The repetition also comments on individuality. By altering common objects or applying divine imagery to them, those objects are transformed into a more individual, sacred object. In a culture where food and family life are predominant, it is appropriate that domestic maintenance, food and family nurtur- ing would be the subjects of my art.
I realized I was putting the same kind of painstaking preparation into my artwork as into a meal. An integral part of my labor intensive work is the step by step preparation needed to create it. The use of pasta mimics the ephemerality of domestic maintenance, such as cooking and cleaning, which take hours of preparation only to be immediately dirtied or eaten. The ephem- eral pasta also critiques the myth of beauty. The pasta objects are laboriously created, but will eventually break down. My humorous outlook sees something more in the repeti- tive task than a futile repetition of endless housework or lost hope.
But there is also the threat of suffocation in these excessive, familiar, domestic objects. One can easily ind oneself trapped. Maybe keeping a sense of humor is the way to avoid suffocation. For me anger is not a productive emotion. Often people are willing to examine tougher issues when they are approached with humor, just as beauty can seduce the viewer to examine more closely a repulsive subject.
Legas: Mineola, New York Rilessioni preliminari sulla traduzione manetiana del Nuovo Testamento Stefano U. Sono insomma tutte caratteristiche della prosa di Manetti ben note agli studiosi di questo umanista. Per veriicare tale ipotesi mi sono quindi accinto a una collazione tra il ms. Sic luceat lux vestra coram hominibus, ut videant vestra bona opera et gloriicent Patrem vestrum qui in caelis est V e P neque lucernam accendunt et sub modio ponunt sed super candelabrum constituunt, ut omnibus domesticis luceat. V Et si amicos vestros solum salutaveritis, quid amplius facitis?
P Et si vestros fratres tantummodo salutaveritis, quid amplius facietis? Putant enim quia in multiloquio suo exaudiantur V sicut gentiles. Putant enim quod in multiloquio suo exaudiantur P sicut ethnici faciunt. V Si igitur lumen quod in te est tenebrae sunt, tenebrae quantae!
Table of Contents
A tale scopo egli inserisce talvolta lezioni che meglio illustrino la funzione dei vari personaggi e la sequenza degli av- venimenti. Esemplare ritengo il caso di Mt. Numerosi, poi, i casi di un diverso ordo verborum nel testo di U, spesso con spostamento del predicato verbale in fondo al periodo cfr. Quanto alla traduzione manettiana del Nuovo Testamento, non ho sinora raccolto abbastanza dati per poter esprimere un giudizio fondato. Catalogo della mostra tenutasi a Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, 2 novembre gennaio , a cura di T. De Robertis, G. Tanturli, S.
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Zamponi, Firenze, Mandragora, , pp. Si vedano anche i saggi di M. Miglio, R. Baldassarri, Firenze, Le Lettere, Botley, Latin Translation in the Renaissance. Segnalo che la Dott. Manetti, Historia Pistoriensis, a cura di S. Baldassarri, W. Connell e B. Sul ms. Stevenson Jr. Il codice presenta integrazioni a mio avviso di mano di Giannozzo alle cc.
Ulteriori ragguagli su di lui in Botley, Latin Translation, cit. Weber, R. Gryson et alii, Stuttgart, Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, Da notare che nelle Elegantiae I. Riprendo il brano da L. Valla, Collatio Novi Testamenti, a cura di A. Perosa, Firenze, Sansoni, , p. Collatio, cit. Tale variante, come vedremo subito, si riscontra anche in U. Interessante quanto nota Valla, Collatio, cit.
Si veda, ad esempio, C. In Collatio, cit. Valla, Collatio, cit. Anche Valla, Collatio, cit. VI Vulgata, apparato a p. Resta comunque signiicativa la differenza che si registra nella forma in cui questo celebre detto viene trasmesso dalla Vulgata e dalla traduzione manettiana del Vangelo di Matteo rispetto al trattato apologetico dello stesso umanista conservato nel solo ms.
De Petris, Roma, Edizioni di storia e letteratura, , p. Da segnalare che risulta diversa la traduzione proposta da Valla, Collatio, cit. Cesarini Martinelli, Note, cit. He has studied and taught at Queens College, C. Romani ; and Saggi su Dante e Petrarca He collaborated with Benedetto Croce, with whom he coedited La Critica between He was the general edi- tor of the Enciclopedia Italiana completed in Gentile also wrote on numerous other subjects, most notably Dante, Giambattista Vico, the Renaissance, Leopardi and Manzoni, Italian philosophy, and Fascism.
And it has become a common- place after the deduction made by spiritualistic aesthetics that the claim of the translator to transport a poem from the language in which it sprang into another is absurd, and that every transla- tion that actually presents the reader with the same material as the original in a new form is a falsiication. It is impossible to translate a poem; impossible, for the same reason, to translate a work of science or philosophy where the thought, as such, appears less intimately joined and not essentially connected to its literary form, or rather, to its linguistic expression.
That form cannot be anything other than a certain literary and linguis- tic form. And we, ignoring this element in the understanding of a philosopher, properly make work of abstraction, which cannot be but arbitrary with respect to the object of our interpretation: or rather, with respect to that object which, when one speaks of translation, is presupposed as an antecedent of the labor to which we submit it.
In fact, the translation of a philosophical term always leaves one dissatisied, since every term in its originality, or in the determined concreteness of the thought whose form is realized in the term, is endowed with one singular characteristic: namely, its own individuality and intranslatability. From which follows, that there is no philosophy born in a foreign language that can be taken in effectively stripped of that which is considered to be its original guise, and, naked, be therefore re-dressed entirely in the forms of our language. And the fact, or rather the very logic of spiritual reality, enters in blatant contradiction to the abstract theory on separating thought from its literary form.
Moreover, in aesthetics just as in gnoseology, we still struggle with this dualism that dates back all the way to Aristotle: a dualism deeply rooted in the human mind as a consequence of the age-old Aristotelian education that mind has received.
Form is content divested of the static nature by which content represents itself when considered from without, and restored to its authentic and concrete life, which is its internal generation. The book is there: read it, and what you will learn is not some- thing that is already there, like an antecedent to your thought, but rather your own thought in the act of its unfolding.
Content as such is a book never read. It is what we think or imagine, but abstracted from us in whom it is thought or imagined. Art as form is in actuality this subjectivity, which doubles back on itself and expresses nothing if not itself that is, that same state of mind in which subjectivity consists ; for this reason art is lyrical.
And art is immortal because of this immanence within the spirit: a sun that never sets in the spiritual world. And where this form the seal of each work of the spirit is, there lies unsurpassed individuality, and therefore intranslatability. Intranslatability is therefore not a corollary of inseparability—as is ordinarily stated—but rather of the indistinguishable nature of form with respect to content, or language with respect to thought, in the concrete act of the spirit.
In the abstract, one thing is content and yet another is form; one thing is thought, another form; and, even more so, one thing is image or poetic specter, another is word. In the concrete, however, these are one and the same. Language as fact is content of the knowledge of the glottologist, or of the gram- marian.
It is not quotidian speech but speech as such. E qui spunta il diritto del traduttore. But whoever watches over this intrinsic spiritual character of language will realize sooner or later that language is not the ab- stract of that concrete which languages are. Languages, each one standing beside the next in space and time and therefore each one distinct from the next , are ways of speaking, not speech: content, not form. The concrete is language in its own unity, as universality: that sole language that man speaks, as always a speciic language; and a language determined by a process of unfolding which is itself the very unfolding, or history, of the human spirit, and therefore always the same language and always different, as is the case with everything that lives, and that develops in order to live.
This fact to return to the topic of this essay leads to two dif- ferent conclusions, which may appear to be opposed but in fact coincide like the two faces of a coin. The second conclusion is that we are always translating, because language—not the one found in grammar books and dictionaries, but true language resounding within the human spirit—is never the same, not even in two consecutive moments; and it exists only to transform itself, forever restless, alive. The right of the translator arises here, since translation is truly the condition of every act of thinking and learning. We do not translate, as they say, merely from a foreign language to our own empirically speaking and presupposing different languages : we also, even more so, translate from within our own language, always.
And not just from our language as found in centuries past or in the works of writers we read, but also from our language as we cur- rently use and read and speak it. A very simple truth, which can sound like a paradox only to the ears of those who remain entangled in totally materialistic representations not of language per se, but of the learning aids or instruments used to learn a language—or rather to know a language as such—in order to use it.
Possiamo noi arrestarci a quello che immediatamente ci si presenta? Io leggo Dante. Non vo- glio metterci nulla di mio. Leggo semplicemente. E io posso tornare a ripetere le parole stesse della preghiera che appresi bambino dalla bocca di mia madre. Ma come diversa vedo oggi innanzi a me quella donna santa! The translator passes from one language to the other as if from one part of the same language to another: that one language, that for him truly exists: a language that is neither the one nor the other but a combination of the two in their relation or unity.
He who translates begins by thinking in a manner that does not restrain him, but he transforms his way of thinking by continu- ing to develop, to clarify, and to render evermore personal and subjective what he has begun to think. And in this passage from one moment of his own thought to another, in his one language, that which is empirically considered to be translating takes place, as a passing from one language to another.
Does not the same thing happen, perhaps, when we read what others or even ourselves have written in our very own language? Can we come to a halt at what immediately appears before us? Or must our reading—if it is understanding—rather be a proceeding, and therefore reconstruct and create something new that could be regarded as that very thing that was written: not because it was thought in the act of writing, but rather because it is thought in the act of reading? Is there any- thing that immediately presents itself to the spirit that is not also produced by the spirit to which it presents itself?
Translation takes place even if it goes on unperceived. I read Dante. I want to add nothing of my own to it. I do not comment upon it. I simply read. But will I then repeat those words penned by the poet as they reverber- ated within his spirit, those words that were nothing other than reverberations within his own spirit? Repetition is impossible, not because mortal Dante is dead, and I who read him am not he. In truth, the Dante whom I read is the immortal Dante. He is that very man, the very spirit that I am; but repetition is impossible because this spirit is always the same while constantly changing.
His real- ity is historical reality, which grows out of itself and is therefore always the same in that it is always different. Potrei non tradurle? Ed ecco il diritto del traduttore. Lo svolgimento rettilineo del mio concetto dal Modernismo , p. Vedi ora anche il mio scritto Arte e religione nel Gior. How much more venerable is she in my spirit, which has become so much more pensive and so much more profoundly religious!
How her voice resounds much higher, more solemn and moving within me! How much more do those same words seem full of the divine, and how differently—absolutely differently—do they rise again from the depths of memory! Could I not translate them? Yes, surely I can return to that innocent and almost sleeping soul of the child through which I irst listened to them: but I stand before that ancient soul, no longer mine, with a heart that has grown, and I cannot see that soul, half-awake and still dreaming, if not with these open eyes of mine. I cannot hear it speak its language without translating everything it says anew in my present soul, and coloring it with my new life.
And here is the right of the translator. In the end, what is wrong originates solely from the preconception that spiritual reality—a work of art, for example—has a inite existence: com- pleted, closed, and thus materially sequestered in time and even in space, like poetry that is written and not read, lying—perhaps—in a scroll that has been buried for millennia but of which we speak, on the contrary, for we have since restored it to life and read it! The Dante who died in is not the Dante we read and who lures us to live his life, which will be ours.
Neither is the Goethe whom we Italians read the German Goethe, born of a nationality that is not ours: he can only be our Goethe, a translated Goethe, even if read in German. Notes 1 It is not precise to say that I added art along with religion to the objec- tive spirit, as my friend Croce expresses in a leeting nod to my esthetic ideas in his Critica from 20 January , p.
And it is not precise to say either, as mentioned also by De Ruggiero La ilosoia contemporanea, II, p. The linear unfolding of my concept from Modernismo , p. See also my work Arte e religione in the Gior. Walter Benjamin defines a work of literature as untranslat- able at the time of its origin.
As a consequence of this, true translation is not simply any rendering of an original text in another language. Translation here has nothing to do with the empirical act that we practice every day. The point of all this is to precisely comprehend literary and, more generally, aesthetic form—aesthetic form which is not, however, to be understood as something added to content in order to grant it existence in the spirit, or in the world that is thinkable for the spirit. And trans- lations are always derivative, secondary to an original that they do not resemble and do not imitate.
And the transfer we are discussing here is metaphor. Metaphor, which is generally understood as that which allows us to access the unknown or the indeterminate by means of the familiar. Yet, in doing so, it crosses to the other lan- guage as it crosses off itself. On the particular question of translation there is no room for dispute, because Gentile recognizes and restates the impossibility of reproducing in another form that which has already had its form; nor is there room for dispute regarding the right, which he vindicates, to carry out what are commonly called translations.
My negation of the possibility of translation was directed against the inexact theory of that operation, understood as an adjustment of an original which is then often the cause of fallacious judgments made in the examinations of translations, from which in turn one expects the impossible , and not against the fact of translation: for translation is carried out everywhere, and we all always translate that which we need to translate, and we do very well to carry out this useful task.
Furthermore, in keeping with the Platonic dualism rooted in the system of opposition governing our philo- sophical tradition, one cannot reproduce in another form that which has already had its own form. Thus, the metaphorical transfer which apparently leads us from station to station—from term inal to term inal —according to Croce might be useful but not really pos- sible.
That which is called the father? In this way it would avoid at least equivocation. And, like Joyce, this endeavor would try to make the structural unity of all empirical culture appear in the generalized equivocation of a writing that, no longer translating one language into another on the basis of their common cores of sense, circulates throughout all languages at once, accumulates their energies, actualizes their most secret consonances, discloses their furthermost common horizons, cultivates their associative syntheses instead of avoiding them, and rediscovers the poetic value of passivity.
Any normative grammar is the epiphany of such arbitrariness, since the precepts that such a gram- mar prescribes are in fact the true expressions of the spirit of the one who writes them. There is no literary history that is not critical. And on the other hand, grammar cannot be purely preceptive, because that which must be said cannot be anything other than that which is said—or rather, that which is said by he who writes grammar: that which he says, and on which he reflects, feeling its value.
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But from this point, which is the concrete act [the fact—not the pure act], and in which we feel the force of grammar and of aesthetics, it appears that moving to bifurcate itself is a dual configuration of systems of ideas: on the one hand, the establishment of a network of abstract forms without real consistency which are the parts of discourse divided from their expressive value and considered in their respective relationships morphological and syntactical, etc.
The one creates fictitious entities verb, mood of the verb, tense, etc. The first is material: a reflex of a language, and therefore not language. It is the antecedent of that immanent, eternal, spiritual creation that is a speech; but it is not speech. And here is the duality […]. The illusion thus consists in foreseeing that what is now being analyzed as language is actually yet to be spoken, like an event that is already occurring but has yet to take place. This critical art would lead us through a study of language that is in turn a gram- mar that is not what it pretends to be, but is rather that which is governed by a higher mind, often contrary and superior to the mind s of the grammarians Cf.
And once thought, far from achieving its form the expression of the spirit becomes a specter that cannot exist, that cannot be. The duality between the normative and the aesthetic or historical grammar, as well as the duality between form and content, must at least allow for this third element: this specter. There is no other form than the one that overflows, that supple- ments the form of life. Concrete thought is not, therefore, the thought that is already thought and ready to be repeated, but the thought that cannot be thought until it act ualizes itself in the present by acting out its own destruction.
Gentile is aware of the difficulty inherent in this view. And here is the right of the translator whose wrong in the end originates solely from the preconception that spiritual reality—a work of art, for example—has a finite existence: completed, closed, and thus materially sequestered in time and even in space, like poetry that is written and not read, lying—perhaps—in a scroll that has been buried for millennia ….
That is, with respect to that object which, is presupposed, when one speaks of translation, as an antecedent of the labor to which we then submit it. For Gentile this is an historical problem: that is, we have to read natural changes from the point of view of history. In actuality the means and the ends are not distinguish- able one from the other, and one is the other as they both change in order to become that which is ultimately achieved In its exteriority, this form is like a book never read.
Art as form is in actuality this subjectivity, which doubles back on itself and expresses nothing if not itself that is, that same state of mind in which subjectivity consists. For Gentile, just as for the rhetorical tradition leading back at least to Poliziano, translation is interpretation each and every time that the one who translates is aware of what he is doing. It stresses the singularly plural aspect of language. The concept of the impossibility of translation is tied to the concept of the spirituality of language, which is not to be understood as fact but rather as act; […] Language as fact is content of the knowledge of the glottologist, or of the grammarian.
The concrete is language in its own unity, as universality: that sole language that man speaks, as always a specific language. All languages in their singularity are no more than one language, and all languages are but one language. On the other hand, the language that sounds in the human spirit is never the same, since it is forever changing.
The first case, Gentile says, is why we never translate, while in the sec- ond case it is as if we always translate, with no two moments occur- ring in which we have the same language This paradox stems from the fact that the apparent distinction noted above seem- ingly presents us with two sides of the same argument, strictly linked: indistinguishable rather than inseparable. Thinking takes place in translation—and not simply in the translation that takes place between two languages, but first and foremost in what is always happening within our very own language.
Here lies a fur- ther distinction between the instruments of language that we re- quire to learn language, and language as an instrument that we can use. Translation takes place in one language. In particular, this oc- curs when we read: and not when we read what was thought by the author at the time of his writing, but when we read what is being thought now by we who read.
Translation takes place in the very act of reading. The spirit spo- ken of has a historical reality, grown on and out of itself, forever changing. That then this original vibration resonates in a new man, and brings forth feelings and thoughts that are always new, is something that I have never doubted and in which I am in complete agreement with Gentile. Croce Croce chooses to distinguish here between two moments that are complementary to each other: the moment of reading and the moment of new creation. Gentile had stated instead, as we have already mentioned, that repetition is impossible.
For Gentile, these two moments are at the same time not simply different, but inseparable. One must think of them as supplementary to each other. Just as the historical, immortal Dante supplies and supplants us as readers, so do we supply and sup- plant the Dante of the Middle Ages. And in so doing, this Dante displaces us, expands us, make us grow out of ourselves.
It is plausible that no translation, however good it may be, can have any significance as regards the original. Yet, by virtue of its translatability the original is closely connected with the translation; in fact this connection is all the closer since it is no longer of importance to the original. Just as the manifestations of life are intimately connected with the phenomenon of life without being of importance to it, a translation issues from the original— not so much from its life as from its afterlife. For a translation comes later than the original, and since the important works of world literature never find their translator at the time of their origin, their translation marks their stage of continued life.
The idea of life and afterlife in works of art should be regarded with an entirely unmetaphorical objectivity. Yet actualism is not reducible to a simple presence: the substitution in place of the original. In this way the direction we take is not from Dante to the reader of Dante, such that the reader becomes a metaphor for and of Dante who now makes himself present which is the danger that Croce saw.
In the same way, it is also true that we the readers are not making ourselves present be- fore Dante the writer. This raises more questions about the direc- tion of metaphors. In translation, we are no longer moving between language and its extralinguistic referent, but we are mov- ing sideways, so to speak, from one linguistic entity to another lin- guistic entity.
The concern is no longer with meaning but with an interlinguistic movement. Meaning is entirely imbedded in the origi- nal work, and we can leave it there. In the final analysis, the range of life must be determined by history rather than by nature, least of all by such tenuous factors as sensation and the soul. Benjamin 71 Also any linguistic creation should be translatable even if no one is capable of translating it at any given time There is implied in this a maturing process where the growth of the original language corresponds to the development of the language of translation. Recalling what we discussed above, the afterlife of a work of art should be determined by history rather than by nature, unaffected by factors such as sensation and the soul.
Unlike a work of literature, translation does not find itself in the center of the language forest but on the outside facing the wooded ridge; it calls into it without entering, aiming at the sole spot where the echo is able to give, in its own language, the reverberation of the work in the alien one. Translation turns language inside out. It breaks the walls of safety in which the subject finds itself protected, cared for, yet incarcerated. In this way, translation destabilizes.
It reveals the instability of the original. It disarticulates the original, says de Man, for whom critical philosophy, literary theory, history—resemble each other in the fact that they do not resemble that from which they derive. But they are all intralinguistic: they relate to what in the original belongs to language, and not to meaning as an extralinguistic correlate susceptible of paraphrase and imitation.
They disarticulate, they undo the original, they reveal that the original was always already disarticulated. They reveal that their failure, which seems to be due to the the fact that they are secondary in relation to the original, reveals an essential failure, an essential disarticulation which was already there in the original. They kill the original, by discovering that the original was already dead. Let us recall once more that in translation sensation and the soul should not play a role.
But this pain that generates is not hu- man. Gentile agrees with this. Yet this formal use of language brings the messianic with it. Every possible shortcoming perceived in a work of translation can now be overcome by this achieved higher knowledge of the work- ings of language. The words we now read are, in a sense, not human. Vico stated that in language, man begins to think humanly New Science , but this does not imply that there is meaning before and outside language before meaning is materialized linguistically.
Language is his- torical, and it is used by the men who have it as their dwelling place without their being in control of, nor their being identified, with it. The Dante Gentile speaks of gets grafted in the now-language of the reader, and such a translation occurs first of all within the Italian language in which Dante wrote. In this pro- cess the reader who captures Dante becomes captured by Dante, and thus by the Italian language already many languages , in the uniqueness of the only Language humans speak. Gentile, contrary to Benjamin, seems apparently to need to preserve the intentional- ity not only in the meaning but also in the mode of signification of a language in the hands of an all-encompassing subject.
This subject is still blind to its condition by uncon- sciously accepting its blindness.
This allows the subject to think it has built its own fortress-house. This trans- lation of the inside is possible in the first place because of its insta- bility, says Benjamin [A]ll translation is only a somewhat provisional way of coming to terms with the foreignness of languages.
An instant and final rather than a temporary and provisional solution of this foreignness remains out of the reach of mankind; at any rate, it eludes any direct attempt. Although translation, unlike art, cannot claim permanence for its products, its goal is undeniably a final, conclusive, decisive stage of all linguistic creation.
It cannot live there permanently, to be sure, and it certainly does not reach it in its entirety. Yet, in a singular impressive manner, at least it points the way to this region: the predestined, hitherto inaccessible realm of reconciliation and fulfillment of languages. The transfer can never be total, but what reaches this region is that element in a translation which goes beyond transmittal of subject matter. This nucleus is best defined as the element that does not lend itself to translation.
Even when all the surface content has been extracted and transmitted, the primary concern of the genuine translator remains elusive. The original can only be raised there anew and at other points in time. For Gentile, the original as well as every provisional appropriation work like relays: they are like switches through which each meaning triggers a new meaning, leading ever and ever closer to a new level of signi- fication. It seems that for Gentile that predestined region of fulfill- ment and reconciliation of languages is reachable, and its unstable terrain is left unaccounted for. Gentile sees no disjunction between any of these multiplying steps toward that region, but rather an implied continuity that imitates life: a life where a living body grows in time and space.
Yet in this process, that body the original poem never gets old but is forever rejuvenating. Gentile stresses a sort of messianic aspect of language that is nonetheless manmade, and not a God-given gift—like a messianism without a religion. There is no bro- ken vessel to reconstitute. There is a chain of metaphors that, by actualizing themselves in a new meaning, relay to a higher region their growth in the form of a new metaphor.
The problem of the unstable original is bypassed by this provisional appropriation of an original work of art. The move is presented as the most natural operation of reading. In this process of endless redressing, Gentile necessarily sus- pends the original work of art, holding it outside the intra-linguis- tic relation and protecting its wholeness from revealing its met- onymic status.
Ultimately, the subject is defined by the fortress- house, which it might have built, but of which it was never the king. This subject can only find itself already made into the Kafkaesque animal that it does not know. The translator must be recep- tive to the disruptions already at work in the original language of the work of art that translation reveals; and the translator must ulti- mately make room for this disruption in the language of transla- tion, which painfully grows and expands in a non-human manner.
Gentile conceives of the art of translation as an hermeneutics. And translation is indeed an act of reading: in reading Dante, I become the new Dante, Gentile says— a Dante infinitely more complex than the original writer who wrote in the s. Thus I get in touch with what was repressed, covered up, hidden in the specific material language of the original work. There is no text with- out a reader who brings the text to life in its afterlife: an afterlife that is a new and continued life with a higher and enhanced level of understanding and fulfillment of the subjectivity of the one who reads.
Translation is itself a translation first and fore- most of our own words as we proffer them. Now, in my actual speak- ing of my language I am actually translating within my very lan- guage already many languages , in the uniqueness of the only Lan- guage humans speak. Translation acts itself out as translation: a mise en abyme that is noted in Benjamin as well de Man The ultimate task of the translator is to read the unreadable. It is to deal with a writing that writes what is never meant to read, what is unreadable—like graphemes for speech.
Graphemes in writ- ing are taken for granted, yet they are the keepers of a promise of meaning. For Gentile, to speak is to write since speech has all the prerogatives of writing. What Gentile says is, all at once, what is being said and the confirmation of what is being said. In repetition lies the novelty. In order to do this, the saying must be recognizable and repeatable— even if this may mean that the saying is recognizable by itself as a language that in turn recognizes itself as it speaks. The historical continuity between the then and the now postulated by Gentile is marked by the univocity that indicates the historical ether, accord- ing to Husserl Derrida, Husserl The platonic mimetic relationship between image and speech will end up with writing occupying the last and hum- blest place within the chain of signification.
Grammars always follow language in an attempt to stabilize what is already in itself destabilized. In this sense, grammar shares the same project of translation: the materialization of language. In fact, the arbitrariness of each and every grammar is what Gentile has to reconcile with the spirituality of language. The metaphorical sequence of replacement gets interrupted. When we translate, we open up all options of signification out of an original restricted referentiality. From here on, there is no way to orient ourselves any longer.
Benjamin clearly says so. Otherwise grammar coincides with language and language with translation. Indeed, Gentile—and here is a paradox—says this much. The con- sequence is the killing of the originality of any origin. Since Plato, writing has been the sign of a sign removed from truth, and this process is also at work always already in speech as we speak. I read, I say, I translate, therefore I reproduce all at once in an immediate iterability which is directly possible thanks to the me- chanical reproduction of any original sound bite, of any graph- eme playing within language.
Benjamin himself addresses the mechanical reproduction of the work of art and the issue of the aura in The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. It haunts the original. Again, Gentile speaks of Dante—a Dante read, spoken, translated, therefore forever re- produced anew in his afterlife.
When we read—as when we read Dante—we have to reinvent what we read. Our reading must affirm the original; and our reading, in or- der to be affirmative, must confirm its originary reading. The I-then-there and the I- now-here underscore my singular signature: I-now-here reaffirm the I-then-there. Ultimately, I am not Ulysses either, I have respect for the past, I submit to what is in front of me: to what I am reading, to what I am repeating. The first event must already be iterable, it must immediately confirm itself in differentiating itself by its now spo- ken iteration.
Paradise This is achieved by charging every word, every sentence, with meanings, possibilities, associations. In reading Dante, we partake of the chains of confirmation.
However, Gentile sees this trans- lation as an affirmation of the original. Benjamin, Walter. New York: Schocken Books, Croce, Benedetto. Filosofia della pratica. Bari: La Terza, , Derrida, Jacques. Inven- tion of the Other. Kamuf, Peggy and Elizabeth Rottenberg, eds. Of Grammatology. Gentile, Giovanni.
Lanciano: R. Carabba, Vico, Giambattista. New Science. Bergin, Thomas G. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, Notes 1 Previously published in Rivista di cultura, a. The English translation from the Italian is mine throughout. Also reprinted in K. Vosseler et al. Benedetto Croce. Sansoni: Firenze, The translation from the French is mine throughout. In this sense to be in the closeness of Being means to be there where the metaphor retreats. Derek Atridge, Ed.
New york and London: Routledge, Francesco Petrarca Petrarch requires little introduction. Incomparable poet, in- novative Humanist, and brilliant scholar, his major works consist of the Rime sparse Rerum vulgarium fragmenta , I trioni, the Secretum, and numerous collections of letters. In the second, the mythological Arabian phoenix is compared to Laura and of course poetry itself— il lauro. It includes a critical introduction, commen- tary, and a rich array of biographical and bibliographical informa- tion.
It is based on the edition. Here we offer new versions, more focused on poetic harmony than literal meaning. The Venetian poetess takes up the themes of love and memory while renewing the emblem of the Arabian phoenix and the ship struggling at sea. These imita- tions were rendered in English and in Italian. The Italian version was co-translated with Antonella Anedda. The present version is more of a translation than an imitation. Nevertheless attempts have been made to recreate corresponding meters, rhymes, and tones as well.
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Francesco Petrarca, Canzoniere XC Her aura was scattered in strands of gold which she had wound in countless knotted crowns, her lovely light-illed eyes, which have turned old, once burned beyond their source of greenish brown. It seemed compassion set her face aglow, I do not know if it was dreamt or real the fuse of love that lit me long ago though I should not wonder since I still feel.
She did not move as any mortal thing but like angelic dawn, nor were her words dull sounding like a human, they seemed to sing like one celestial spirit, sun struck wings had touched her soul and voice which I irst heard and had they not, my wound would lose its sting. Cerulean edges of her violet dress, conceal her fair shoulders scattered with roses uniquely beautiful aura, novel guise. Fame still proclaims that her sweet scented breast in Arabian mountains hides and poses yet she lies so haughtily through our skies. What helmsman could steer his precious ship through tides as I have done, never afraid to wrestle the currents or cliffs, guiding my frail vessel amidst the battering blows of her harsh pride?
And yet this rain of tears and fearsome winds of ininite sighs now drive my vessel on throughout my sea of winter and horrid night bestowing tedium to her, aches and chagrin to itself, nothing else, vanquished by strong sea surfs disarming sails to ungoverned might. Oh night, worthy of praise by the highest and keenest of minds, not by my ecstasy. You brought him back to me with tenderness the one who each joy of mine has governed disarmed my doubts, dissolving all stubborn remains of bitterness with sheer sweetness. My game and my every delight consist of living ire and never feeling pain, of never caring if he who causes this relents the vehemence of his domain.
Soon after the irst lame had burned away, then Love lit up another, which I feel with more intensity and greater sway. A ire just like the irst I feel; if this, in such tight space, is now the case I fear it will be greater than the other. What can I do, if burning is my appeal, if voluntarily I consent to taste ill after ill, one ire after another? Durling, Harvard University Press, Annotazioni di Daniele Ponchiroli. Torino, Einaudi, , pp. Borrelli Joan E. She has published essays of literary criticism in Critical Companion to J.
Her work displays a full range of emotion as she reacts to challenges she faced as an orphan, wife, mother and widow. Her immediacy of voice and personal subject matter create not only an unprecedented feel for the struggles of women of her historical period, but also relect a sensibility almost modern in its confessional tone.
During the next twelve years, Turini Bufalini continued to write and revise this work, which she describes in two sonnets3 as providing her with an outlet for her creativity as well as with much-needed consolation throughout her dificult life. At the time of her death in , however, the poem remained unpublished. Over the centuries, the text of Il Florio was believed lost until, in the s, a manuscript was located among the family archives at the Bufalini castle in San Giustino Umbria. I am greatly indebted to Professor Antonio Lanza, Director of Letteratura Italiana Antica, for permission to reproduce the original, as well as for translation permissions.
I extend my heartfelt thanks to Professor Natalia Costa-Zalessow San Fran- cisco State University , for her unlagging generosity in sharing her knowledge of Italian literary history with me. Comment on the translation In Il Florio, Turini Bufalini utilizes ottava rima,6 the traditional stanza form of Italian narrative poetry, to recreate the story of two young innamorati, Florio and Biancoiore, as they labor to overcome obstacles to their love. I was, however, labbergasted at her extensive use of text-within-text technique in the selection that follows.
The two letters between the lovers, inserted verbatim into the narrative frame, heighten the realism and the emotional charge of the exchange and allow for close reader involvement. Ariosto does not show a response letter from Bradamante. Turini Bufalini, moreover, shows a response letter from Biancoiore comprising an additional fourteen stanzas nos.
The two letters in Il Florio thus total an astonishing lines of text-within-text. Although Turini Bufalini may not have been the irst to employ the technique, we are nonetheless seeing in her Canto XVI an early and signiicant use of meta-narration. On the one hand, I wanted my target language to capture the emotional spontaneity expressed in the letters of the young lovers.
On the other hand, I vowed to keep faith with the formal metrics of the ottava and its elegant tone. The exciting atmo- sphere of a medieval tale—replete with chivalric knights, distressed damsels, court intrigues and feats of derring-do—demanded a broad action vocabulary. To parallel the hendecasyllabic lines of the original with stanzas that gallop forward, I charged ahead with iambic pentameter, the preferred meter of narrative verse in English.
To run the end-rhyme gauntlet, I relied on my anglophone steed, well equipped with slant rhyme, to echo the musical ring of the original when I did not have a full rhyme sound at the ready. To capture spontaneity, I reached for idiomatic expressions. Conversely, by inverting word order and pinning down a few archaisms here and there, I hoped to render some historical atmosphere and to move the translation closer to the source text. To pay homage to the prosodic features of the original, I matched consonance and internal rhyme wherever I could. We come upon the scene with Florio in the distant city of Montorio, where he has been sent by his parents, the king and queen, in an effort to separate the lovers.
Florio believes that Bian- coiore has jilted him for Fileno, an errant knight just arrived from Marmorina seat of the court where Biancoiore remains. The truth is that Biancoiore, against her will, was commanded by the queen to do so after Fileno won a tournament at court. Now alone, Florio denounces Biancoiore as unfaithful seeing the veil as proof of her betrayal , and threatens to turn his sword against himself. Translations by Joan E. In sonnets numbered and , Turini Bufalini directly addresses the title character, Florio, of her eponymous narrative work, declaring to him that writing has remained her only consolation refugio through years of grief.
Not quite twenty-one years old, she married Count Giulio Bufalini then seventy years of age. With professional military duties in Rome, Giulio was absent for long periods. She subsequently gave birth to two sons and a daughter but was widowed at age thirty. Her maternal love and devotion, evident throughout her poems, is later coupled with the lament of not enjoying a reciprocal affection. Her sons, upon reaching manhood, quarreled with her over money and litigated formally against her and against one another, as Giulio, the eldest, would retain future right of inheritance to the castle, whereas Ottavio, his younger brother, only the right to reside there.
At age sixty-one, because of family discord, she left Umbria for Rome to take a post in the Colonna household as lady- in-waiting to the duchess, Lucrezia Tomacelli Colonna. She returned to Umbria only upon the death of Tomacelli in Directed by Antonio Lanza. Rome: Moxedano Editrice. ISSN: electronic ; paper. This international journal is dedicated to texts and studies on Italian literature and is available for purchase on the internet. His Filostrato c. See also: J. For a short synopsis of the Filocolo, see: Giovanni Boccaccio, Antologia delle opere minori volgari, a cura di Giuseppe Gigli.
Nuova presentazione di Vittore Branca Firenze: Sansoni, : Torquato Tasso : Revered for his narrative poems, principally Gerusalemme Liberata pub. Turini Bufalini may have known Tasso personally during her residency in Rome at the Colonna household.
My thanks go again to Professor Costa-Zalessow for indicating these passages to me. He is often accompanied by his brothers Icelus who personiies beasts, birds, serpents and Phantasus who transforms himself into rocks, water, woods and inanimate objects along with 1, other male siblings in order to enact the dream. O mio dolore intenso, smisurato! O me infelice sopra gli altri amanti!
O senza alcuna colpa abbandonato! O mia dura sventura! Oh wretched me, more so than other lovers! Oh guiltless, thrust aside upon no grounds! Oh thing yet unseen in this universe! Oh my hard luck! Throughout his dream rested the unsheathed sword that he had drawn to run through his own breast, such was the reasoning so twisted, crude, against himself, its harm to manifest. But like a shield, hope lent him fortitude. Without you I am good for naught, and neither would I live on: further, this blazing pyre, alas, now so consumes me, dram by dram, I feel myself transformed into pure lame!
Finge egli teco! Io solo odio e disamo, per te, me stesso: e ne ricevo morte! Nothing can alter my desire—not fate, place, time, Fortune; neither can Love nor Death! Oh stars, you witnesses of my hard plight, reveal how I so fail and furthermore may die of keeping faith to cruel degrees with those nocturnal trysts and mournful cries!
I alone hate and eschew myself for you, though death I would receive! Joan E. My right hand, poised for death to end my grief, clutches the sword. The hurt he felt so struck his heart, so rent, he thought his certain death drew very near. Within the paper, his complaints he folded and called a servant, one faithful and shrewd, Be there by dark, and seek out Biancoiore. Hand her this envelope and wait, and then with her response hurry back here again!
Bending to the importance of the charge, the servant swiftly takes leave of his lord and gets there on the double, for his passage and pace with loyalty and trust he spurred. From me, the reason for his pain is hidden, and why he leads a life so sorrow-laden. Soon as she learned of all he would infer in what he wrote and what he left untold , and of his indignation and his anger— that his heart was by Jealousy controlled— cold fear, martyring anguish to endure, gripped her at heart and instantly took hold. Those pages would have burned from sighs so searing, had not her tears kept them from disappearing!
Repeatedly between choked sobs and tears, having read what he wrote, and read again, seeing fault of lovers ingenuous! As long as breath and life in me be found, let not Love pierce me with another wound! As this, my soul, within my lesh so frail, is spoil to dart diverse. Love cannot slay my breast that loves and prizes you alone , lest with your beauty his darts he would hone. To unravel our love she made provision and wove with craft, and perhaps proited.
So cruel is she! By her I was betrayed, and by you, too, falling for traps she laid! Heaven well sees that when you sought your leave from me, my life turned hard, for I without a heart remained! You plucked it from my person when you abandoned me to pain, cruel one! By calling me ungrateful you then ind aire anew a means to skirt my blame! Mancar si sente in tal dolor la vita e la faccia ha tutta di pianto aspersa. Constant I know you; know, too, that a love constant for you does Biancoiore have! To live and die with you do I aspire! Let not that crude steel blade to you lay claim and cover you with an eternal shame!
So pained, she felt that life itself receded, her face wholly awash in tearful sprays. Her pages folded, she expertly brought together and entwined the wax and knot. Those crimson lips now parched from such distress, with her plentiful tears did she, the damsel, moisten the gem in order to impress her image, lovely, proud, upon the seal. Then, perturbed by an anger amorous, to carry back her answer does she call the messenger. Devoted, bowing low, off like an arrow shot straight does he go. Ha pubblicato diversi romanzi, narrative di viaggi e racconti sia in italiano che in inglese, tra i quali Tiro al piccione , ristampa , Peccato originale , Biglietto di terza , ristampa , Una posizione sociale , ristampa col titolo La stanza grande, , Grafiti , Molise Molise , Il tempo nascosto tra le righe , Detroit Blues , e i romanzi in inglese Benedetta in Guysterland , premio American Book Award, , Accademia , Il paese di Nonsisadove - romanzo telematico, websito arscomica.
Bergin, Salvatore Battaglia e, ultimamente, Robert Lafont. Bibliograia Azais, Gabriel. Beck, J. Die Melodien der Troubadours. Strasbourg, Broadbent, J. Poetic Love. London, Fernandez de la Cuesta, Ismael. Tolosa, Paris, Hill, R. New Haven and London, Margoni, Ivos. Milano-Varese, Angelo Monteverdi. Studi in onore di Angelo Monteverdi. Modena, Aurelio Roncaglia. La lingua dei trovatori. Roma, Maurice Valency. In Praise of Love. New York, Van der Werf, Hendrik.
Utreck, Et ella lo fetz a gran honor sepeillir en la maison del Temple; e poi en aqel dia ella se rendet monga, per la dolor qe ella ac de la soa mort. A cura di Robert Lafont. Casa Editrice Le Let- tere, Firenze , p. Io mi avvalgo per convalida e guida del Vo- cabolario ragionato del dialetto di Casacalenda, di Antonio Vincelli, Edizioni Enne, Campobasso, Also a novelist and literary critic, she founded and directs the only poetry prize for bilingual book publication for Italian American poets with Italian poet, Alfredo dePalchi.
Ned Condini is a native-born Italian who has lived in the United States for many years, a fact that makes him thoroughly bi-lingual. Lafayette, Indiana, La teoria letteraria in M. Non peer-reviewed articles. Portare Steinbeck agli italiani. La traduzione vittoriniana di The Pastures of Heaven more. American Literature , Italian Literature , and Translation. View on rivistatradurre.
Omaggio a Elio Vittorini , anno 12, n. Publication Date: Publication Name: Philosophia. View on muse. Narratology , Literary Theory , and Giovanni Verga. An Anthology of Essays , Ravenna, Longo, Renaissance Humanism and Carlo Dionisotti. Renaissance and Petrarch. Philosophy and Hannah Arendt. Meir Sternberg, Reconceptualizing Narratology. Narratology and Literary Theory. Conference Presentations.
A Transnational Nationalist. Publication Date: Modernism in Translation. Panelists are invited to explore the range of functions that translations have performed — e. Please submit a word abstract to Silvia Guslandi sguslandi uchicago. Literary aesthetic practices, which we broadly refer to as modernist, also often embraced nation-centric and aggressively elitist worldviews. At the same time, however, this period was marked by an increase in geographical mobility due to migration, political exile and travel as well as by the redefinition of boundaries caused by the First World War.
Many intellectuals experienced these phenomena first hand, to the point that scholars have viewed exile and displacement as defining factors of the modernist movement. The translingual or multilingual writing of many of these authors further complicates the matter and shows cultural hybridity to be a common component of apparently homogeneous constructions of nationhood.
Paper proposals are invited to investigate the development and aesthetic expression of these competing tendencies. In what ways do artists and writers whose identities are determined by transregional movement endorse nationalist ideologies? What are the stakes of pointing out the culturally hybrid roots of authors firmly established and in service to a mono-nationalist canon? What kinds of linguistic expressions occur as the result of migration, travel, dislocation and exile during a time of belligerent nationalist rhetoric?
How can we reframe the notion of boundary in light of these considerations? How do translation and self-translation function within this framework? In what ways can we reconsider the dichotomy between cosmopolitanism and ethnocentrism? How can works of art and literature help us better understand the co-existence of imperialism, racism and ethnocentrism with migration, cosmopolitanism and the onset of global cultural connections?
While the seminar focuses on the first half of the twentieth century, authors are welcome to draw connections with other periods marked by the rise of nationalism — including the present one. Given the possibilities for interdisciplinary discussion offered by the ACLA Conference structure of multi-day seminars, presenters are also encouraged to seek conversation with others beyond their field. EST and do not hesitate to contact sguslandi uchicago. Poet Emanuel Carnevali was born in Italy but wrote in English, beginning with the eight years he lived as an immigrant in the United States between and , as well as in the rare, unpublished writings from the last years of his Poet Emanuel Carnevali was born in Italy but wrote in English, beginning with the eight years he lived as an immigrant in the United States between and , as well as in the rare, unpublished writings from the last years of his life, spent in an Italian hospital.
What are the effects of defining an author ethnically?
Related I Poeti Contemporanei 158 (Italian Edition)
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