чем долговременные носители информации.

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, к (rus), italian, francaise, eco, umberto, culture, carriere, jean-claude, 21

11:01 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Когда цивилизация изобретает колесо, она обречена воспроизводить его ad nauseam. (с) Жан-Филипп де Тоннах

Умберто Эко & Жан-Клод Карьер, “Не надейтесь избавиться от книг!” (2009)

@темы: э, т, к (rus), tonnac, jean-philippe de, italian, francaise, eco, umberto, culture, carriere, jean-claude, 21

23:27 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
As I followed Hans’s zigzag and switchback course all over the steep city, it occurred to me that hangovers are not always harmful. If they fall short of the double-vision which turns Salisbury Cathedral into Cologne, they invest scenery with a lustre which is unknown to total abstainers. Once we were under the lancets of St. Vitus’s Cathedral, a second conviction began to form. Prague was the recapitulation and the summing-up of all I had gazed at since stepping ashore in Holland, and more; for that slender nave and the airy clerestory owed spiritual allegiance far beyond the Teutonic heartland, and the Slav world. They might have sprung up in France under the early Valois or in Plantagenet England.

The last of the congregation were emerging to a fickle momentary sunlight. Indoors the aftermath of incense, as one might say with a lisp, still floated among the clustered piers. Ensconced in their distant stalls, an antiphonal rearguard of canons was intoning Nones. Under the diapered soffits and sanctuary lamps of a chantry, a casket like a brocaded ark of the covenant enclosed the remains of a saint. Floating wicks and rows of candles lit up his effigy overhead: they revealed a mild mediaeval sovereign holding a spear in his hand and leaning on his shield. It was Good King Wenceslas, no less. The confrontation was like a meeting with Jack the Giant Killer or Old King Cole... English carolsingers, Hans told me as we knelt in a convenient pew, had promoted him in rank. The sainted Czech prince—ancestor of a long line of Bohemian kings, however—was murdered in 934. And there he lay, hallowed by his countrymen for the last thousand years.

читать дальше

Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: travel, history, fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, 20

22:41 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Prompted by my recent preoccupations, perhaps, the conversation veered to Charles V’s grandfather, the first Maximilian: The Last of the Knights, as he was called, half-landsknecht, and, until you looked more carefully at Dürer’s drawing, half playing-card monarch. Someone was describing how he used to escape from the business of the Empire now and then by retiring to a remote castle in the Tyrolese or Styrian forests. Scorning muskets and crossbows and armed only with a long spear, he would set out for days after stag and wild boar. It was during one of these holidays that he composed a four-line poem, and inscribed it with chalk, or in lampblack, on the walls of the castle cellar. It was still there, the speaker said. Who told us all this? Einer? One of the Austrian couple who were with us? Probably not Robin or Lee or Basset...I’ve forgotten, just as I’ve forgotten the place we were coming from and the name of the castle. Whoever it was, I must have asked him to write it out, for here it is, transcribed inside the cover of a diary I began a fortnight later—frayed and battered now - with the old Austrian spelling painstalingly intact. There was something talismanic about these lines, I thought.

Leb, waiss nit wie lang,
Und stürb,
waiss nit wann
Muess fahren, waiss nit wohin
Mich wundert, das ich so frelich bin. (+)

They have a more hopeful drift than the comparable five lines by an earlier Caesar, especially the last line. I preferred Maximilian’s end to Hadrian’s desolating Nec ut soles dabis jocos. Forty-three translations of Hadrian's "Animula

Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: poetry, fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, deutsche-oesterreichisch, deutsche, citatus, antiquity, ancient rome, 16, 1

21:51 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
There is a strange and perplexing coda to all this. Four knights of Richard’s father had murdered St. Thomas à Becket two decades earlier. One was Hugo de Morville, and when the crowd from the nave had tried to come to the rescue, he had kept them at bay with his sword while Tracy, Brito and Fitzurse struck down the Archbishop in the N.W. Transept. We know the sequel; the flight to Saltwood, to Scotland, then the outcast solitude of the four murderers in Morville’s Yorkshire castle; penance, rehabilitation, possibly pilgrimage to the Holy Land. According to a tradition, Morville died there in 1202 or 1204 and was buried in the porch (now indoors) of the Templar’s Hostel at Jerusalem, which became the Mosque of El Aksa. But the poet Ulrich von Zatzikhoven says that when Leopold transferred the King to the Emperor’s custody in 1193, Richard’s place was taken by a hostage. This was a knight called Hugo de Morville, who lent the poet a volume containing the Legend of Lancelot in Anglo-Norman verse, from which he translated the famous Lanzelet, who thus followed Sir Percival and Tristan and Yseult into German mythology. Some authorities think the the two Morvilles are the same. I hope they are right.

Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: tristan und isolde, nibelungen, middle centuries, literature, history, fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, 20

21:48 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
The footpath along the southern bank was leading me into the heart of the Wachau, a region of the Danube as famous as those stretches of the Rhine I had travelled at Christmas or the Loire in Touraine. Melk was the threshold of this unspeakably beautiful valley. As we have seen by now, castles beyond counting had been looming along the river. They were perched on dizzier spurs here, more dramatic in decay and more mysteriously cobwebbed with fable. The towered headlands dropped sheer, the liquid arcs flowed round them in semicircles. From ruins further from the shore the land sloped more gently, and vineyards and orchards descended in layers to the tree-reflecting banks. The river streamed past wooded islands and when I gazed either way, the seeming water-staircase climbed into the distance. Its associations with the Nibelungenlied are close, but a later mythology haunts it. If any landscape is the meeting place of chivalrous romance and fairy tales, it is this. The stream winds into distances where Camelot or Avalon might lie, the woods suggest mythical fauna, the songs of Minnesingers and the sound of horns just out of earshot.

I sat under a birch tree to sketch Schloss Schoenbuehel gleaming as though it were carved ivory, it sprang out of a pivot of rock which the river almost surrounded and ended in a single and immensely tall white tower crowned with a red onion cupola. “It’s the castle of the Counts Seilern,” a passing postman said. Smoke curled from a slim chimney: luncheon must have been on the way. I imagined the counts seated expectantly down a long table, hungry but polite, with their hands neatly crossed between their knives and forks.


Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: mythology, middle centuries, folklore and legends, fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, deutsche-oesterreichisch, deutsche, 20, nibelungen

16:15 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Ceremonious and jocund, Melk is high noon. Meridian glory surrounded us as a clock in the town struck twelve. The midday light showered on the woods and a yellow loop of the Danube and a water-meadow full of skaters, all foreshortened as they wheeled and skimmed beneath the flashing line of windows. We were standing at the centre of a wide floor and peering—under a last ceiling-episode of pillars and flung cloud where the figures rotated beneath a still loftier dayspring of revelation—at a scene like a ballroom gallop getting out of hand. Draperies whirled spiralling up biblical shanks and resilient pink insteps trod the sky. We might have been gazing up through a glass dance-floor and my companion, touching me on the elbow, led me away a couple of paces and the scene reeled for a second with the insecurity of Jericho, as trompe l’oeil ceilings will when a shift of focus inflicts the beholder with a fleeting spasm of vertigo. He laughed, and said: “On se sent un peu gris, vous ne trouvez pas?”

A bit tipsy... It was quite true. We had been talking about the rococo interplay of spiritual and temporal, and for a few instants
at these last words, my companion was transformed as well: habit, scapular, cowl and tonsure had all vanished and a powdered queue uncoiled down his brocaded back from a bow of watered silk. He was a Mozartian courtier. His light-hearted voice continued its discourse as he stood with his left hand poised on his sword knot. With explanatory sweeps of a clouded cane in his right, he unravelled the stratagems of the ceiling-painter; and when, to balance the backward tilt of his torso, he advanced a leg in a Piranesi stance, I could all but hear a red heel tap on the chessboard floor.

Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, deutsche-oesterreichisch, baroque, art, architecture, 20

16:10 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
In this high baroque style, halted at a point on the frontier of rococo where the extravagant magic of later decades is all implicit, how easily the same aesthetic mood glides from church to palace, from palace to ballroom, from ballroom to monastery and back into church again! Paradox reconciles all contradictions. Clouds drift, cherubim are on the wing, and swarms of putti, baptised in flight from the Greek Anthology, break loose over the tombs. They try on mitres and cardinals’ hats and stumble under the weight of curtains and crosiers while stone Apostles and Doctors of the Church, who are really encyclopaedists in fancy dress, gaze down indulgently. Female saints display the instruments of their martyrdom as light-heartedly as dice-boxes and fans. They are sovereigns’ favourites, landgravines dressed as naiads; and the androgynous saint-impersonating courtiers who ogle the ornate ceilings so meltingly from their plinths might all be acting in a charade. Sacred and profane change clothes and penitents turn into dominoes with the ambiguity of a masqued ball. In the half-century following Melk, rococo flowers into miraculously imaginative and convincing stage scenery. A brilliant array of skills, which touches everything from the pillars of the colonnade to the twirl of a latch, links the most brittle and transient-seeming details to the most magnificent and enduring spoils of the forests and quarries. A versatile genius sends volley after volley of fantastic afterthoughts through the the great Vitruvian and Palladian structures. Concave and convex uncoil and pursue each other across the pilasters in ferny arabesques, liquid notions ripple, waterfalls running silver and blue drop to lintels and hang frozen there in curtains of artificial icicles. Ideas go feathering up in mock fountains and float away through the colonnades in processions of cumulus and cirrus. Light is distributed operatically and skies open in a new change of gravity that has lifted wingless saints and evangelists on journeys of aspiration towards three-dimensional sunbursts and left them levitated there, floating among cornices and spandrels and acanthus leaves and architectural ribands crinkled still with pleats from lying long folded in bandboxes. Scripture pastorals are painted on the walls of the stately interiors. Temples and cylindrical shrines invade the landscape of the Bible. Chinese pagodas, African palms, Nile pyramids and then a Mexican volcano and the conifers and wigwams of Red Indians spring up in Arcady. Walls of mirror reflect these scenes. They bristle with sconces, sinuous gold and silver boundaries of twining branches and the heaped-up symbols of harvest and hunting and warfare mask the joins and the great sheets of glass answer each other across wide floors and reciprocate their reflections to infinity. The faded quicksilver, diffusing a submarine dusk, momentarily touches the invention and the delight of this lookingglass world with a hint of unplanned sadness.

But one is always looking up where those buoyant scenes in grisaille or pastel or polychrome, unfolding elliptically in asymmetric but balancing girdles of snowy cornice, enclose room after room with their resplendent lids. Scriptural throngs tread the air among the banks of vapour and the toppling perspectives of the balustrades. Allegories of the seasons and chinoiserie eclogues are on the move. Aurora chases the Queen of the Night across the sky and Watteau-esque trios, tuning their lutes and their violins, drift by on clouds among ruins and obelisks and loosened sheaves. A sun declining on a lagoon in Venice touches the rims of those clouds and veils the singing faces and the plucked strings in a tenuous melancholy; irony and pity float in the atmosphere and across the spectator’s mind, for there is little time left and a closing note sounds in all these rococo festivals.

Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, deutsche-oesterreichisch, art, architecture, 20

15:55 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Strictly speaking, the Bohemian Forest had come to an end some way upstream. The old Kingdom of Bohemia, which had belonged to the Empire for the last three centuries, vanished when it became part of Czechoslovakia in 1919. It had always been landlocked by surrounding states. How could the famous stage-direction—“The Coast of Bohemia”—have ever slipped from Shakespeare’s pen? When he introduced it in The Winter’s Tale, Bohemia wasn’t a half-mythical country, like ‘Illyria’ in Twelfth Night. Its whereabouts and its character were as well known as Navarre in Love’s Labour’s Lost, or Scotland in Macbeth. In fact, as an important Protestant stronghold, it was particularly famous at the time. The Elector Palatine—the Protestant champion of Europe—was married to Princess Elizabeth, and three years after Shakespeare’s death he was elected to the throne of Bohemia. (The Winter Queen again! Shakespeare must have known her well and, according to some, the bridal masque in The Tempest was written for their betrothal.) How could Shakespeare have thought that her Kingdom was on the sea? As I marched downstream, inspiration struck. ‘Coast’ must originally have meant ‘side’ or ‘edge,’ not necessarily connected with ‘sea’ at all! Perhaps this very path was the Coast of Bohemia - at any rate, the Coast of the Forest: near enough!

Let us run quickly through the relevant part of the story. The King of Sicily is unjustly convinced that Perdita, his infant daughter, is the bastard offspring of his Queen Hermione by his former friend and guest, the King of Bohemia. Antigonus, a faithful old courtier determined to save Perdita from her father’s anger, flees from the court with the baby under his cloak, and takes ship for Bohemia. By what route? Shakespeare doesn’t say. He would scarcely have gone via the Black Sea. I saw him sailing from Palermo, landing at Trieste, travelling overland, then embarking in Vienna in a vessel sailing upstream. The ship, running into a terrible storm, probably among the Grein whirlpools, founders. Antigonus, the old courtier, scrambles ashore—perhaps just under the castle of Werfenstein!—and then, amid thunder and lightning, he just has time to perch the swaddled Perdita in a safe place when the second of Shakespeare’s most famous stage-directions—‘Exit pursued by bear’—comes into force. (Bears have died out in the Austrian mountains, but there were plenty then.) While the beast in question devours Antigonus in the wings, enter an old shepherd. He sees Perdita and carries the little bundle home, and, finally brings her up as his daughter, Sixteen years later comes the marvellous sheep-ahearing feast, with its promise of recognition and a happy ending and its magical speeches. It was probably celebrated in one of those upland farms...

Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: shakespeare, s, fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, art, 16

15:52 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
I found myself, with two new friends, still singing it in the small hours as we descended the valley. We passed the luminous vision of a watermill fossilized in ice and snow. When we reached the river, we rowed across to a circular bastion and a tall belfry glimmering among the trees on the other bank. As we climbed the steps into the starry town of Pöchlarn, a window opened and told us to stop making such a noise.

We were invading one of the most important Danubian landmarks of the Nibelungenlied! The polymath had said it was the only place in the whole saga where no slaughter had broken out. The Margrave Rüdiger entertained the Nibelungen-Burgundians in this very castle, feasting them in coloured tents pitched all over the meadows. They were celebrating a betrothal with dancing and songs to the viol. Then the great army rode away to Hungary and their doom. ‘And none of them,’ the poet says, ‘ever got back alive to Pöchlarn.

Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: poetry, nibelungen, middle centuries, fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, deutsche, 20

15:50 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
There are, too, mystical and medical causes, abstruse but valid, for the erupting and purulent Isenheim details. They were expressly stipulated by the Antonite monks in their directions to the painter. The altarpiece was destined for their Isenheim hospital which was dedicated to the cure of diseases of the skin and the blood, plague, epilepsy and ergotism, and the details are depicted for a strange reason. Contemplation of these painted symbols by the patients comprised the initial stage of their healing. It was a religious act in which the promise of miraculous healing was held to reside.

Patrick Leigh Fermor - "A Time of Gifts" (1977)

@темы: history, fermor, patrick leigh, f, english-british, deutsche-oesterreichisch, deutsche, art, 20, 15

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