"Ulysses by J. Joyce" - Fatherhood and roots
(A statue of James Joyce at Zurich’s Fluntern cemetery where he is buried)
(Una statua di Joyce nel cimitero Flutern di Zurigo dove è sepolto)
Friends,
This morning a surprise reading Joyce after much time I didn't read his works anymore, trying to play the melody composed by him, it seems to navigate through LJ. A reflexion about the Fatherhood and the roots of our life. Reasoning about the roots (...founded upon the voids?) I found this image of the world's blogs. We are there, at the equatorial line, hot and humid, hoping to have solid bases...
Amici,
Questa mattina ho avuto una sorpresa leggendo Joyce, dopo tanto tempo che non aprivo più un suo lavoro, provando a suonare la melodia da lui composta; mi è sembrato di navigare qui, in LJ. Una riflessione sulla paternità e le radici della nostra vita. Ragionando sulle radici (...fondate sul vuoto?) ho trovato la seguente immagine dei blog sparsi nel mondo. Noi siamo qui, all'equatore, caldo ed umido, sperando di avere solide basi...
(LJ seems to be in - under the equatorial zone)
“Maeterlinck says: If Socrates leave his house today he will find the sage seated on his doorstep. If Judas go forth tonight it is to Judas his steps will tend. Every life is many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves. The playwright who wrote the folio of this world and wrote it badly.. is doubtless all in all in all of us.”
(Is the Bass Clef intentional? The "Opera" teaches: the role of the father (the old man) is assigned to a Bass or a Baritone.)
(La chiave di basso è intenzionale? L'Opera insegna: il ruolo del padre (il vecchio) è assegnato al basso o al baritono.)
"A father, Stephen said, battling against hopelessness, is a necessary evil. Shakespeare wrote Hamlet in the months that followed his father's death... But the corpse of John Shakespeare does not walk the night, as does King Hamlet. No. From hour to hour it rots and rots. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate upon his son. Boccaccio's Calandrino was the first and last man who felt himself with child. Fatherhood in the sense of conscious begetting, is unknown to man. It is a mystical estate, an apostolic succession, from only be-getter to only begotten. On that mystery and not on the madonna... the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the world, macro and microcosm, upon the void. Upon incertitude, upon unlikelihood. Amor matris, subjective and objective, may be the only true thing in life. Paternity may be a legal fiction. Who is the father of any son that any son should love him or he any son? What links them in nature? An instant of blind rut."
(James Joyce - Ulysses)
(Telemachus - Sonship)
(Telemaco - Figliolanza)
I hope to have your thought about, I'm "puzzling" myself, if the Italian noun "scervellandomi" is translated with the right English word.
Spero di avere il vostro pensiero a riguardo. Mi sto davvero scervellando...