Roberto, Dante and me
Am in Turin, after an academic conference in Ferrara (small, but very good), spending lots of time in libraries, occasionally happy when I find stuff, occasionally frustrated with the disorganisation.
I am not a great fan of Roberto Benigni (liked a couple of his early films, loved "Down By Law", found "Life Is Beautiful" extremely problematic). But an Italian tv channel has been broadcasting him reading and commenting on the Divine Comedy, one canto each week, in the main square of Florence. To my surprise I have felt a mixture of positive emotions. Delight at his down-to-earth way of presenting the Inferno. Surprise (illogical!) at his having a background in Dante scholarship (and why shouldn't he?). Pure joy at remembering lines, moments, characters I used to be familiar with. And above all, a deep feeling of Italian-ness, sharing the main Italian literary work with a crowd of people sitting in a square, remembering that it used to be chanted by semi-literate Italians in the 14th century, remembering that it was one of a very few works that all Italians felt as their own. My own father, who left school at the age of 9 (and subsequently studied another 4 years at night in order to have a career in the police), used to quote bits of the most exciting moments of Inferno to me as a child.
Strange, or maybe not, what the fluid thing we call "identity" is made of . . . If I had more time and inspiration, I should write a haiku about this, or maybe a tercet.
I am not a great fan of Roberto Benigni (liked a couple of his early films, loved "Down By Law", found "Life Is Beautiful" extremely problematic). But an Italian tv channel has been broadcasting him reading and commenting on the Divine Comedy, one canto each week, in the main square of Florence. To my surprise I have felt a mixture of positive emotions. Delight at his down-to-earth way of presenting the Inferno. Surprise (illogical!) at his having a background in Dante scholarship (and why shouldn't he?). Pure joy at remembering lines, moments, characters I used to be familiar with. And above all, a deep feeling of Italian-ness, sharing the main Italian literary work with a crowd of people sitting in a square, remembering that it used to be chanted by semi-literate Italians in the 14th century, remembering that it was one of a very few works that all Italians felt as their own. My own father, who left school at the age of 9 (and subsequently studied another 4 years at night in order to have a career in the police), used to quote bits of the most exciting moments of Inferno to me as a child.
Strange, or maybe not, what the fluid thing we call "identity" is made of . . . If I had more time and inspiration, I should write a haiku about this, or maybe a tercet.