Showing posts with label Ingmar Bergman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ingmar Bergman. Show all posts
tambourines in the dark ditch of the night...
Bergman's Through a Glass Darkly
The Storm
Les princes n'ont point d'yeux pour voir ces grands merveilles,
Leurs mains ne servent plus qu' à nous persécuter . . .†
(Agrippa D' Aubigné: À Dieu)
The storm that trickles its long March
thunderclaps, its hail, onto the stiff
leaves of the magnolia tree;
(sounds of shaking crystal which startle you
in your nest of sleep; and the gold
snuffed on the mahogany, on the backs
of the bound books, flares again
like a grain of sugar in the shell
of your eyelids)
the lightning that blanches
the trees and walls, freezing them,
like images on a negative (a benediction and destruction you
carry carved within you, a condemnation that binds you
stronger to me than any love, my strange sister);
and then the tearing crash, the jangling sistrums, the rustle
of tambourines in the dark ditch of the night,
the tramp, scrape, jump of the fandango. . .and overhead
some gesture that blindly is groping. . .
as when
turning around, and, sweeping clear your forehead
of its cloud of hair,
you waved to me—and entered the dark.
Les princes n'ont point d'yeux pour voir ces grands merveilles,
Leurs mains ne servent plus qu' à nous persécuter . . .†
(Agrippa D' Aubigné: À Dieu)
The storm that trickles its long March
thunderclaps, its hail, onto the stiff
leaves of the magnolia tree;
(sounds of shaking crystal which startle you
in your nest of sleep; and the gold
snuffed on the mahogany, on the backs
of the bound books, flares again
like a grain of sugar in the shell
of your eyelids)
the lightning that blanches
the trees and walls, freezing them,
like images on a negative (a benediction and destruction you
carry carved within you, a condemnation that binds you
stronger to me than any love, my strange sister);
and then the tearing crash, the jangling sistrums, the rustle
of tambourines in the dark ditch of the night,
the tramp, scrape, jump of the fandango. . .and overhead
some gesture that blindly is groping. . .
as when
turning around, and, sweeping clear your forehead
of its cloud of hair,
you waved to me—and entered the dark.
// Eugenio Montale, trans. Charles Wright
† (The princes have not eyes to see these great wonders,
Their hands do not serve but to persecute us)
For we know in part, and we prophesy in part.
But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child,
I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
// 1 Corinthians 13
whole before an immense sky... Bergman, Rilke, Bloom
A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole before an immense sky.
Rainer Maria Rilke
I sometimes suspect that we really do not listen to one
another because Shakespeare's friends and lovers never
quite hear what the other is saying, which is part of the
ironical truth that Shakespeare largely invented us.
Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence
Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)