larvatus prodeo
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Below are the 30 most recent journal entries recorded in the "Michael Zeleny" journal:[<< Previous 30 entries]
03:41 pm
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max weber on starting and ending fights Welcher Mensch wird sich vermessen, die Ethik der Bergpredigt, etwa den Satz: „Widerstehe nicht dem Übel“ oder das Bild von der einen und der anderen Backe, „wissenschaftlich widerlegen“ zu wollen? Und doch ist klar: es ist, innerweltlich angesehen, eine Ethik der Würdelosigkeit, die hier gepredigt wird: man hat zu wählen zwischen der religiösen Würde, die diese Ethik bringt, und der Manneswürde, die etwas ganz anderes predigt: „Widerstehe dem Übel,—sonst bist du für seine Übergewalt mitverantwortlich.“ Je nach der letzten Stellungnahme ist für den Einzelnen das eine der Teufel und das andere der Gott, und der Einzelne hat sich zu entscheiden, welches für ihn der Gott und welches der Teufel ist. Und so geht es durch alle Ordnungen des Lebens hindurch.
What man will take upon himself the attempt to “refute scientifically” the ethic of the Sermon on the Mount? For instance, the proposition, “Resist no evil” or the image of turning the other cheek? And yet it is clear, from a worldly perspective, that an ethic of indignity is being preached here; one has to choose between the religious dignity that this ethic confers and the dignity of manly conduct that preaches something quite different: “Resist evil, lest you be jointly responsible for its empire.” According to our ultimate standpoint, the one is of the devil and the other of God, and the individual has to decide, which for him is God, and which is the devil. And so it goes through all the orders of life.
Befreien wir es aber zunächst von einer ganz trivialen Verfälschung. Es kann nämlich zunächst die Ethik auftreten in einer sittlich höchst fatalen Rolle. Nehmen wir Beispiele. Sie werden selten finden, daß ein Mann, dessen Liebe sich von einer Frau ab- und einer andern zuwendet, nicht das Bedürfnis empfindet, dies dadurch vor sich selbst zu legitimieren, daß er sagt: sie war meiner Liebe nicht wert, oder sie hat mich enttäuscht, oder was dergleichen „Gründe“ mehr sind. Eine Unritterlichkeit, die zu dem schlichten Schicksal: daß er sie nicht mehr liebt, und daß die Frau das tragen muß, in tiefer Unritterlichkeit sich eine „Legitimität“ hinzudichtet, kraft deren er für sich ein Recht in Anspruch nimmt und zu dem Unglück noch das Unrecht auf sie zu wälzen trachtet. Ganz ebenso verfährt der erfolgreiche erotische Konkurrent: der Gegner muß der wertlosere sein, sonst wäre er nicht unterlegen. Nichts anderes ist es aber selbstverständlich, wenn nach irgendeinem siegreichen Krieg der Sieger in würdeloser Rechthaberei beansprucht: ich siegte, denn ich hatte recht. Oder, wenn jemand unter den Fürchterlichkeiten des Krieges seelisch zusammenbricht und nun, anstatt schlicht zu sagen: es war eben zu viel, jetzt das Bedürfnis empfindet, seine Kriegsmüdigkeit vor sich selbst zu legitimieren, indem er die Empfindung substituiert: ich konnte das deshalb nicht ertragen, weil ich für eine sittlich schlechte Sache fechten mußte. Und ebenso bei dem im Kriege Besiegten. Statt nach alter Weiber Art nach einem Kriege nach dem „Schuldigen“ zu suchen,—wo doch die Struktur der Gesellschaft den Krieg erzeugte—, wird jede männliche und herbe Haltung dem Feinde sagen: „Wir verloren den Krieg—ihr habt ihn gewonnen. Das ist nun erledigt: nun laßt uns darüber reden, welche Konsequenzen zu ziehen sind entsprechend den sachlichen Interessen, die im Spiel waren, und—die Hauptsache—angesichts der Verantwortung vor der Zukunft, die vor allem den Sieger belastet.“ Alles andere ist würdelos und rächt sich. Verletzung ihrer Interessen verzeiht eine Nation, nicht aber Verletzung ihrer Ehre, am wenigsten eine solche durch pfäffische Rechthaberei. Jedes neue Dokument, das nach Jahrzehnten ans Licht kommt, läßt das würdelose Gezeter, den Haß und Zorn wieder aufleben, statt daß der Krieg mit seinem Ende wenigstens sittlich begraben würde. Das ist nur durch Sachlichkeit und Ritterlichkeit, vor allem nur: durch Würde möglich. Nie aber durch eine „Ethik“, die in Wahrheit eine Würdelosigkeit beider Seiten bedeutet. Anstatt sich um das zu kümmern, was den Politiker angeht: die Zukunft und die Verantwortung vor ihr, befaßt sie sich mit politisch sterilen, weil unaustragbaren Fragen der Schuld in der Vergangenheit. Dies zu tun, ist politische Schuld, wenn es irgendeine gibt. Und dabei wird überdies die unvermeidliche Verfälschung des ganzen Problems durch sehr materielle Interessen übersehen: Interessen des Siegers am höchstmöglichen Gewinn—moralischen und materiellen—, Hoffnungen des Besiegten darauf, durch Schuldbekenntnisse Vorteile einzuhandeln: wenn es irgend etwas gibt, was „gemein“ ist, dann dies, und das ist die Folge dieser Art von Benutzung der „Ethik“ als Mittel des „Rechthabens“.
First, let us free ourselves from a quite trivial falsification, that ethics may first arise in a role that is highly compromised morally. Let us consider examples. Rarely will you find that a man whose love turns from one woman to another feels no need to legitimate this before himself by saying: she was not worthy of my love, or, she has disappointed me, or whatever other like “reasons” exist. This is an attitude that, with a profound lack of chivalry, adds a fancied “legitimacy” to the plain fact that he no longer loves her and that the woman has to bear it. By virtue of this “legitimation”, the man claims a right for himself and besides causing the misfortune seeks to put her in the wrong. Likewise, for the successful amatory competitor, the adversary must be less worthy, otherwise he would not have lost out. It is no different, of course, if after a victorious war the victor in undignified self-righteousness claims, “I have won because I was right”. Or, if somebody under the frightfulness of war collapses psychologically, and instead of simply saying it was just too much, he feels the need of legitimizing his war weariness to himself by substituting the feeling, “I could not bear it because I had to fight for a morally bad cause”. And likewise with the defeated in war. Instead of searching like old women for the “guilty one” after the war—given a situation wherein the structure of society produced the war—everyone with a manly and controlled attitude would tell the enemy: “We lost the war. You have won it. That is now all over. Now let us discuss what conclusions must be drawn according to the objective interests that came into play, and what is the main thing in view of the responsibility towards the future that above all burdens the victor.” Anything else is undignified and will rebound. A nation forgives if its interests have been damaged, but no nation forgives if its honor has been offended, especially by a bigoted self-righteousness. Every new document that comes to light after decades revives the undignified lamentations, the hatred and scorn, instead of allowing the war at its end to be buried, at least morally. This is possible only through objectivity and chivalry and above all only through dignity. But never is it possible through an “ethic”, which in truth signifies a lack of dignity on both sides. Instead of being concerned with what the politician is interested in, the future and the responsibility towards the future, this ethic is concerned with politically sterile questions of past guilt, which are not to be settled politically. To act in this way is politically guilty, if such guilt exists at all. And it overlooks the unavoidable falsification of the whole problem, through very material interests: namely, the victor's interest in the greatest possible moral and material gain; the hopes of the defeated to trade in advantages through confessions of guilt. If anything is “vulgar”, then, this is, and it is the result of this fashion of exploiting “ethics” as a means of “being in the right”.
Tags: german, philosophy, translation, weber
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03:21 pm
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a slogan for two anniversaries
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Ἡράκλειτος τὸ ἀντίξουν συμφέρον καὶ ἐκ τῶν διαφερόντων καλλίστην ἁρμονίαν καὶ πάντα κατ᾽ ἔριν γίνεσθαι: ἐξ ἐναντίας δὲ τούτοις ἄλλοι Heracleitus says, ‘Opposition unites,’ and ‘The fairest harmony springs from difference,’ and ‘'Tis strife that makes the world go on.’
—Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1155b1-6, translated by J. Bywater
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Thirty-three years ago the author of these screeds walked free after serving a fifteen day sentence for petty hooliganism with twenty-two codefendants, counting among the first Soviet political protesters to get away with a slap on the wrist. The Berlin Wall came down thirteen years later, to the day. Coincidence? You decide.
Meanwhile, the philosophy of freedom is making giant strides in Russia. On 18 April 2009, Vadim Karastelev, head of the local Human Rights Committee, protested the curfew forbidding anyone under 18 years of age from appearing in the streets of Krasnodar region by displaying a sign with the slogan “Freedom is not given, it is taken”, a paraphrase of an analogous quotation about rights taken from a play by Maxim Gorky:Прав—не дают, права—берут… Человек должен сам себе завоевать права, если не хочет быть раздавленным грудой обязанностей… Rights aren’t given, rights are taken… Man must fight to win his rights if he doesn’t want to be crushed by a mountain of duties… Herewith the expert philosophical analysis rendered in connection with his public display: ( Read more... ) Vadim Karastelev’s slogan echoes the combative demon of Charles Baudelaire:Celui-là seul est l’égal d’un autre, qui le prouve, et celui-là seul est digne de la liberté, qui sait la conquérir. Only he is the equal of another, who proves it, and only he is worthy of liberty, who can conquer it. In his turn, Baudelaire drew upon Goethe’s Faust calling for free humanity jointly creating universal welfare in a free society:
Ja! diesem Sinne bin ich ganz ergeben,
das ist der Weisheit letzter Schluß:
Nur der verdient sich Freiheit wie das Leben,
der täglich sie erobern muß. |
This is the final product of my strife,
The greatest wisdom mankind ever knew:
He only earns his freedom and his life,
Who boldly conquers them each day anew. |
The Faustian maxim is infinitely malleable, lending itself as the populist motto for the National Socialism of Alfred Rosenberg, the Marxism of Ernst Thälmann, and the dissident humanism of Andrei Sakharov. May it serve as the battle cry for the advent of freedom in Russia.
Tags: anarchism, baudelaire, french, german, greek, heraclitus, lawyers, philosophy, politics, russia, russian, translation
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09:05 pm
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on the universal tendency to debasement in the sphere of love Sigmund Freud’s Beiträge zur Psychologie des Liebeslebens, or Contributions To The Psychology Of Love comprise three articles:- “Über einen besonderen Typus der Objektwahl beim Manne”, Jahrbuch für psychoanalytische und psychopathologische Forschungen, Vol. 2, 1910, pp. 389-97; Gesammelte Werke, VIII, pp. 66-77; “A Special Type of Choice of Object Made by Men”, Standard Edition, Vol. 11, pp. 165-175
- “Über die allgemeinste Erniedrigung des Liebeslebens” (Beiträge zur Psychologie des Liebeslebens II), Jahrbuch für psychoanalytische und psychopathologische Forschungen, Vol. 4, 1912, pp. 40-50; Gesammelte Werke, Vol. VIII, pp. 78-91; “On the Universal Tendency to Debasement in the Sphere of Love”, Standard Edition, Vol. 11, pp. 179-190;
- “Das Tabu der Virginität” (Beiträge zur Psychologie des Liebeslebens III). Sammlung kleiner Schriften zur Neurosenlehre, Leipzig-Vienna, Vierte Folge, 1917, pp. 229-251; Gesammelte Werke, Vol. XII: 159-180; “The Taboo of Virginity”, Standard Edition, Vol.11, pp. 193-208.
In the second of these articles reproduced below, Freud discusses male impotence that arises from an incestuous fixation on mother or sister. In the broadest strokes that fall short of caricature, his approach derives from the hypothesis that human sexual desires are based on childhood developments that adults ordinarily no longer consciously access. In regard of these developments, Freud identifies two currents in erotic life. The older affectionate current, originally directed towards the infant’s earliest caretakers, typically the mother, eventually becomes complemented by the sensual current that attains its acme during puberty. The oedipal prohibition turns the sensual current elsewhere. But it often remains fixated to its original incestuous objects, whereby the whole of a young man’s sensuality becomes tied to incestuous phantasies in the unconscious. Impotence ensues. Short of this extreme development, pleasure departs from sexual relations. Men seldom combine the two erotic currents, taking complete satisfaction in the same woman instead of directing each current to different women. But perhaps the erotic instinct is bound to remain perpetually unsatisfied in the choice of object. In later work, Freud would develop the argument locating the gain in the processes of sublimation responsible for the development of civilization. ( Read more... )
Tags: freud, german, love, philosophy, psychology, translation
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04:55 pm
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doggy stylings Some time ago I wondered, what Aristotle might have meant by claiming in the Rhetoric 2.24, at 1401a22, that to be without a dog is most dishonorable. My solution arrived ( Read more... ) Crossposted to larvatus, linguaphiles, ancient_philo, classicalgreek, and classics.
Tags: greek, latin, philosophy, sex, traducement, translation
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04:59 pm
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пятая колонна гнилой цивилизации / the fifth column of a rotten culture
letopisetz:
Собственно, сторонников Израиля в России можно разделить на несколько категорий: 1. Евреи 2. Нееврейские родственники и друзья евреев, сочувствующие им 3. Юдофилы 4. Исламофобы 5. Националисты-антисемиты (те из них, которые желают запереть евреев в своеобразном израильском гетто, выдавив их из Европы) У остальных россиян сочувствовать Израилю или поддерживать действия АОИ нет никаких причин. Даже наоборот, есть причины поддержать арабских противников Израиля. Ведь “враг моего врага— мой друг”. |
In fact, the supporters of Israel in Russia can be divided into several categories: 1. Jews 2. Jewish relatives and friends of Jews, sympathetic to them 3. Judaeophiles 4. Islamophobes 5. Nationalist anti-Semites (those who want to lock up the Jews in the sui generis Israeli ghetto, having expelled them from Europe) The remainder of Russians have no reason for sympathizing with Israel or supporting the IDF actions. On the contrary, they have good reasons for supporting the Arab enemies of Israel. After all, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” |
larvatus:
| Не раскрыта тема номер 6, россиян-любителей вашингтонского обкома. |
You have failed to account for category Number 6, the Russian caucus of Washington’s party line supporters. |
letopisetz:
Совершенно верно. Есть еще одна категория—российские западники, воспринимающие Израиль просто как форпост Запада на Ближнем Востоке. |
Precisely. There is another category— Russian Westernizers who perceive Israel as a western outpost in the Middle East |
larvatus:
«Всё действительное разумно, всё разумное действительно.» Раз они нам внедряют своих продажных совков осколков империи, мы им должны внедрять наших шпионов и лазутчиков российских западников. |
“The real is rational and the rational real.” If they are infiltrating us with sell-out Homo Sovieticus specimens imperial rudiments, we must infiltrate them with our spies and operatives Russian Westernizers. |
letopisetz:
| “Мы” и “они”— это в Вашей системе координат кто? |
Who are “us” and “them” in your coordinate system? |
larvatus:
| У меня синий паспорт. А у Вас? |
I have a blue passport. What about you? |
letopisetz:
| Для меня паспорт—средство передвижения. |
For me, a passport is a means of transportation. |
larvatus:
| Вы не ответили на мой вопрос. |
You have not answered my question. |
letopisetz: larvatus:
Здесь полагаются памятка и анекдот. Вот Вам памятка:I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen; that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform noncombatant service in the armed forces of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; so help me God. —U.S. Naturalization Oath Так что насчёт “нас” и “их”, у меня с Вами общая система координат. А вот и анекдот: Для разрядки, так сказать, напряга, пожалуйста, анекдотик. Вернее, не анекдотик, а быль. Но быль до того невероятную, что она, паскудина, сама себя осознает вдруг легендарной и берет кликуху Анекдот, чтобы таким хитромудрым способом продлить на какое-то время свою жизнь. Да и само время, гражданин Гуров, само наше анекдотическое времечко недаром окрестили не столько вожди, сколько их плюгавые шестерки из поэтов и композиторов, временем легендарным. Короче говоря, приводят к Будённому перебежчика. Белого. Так, мол, и так, Семён Михайлович, постиг я в мгновение ока происходящее, дошла до меня безысходность белого движения. Чуять начинаю за три версты красоту ваших кавалерийских идей, возьмите к себе воевать. Хорошо. Переодели, переобули, дали красавца-гнедого. Повоевал немного белый, но вдруг показалось ему, что снова постиг он в мгновенье ока происходящее и слинял к Деникину. Мужественно явился и говорит Самому: так, мол, и так, ошибся я. Будённый — полное говно, вокруг него мерзкий плебс, большей вони и совершенней лжи, чем советская власть, вообразить себе невозможно, и лучше уж, ваше превосходительство, смерть в наших безысходных рядах, чем торжество в смрадном каре обманутых маньяками плебеев. Простите великодушно. Время у нас смутное, возможен, согласитесь, поиск душой верного пути. Деникин не стал дискутировать на эту тему. Он отдал дважды перебежчика обратно Будённому. Белый стал втолковывать этой тупой усатой мандавше, что он не подлец, а человек ищущий, и наконец, в последней попытке спасти шкуру, брякнул что-то насчет раздвоения личности. Будённый вынимает саблю, пробует отточку клинка на коготище и врезает красно-белому по темечку. До самой жопы его расколол, а дальше тот сам рассыпался. “Мы—большевики,—говорит Будённый,—проблему раздвоения личности решаем по-своему: сабелькой!” —Юз Алешковский, «Рука (Повествование палача)» Это к вопросу о паспорте, как о “средстве передвижения”. |
Here we can use a reminder and an anecdote. Herewith your reminder:I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen; that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform noncombatant service in the armed forces of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; so help me God. —U.S. Naturalization Oath So in regard to “us” and “them”, you and I share the same coordinate system. And now, the anecdote:To begin our détente, so to speak, here is an anecdote. Or rather, not an anecdote, but a true story. But a true story so incredible that its lousy self suddenly becomes aware of its mythical nature and assumes the moniker of an Anecdote so as to prolong its life for a while by such mystical means. And our present itself, citizen Gurov, our pathetic times are not for nothing dubbed legendary, not so much by our leaders, but by their slavish rhymsters and tunesmiths. Anyway, a turncoat is brought to Budyonny. A White. Blah blah blah, Semyon Mikhailovich, the hopelessness of the White movement, it all came to me in the blink of an eye. I can smell from three miles away the beauty of your cavalry ideals, so let me fight on your side. Very well. They give him a new uniform, new boots, a beautiful bay stallion. So the White fights for a little white, but suddenly the meaning of it all seems once again to come to him in the blink of an eye, and he bolts back to Denikin. He bravely presents himself to the Man himsef: Blah blah blah, my bad. I was mistaken. Budyonny is a lousy shit, surrounded by vile plebs, there is no fouler stench and uglier lie imaginable than the Soviet regime, and Sir, I would much rather perish in our doomed formations than triumph among the rancid ranks of plebeians swindled by maniacs. I beg your magnanimous forgiveness. Our times are troubled, you can understand a soul searching for the right path. Denikin did not debate this matter. He handed over the serial turncoat back to Budyonny. The White tried to explain to this moronic mustachioed louse that he was no villain, but a soul on a quest, and finally, in a desperate attempt to save his hide, blurted out something about a split personality. Budyonny draws his sabre, tests its edge against his claw, and cracks the Red-and-White right on top of his skull, splitting him all the way down to his ass, from whence he scatters on his own. “We, the Bolsheviks,” says Budyonny, “solve the problem of a split personality in our own way—with a sabre!” —Yuz Aleshkovsky, The Hand or, the Confession of an Executioner This is in regard to taking your passport as “a means of transportation.” |
 letopisetz:
| Только дегенерат может всерьез воспринимать подобные клятвы. |
Only a degenerate can take such an oath seriously. |
larvatus:
| Вам с этим заявлением—к Будённому. Я здесь ни при чём. |
Please take your pleading to Budyonny. I have nothing to do with it. |
letopisetz:
furia_krucha:
| Как так? Ведь до синего у вас верно был красный? |
How so? Didn’t you have a red passport before a blue one? |
larvatus:
| Сначала у меня был красный паспорт. Потом я продал свою библиотеку, чтоб от него откупиться. Заодно и побывал в тюрьме, чтобы не жалеть о сделке. Наконец я дал клятву, чтобы был синий паспорт. Вот и вся история. |
First I had a red passport. Then I sold my library to pay for ridding myself of it. For good measure I went to jail to forestall any regrets regarding this deal. Finally, I swore an oath to get a blue passport. That’s the end of the story. |
Tags: bullshit, jews, persiflage, phenomenom, politics, russian, russians, translation
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10:26 am
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самая мякотка, самая писечка / corpus cavernosum
Среди наших друзей возник вопрос о взаимосвязанности крутящего момента и лошадиных сил. Эффективность крутящего момента замечательно истолкована в небезызвестном чапаевском анекдоте:Полковник Бороздин зовёт денщика Петровича. «Чё изволите, ваше превосходительство?»—«Петрович, неси сюда рюмку водки и кота.» Петрович принёс. Полковник поддал. «Петрович, крути коту яйца.» Петрович крутит. Кот орёт. Полковник утирает скупую мужскую слезу: «Котик-котик, как я тебя понимаю…» Здесь никакие лошадиные силы не помогут. Действительно, представим себе, что не Петрович крутит коту яйца, а лягает их копытом белый чапаевский конь. В этом случае, вместо издавания желаемого вопля, кот либо разобьётся вдребезги, либо улетит к ебёной матери. Короче говоря, при попытке подмены крутящего момента лошадиными силами выходит пагубная неувязка. |
Our friends are puzzled by the interrelatedness of torque and horsepower. The effects of torque are remarkably illustrated in this Chapayevite tale of a certain renown:Colonel Borozdin summons his batman Petrovich. “At your service, your excellency!”—“Petrovich, fetch me a glass of vodka and a cat.” Petrovich conveys. The colonel guzzles. “Petrovich, twist his balls.” Petrovich twists. The cat wails. The colonel dabs his moistened eyes: “Kitty-cat, kitty-cat, I understand…” All the king’s horses would be unavailing. Indeed, imagine that instead of the cat’s balls getting twisted by Petrovich, they get kicked by Chapaev’s white horse. In this scenario, instead of emitting the desired shriek, the cat would either break into pieces or launch into orbit. In short, an attempt to replace torque with horsepower would result in a fatal mishap. |
Tags: gedankenexperiment, persiflage, russian, translation
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12:22 am
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one philosopher, four languages, seven translations Aristotle, Poetics, in Greek, Russian, English, and French.
Tags: aristotle, french, greek, philosophy, russian, translation
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01:49 am
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american advice for russian wordsmiths What Should I Write About? “Mel was depressed.” A lot of notable writing comes out of unhappiness. This does not mean you should hack off a toe just to make sure you’re miserable. Go with what you have. As a Lonely Guy, you should be set up nicely in this area. Remember, though, that unalloyed misery on the page is not necessarily rousing. The line “Mel was depressed” at the beginning of a book is no guarantee that the reader will fly through the pages to see if Mel ever gets to feel better. A few curiosity seekers, perhaps, but not enough to send the book zooming up the lists. At minimum, have Mel feel depressed as he is diving beneath a Sardinian reef, where no man has ever felt depressed before. — Bruce Jay Friedman, The Lonely Guy’s Book of Life, in The Lonely Guy and The Slightly Older Guy, Grove Press, 2001, p. 104
О чём я должен писать? “Мел переживал депрессию.” Много замечательной литературы проистекает из несчастья. Это не значит, что вы должны отрубить палец ноги, чтобы обеспечить своё несчастье. Воспользуйтесь тем, что у вас уже в наличии. Являясь Одиноким Парнем, вы должны иметь немало уместных запасов. Помните однако, что однообразные страдания размазанные на странице не всегда воодушевляют читателя. Строка “Мел переживал депрессию”, помещённая в начале книги, ещё не обеспечивает, что читатель станет листать страницы, чтобы узнать, полегчает ли Мелу. Возможно, что это сделают несколько буквоедов, но их не хватит, чтобы заслать книгу в список бестселлеров. По меньшей мере, дайте Мелу возможность переживать депрессию в то время, как он ныряет под Сардинский риф, где никто никогда до него не переживал депрессиию. — Брюс Джей Фридман, Книга жизни Одинокого Парня, перевёл МЗ
Tags: russian, translation, writing
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10:20 am
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the face of russian philosophy Apart from scattered critical plaudits and academic credits as an author of an obscure masterpiece of originality far more profound than that found in popular literature of his homeland, Russian philosopher Dmitry Galkovsky is practically unknown in the English-speaking world. His finest moment took place a decade ago, in a 1997 award of a literary prize sponsored by Boris Berezovsky. Its report by The Voice of Russia deserves to be savored in its entirety: ( Read more... ) Galkovsky declined to accept the monetary award that accompanied his prize. Over the past decade, he emerged as one of pioneers of Russian literary Internet, reproducing his writings as an online hypertext, boasting a popular LiveJournal blog complemented by an online coven of acolytes dedicated to systematic study of their master’s aporematic opera omnia, and creating a community of bloggers periodically reconvening in “Real Life”. Herewith the closing section of his programmatic 1994 survey of Russian politics and philosophy. It represents the first English rendering of his writings, to be followed by the first extended commentary on its content. ( Read more... ) Crossposted to larvatus, history, and philosophy.
Tags: bullshit, history, philosophy, russian, translation
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02:13 pm
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if you can’t annoy somebody, there’s little point in writing
“It has never surprised me that some men should try to beat Don Juan’s traditional total, only that more do not. Seduction is the unique sensual act; other pleasures, including sex per se, are mere activities, durative and repetitive. Each particular seduction is a final and unchangeable thing, a part of history. … A sculpture can become nothing but a stale grotesque, a poem lose all its edge, but nothing of the sort can happen to what you got up to that night with the princess or the barmaid.” ― Kingsley Amis |
“Я никогда не удивлялся тому, что некоторые мужчины стараются превзойти традиционный итог Дон Жуана, а только тому, что это не делается чаще. Соблазнение является единственным сладострастным актом; другие наслаждения, включая сам по себе половой акт, это всего лишь действия, продолжительные и повторительные. Каждое отдельное соблазнение является окончательной и неизменяемой вещью, частью истории. … Скульптура может сойти в ничто кроме застоявшегося гротеска, стихотворение может полностью потерять свою остроту, но ничего подобного не может произойти с той ночью с принцессой или буфетчицой.” ― перевёл МЗ |
Tags: bullshit, russian, sex, translation
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09:45 pm
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in memoriam joseph brodsky
| Памяти отца: Австралия |
In Memory of My Father: Australia |
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Ты ожил, снилось мне и уехал В Австралию. Голос с трехкратным эхом Окликал и жаловался на климат И обои: квартиру никак не снимут, Жалко, не в центре, а около океана, Третий этаж без лифта, зато есть ванна, Пухнут ноги. “А тапочки я оставил”,― Прозвучавшее внятно и деловито. И внезапно в трубке завыло “Аделаида! Аделаида”, Загремело, захлопало, точно ставень Бился о стенку, готовый сорваться с петель.
Все-таки это лучше, чем мягкий пепел крематория в банке, её залога― эти обрывки голоса, монолога и попытки прикинуться нелюдимом
в первый раз с той поры, как ты обернулся дымом. |
You arose―I dreamt so last night―and left for Australia. The voice, with a triple echo, ebbed and flowed, complaining about climate, grime, that the deal with the flat is stymied, pity it’s not downtown, though near the ocean, no elevator but the bathtub’s indeed an option, ankles keep swelling. “Looks like I’ve lost my slippers” came through rapt yet clear via satellite. And at once the receiver burst into howling “Adelaide! Adelaide!”― into rattling and crackling, as if a shutter, ripped off its hinges, were pounding the wall with inhuman power.
Still, better this than the silky powder canned by the crematorium, than the voucher― better these snatches of voice, this patchwork monologue of a recluse trying to play a genie
for the first time since you formed a cloud above a chimney. |
Voice’s residues, cracked disquisitions, Burnt collateral stowed in a vessel: Faint redemption in decompositions, Just this tug since you went evanescent. |
| ―Иосиф Александрович Бродский, Континент, 61 (1989г) |
―translated by the author, in The New Yorker, 5 March 1990 |
―traduced by MZ |

Crossposted to larvatus and about_poetry.
Tags: death, jews, memory, russian, translation, yohrzeit
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02:22 pm
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the woman poet
Je me suis toujours plu à chercher dans la nature extérieure et visible des exemples et des métaphores qui me servissent à caractériser les jouissances et les impressions d’un ordre spirituel. Je rêve à ce que me faisait éprouver la poésie de Mme Valmore quand je la parcourus avec ces yeux de l’adolescence qui sont, chez les hommes nerveux, à la fois si ardents et si clairvoyants. Cette poésie m’apparaît comme un jardin ; mais ce n’est pas la solennité grandiose de Versailles ; ce n’est pas non plus le pittoresque vaste et théâtral de la savante Italie, qui connaît si bien l’art d’édifier des jardins (aedificat hortos) ; pas même, non, pas même la Vallée des Flûtes ou le Ténare de notre vieux Jean-Paul. C’est un simple jardin anglais, romantique et romanesque. Des massifs de fleurs y représentent les abondantes expressions du sentiment. Des étangs, limpides et immobiles, qui réfléchissent toutes choses s’appuyant à l’envers sur la voûte renversée des cieux, figurent la profonde résignation toute parsemée de souvenirs. Rien ne manque à ce charmant jardin d’un autre âge, ni quelques ruines gothiques se cachant dans un lieu agreste, ni le mausolée inconnu qui, au détour d’une allée, surprend notre âme et lui recommande de penser à l’éternité. Des allées sinueuses et ombragées aboutissent à des horizons subits. Ainsi la pensée du poète, après avoir suivi de capricieux méandres, débouche sur les vastes perspectives du passé ou de l’avenir ; mais ces ciels sont trop vastes pour être généralement purs, et la température du climat trop chaude pour n’y pas amasser des orages. Le promeneur, en contemplant ces étendues voilées de deuil, sent monter à ses yeux les pleurs de l’hystérie, hysterical tears. Les fleurs se penchent vaincues, et les oiseaux ne parlent qu’à voix basse. Après un éclair précurseur, un coup de tonnerre a retenti : c’est l’explosion lyrique ; enfin un déluge inévitable de larmes rend à toutes ces choses, prostrées, souffrantes et découragées, la fraîcheur et la solidité d’une nouvelle jeunesse ! ― Charles Baudelaire, Sur mes contemporains : M. Desbordes-Valmore, OC II, pp. 148-149 |
I always took pleasure in seeking in external and visible nature, examples and metaphors that helped me to characterize the pleasures and the impressions of a spiritual order. I dream of that, which the poetry of Mme Valmore made me feel when I traversed it with these eyes of adolescence that are, in nervous men, at once so ardent and so clear-sighted. This poetry presents itself to me as a garden; but it is not the imposing solemnity of Versailles; neither is it the vast and theatrical picturesque of learned Italy, who knows so well the art of edifying gardens (aedificat hortos); not even, not, not even the Valley of the Flutes or Tænarum of good old Jean-Paul. It is a simple English garden, romantic and novelistic. Flowerbeds represent therein the abundant expressions of sentiment. Ponds, limpid and motionless, which reflect all things resting upon the overturned vault of the skies, represent deep resignation all strewn with memories. Nothing is lacking in this charming garden of a past age, neither some Gothic ruins hiding in a rural spot, nor the unknown mausoleum that, at the turning of a pathway, surprises your soul and instructs it to think of eternity. Sinuous and shaded pathways end in sudden horizons. Thus the poet’s thought, having followed capricious meanders, emerges into vast perspectives of the past or the future; but these skies are too vast to be completely unclouded, and the temperature of those climes too warm to forestall the buildup of storms. The stroller, in contemplating these expanses veiled in mourning, feels his eyes well up with the tears of hysteria, hysterical tears. The flowers lean over in defeat, and the birds speak only in low voice. After a precursory flash, a thunderclap resounded: it is the lyric explosion; at last an inevitable flood of tears returns to all these prostrate, suffering, and discouraged things, the freshness and the solidity of a new youth! ― translated by MZ |
 Portrait de Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, par Nadar
Tags: baudelaire, french, poetry, translation
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10:20 am
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happy centenary, samuel

Le Concentrisme
Monsieur
Vous êtes le premier à vous intéresser à cet imbécile. Voici tout ce que j’en sais : j’ai fait sa connaissance ou, plus exactement, il m’a imposé cette incommodité, la veille de sa mort, à Marseille. Il s’est cramponné à moi dans un sombre bistrot où, à cette époque, j’avais l’excellente habitude d’aller me soûler deux fois par semaine. « Vous avez l’air » me dit-il « suffisamment idiot pour m’inspirer une confiance extrême. Enfin » poursuivit-il — (je ne change rien à ses logogriphes) — « enfin et pour la première fois je tombe sur un animal qui, si j’ose en croire mes yeux, est totalement et idéalement dépourvu d’intelligence, plongé dans une divine et parfaite nullité. » Il s’interrompit, se découvrit, et puis, d’une voix vibrante : « Je vous embrasse, mon frère  ! » s’écria-t-il. Je le repoussai vivement. Il faillit tomber, pâlit, et se mit à tousser d’une façon si douloureuse que je ne pus m’empêcher de regretter la violence de mon geste. Mais il se reprit bientôt et m’adressa de nouveau, maintenant d’une voix à peine perceptible. « Monsieur » dit-il, « permettez-vous que je vous pose une question  ? » ( Read more... ) Gnome
Spend the years of learning squandering Courage for the years of wandering Through a world politely turning From the loutishness of learning.
— written after Samuel Beckett’s resignation from Trinity College; published in the Dublin Magazine IX 3 (July-September 1934); reproduced from Samuel Beckett, Collected Poems in English & French, Grove Press, 1977, p. 7 ( Read more... ) Dotage
When your mind’s no longer flowing Through the conduits of knowing, Train yourself to forgo fretting Over things not worth forgetting.
—MZ, 13 April 2006, 10:20 PST |
Tags: beckett, comedy, doggerel, dotage, french, translation
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09:08 pm
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the final love Extending final felicitations of dearly departing 2005 to all my friends and readers.
| Ballade du dernier amour |
Ballad of the Final Love |
Mes souvenirs sont si nombreux Que ma raison n’y peut suffire. Pourtant je ne vis que par eux, Eux seuls me font pleurer et rire. Le présent est sanglant et noir ; Dans l’avenir qu’ai-je à poursuivre ? Calme frais des tombeaux, le soir !... Je me suis trop hâté de vivre. |
My memories are so profuse, My reason cannot measure up. Yet I abide only through them, Only they make me cry or laugh. The present is bloodied and dark; In the future, what's left to inspire? Peaceful chill of the tomb, at night!... I have hastened too much in living. |
Amours heureux ou malheureux, Lourds regrets, satiété pire, Yeux noirs veloutés, clairs yeux bleus, Aux regards qu’on ne peut pas dire, Cheveux noyant le démêloir Couleur d’or, d’ébène ou de cuivre, J’ai voulu tout voir, tout avoir. Je me suis trop hâté de vivre. |
All my loves requited or not, Regrets encumber, surfeit overwhelms, Velvety black eyes, limpid blue eyes, Glancing in ways unfit for telling, Tresses that submerge the comb Of gold, of ebony, of copper, I have sought to see all, to own all. I have hastened too much in living. |
Je suis las. Plus d’amour. Je veux Vivre seul, pour moi seul décrire Jusqu’à l’odeur de tes cheveux, Jusqu’à l’éclair de ton sourire, Dire ton royal nonchaloir, T’évoquer entière en un livre Pur et vrai comme ton miroir. Je me suis trop hâté de vivre. |
I am worn. No more love. I want To live apart, for myself to set forth Your hair, to equal its fragrance, Your smile, to equal its radiance, To capture your regal aplomb, To recall all of you in a book Pure and true as your mirror. I have hastened too much in living.
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| Envoi |
Envoy |
Ma chanson, vapeur d’encensoir, Chère envolée, ira te suivre. En tes bras j’espérais pouvoir Attendre l’heure qui délivre ; Tu m’as pris mon tour. Au revoir. Je me suis trop hâté de vivre. |
My song, fumes of a censer, Will trail you, my darling flown, In your arms hopeful I would Await the hour that delivers; You have taken my turn. Goodbye. I have hastened too much in living.
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| ― Charles Cros (1842-1888), Le Coffret de santal, 1873, in Charles Cros et Tristan Corbière, Œuvres complètes, Paris: Gallimard, 1970, pp. 105-106 |
― translated by MZ |
Tags: cros, love, poetry, translation
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09:24 am
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homage to a government
Homage to a Government
Next year we are to bring all the soldiers home For lack of money, and it is all right. Places they guarded, or kept orderly, We want the money for ourselves at home Instead of working. And this is all right.
It’s hard to say who wanted it to happen, But now it’s been decided nobody minds. The places are a long way off, not here, Which is all right, and from what we hear The soldiers there only made trouble happen. Next year we shall be easier in our minds.
Next year we shall be living in a country That brought its soldiers home for lack of money. The statues will be standing in the same Tree-muffled squares, and look nearly the same. Our children will not know it’s a different country. All we can hope to leave them now is money.
— Philip Larkin Thus Charles Baudelaire paid his homage to the joy of martial obedience in Le peintre de la vie moderne: ( Read more... )
Tags: baudelaire, french, larkin, poetry, politics, translation
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04:25 pm
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may bears gobble me ( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. )
Tags: animals, catullus, gerbil-clap, latin, sex, sodomy, tasteless, translation, vanity, violence
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07:54 pm
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let it enfold you
| Let It Enfold You |
пусть тебя охватит |
either peace or happiness, let it enfold you |
спокойствие или счастье пусть тебя охватит |
when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. |
когда я был юным я думал что эти штуки глупы и безыскусны. имел едкую кровь, искорченный разум, шаткое воспитание. |
I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman. |
я был твёрд как гранит, я смотрел искоса на солнце. не доверял никому и особенно ни одной из женщин. |
( Read more... )
Tags: bukowski, poetry, russian, translation
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11:59 am
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notes on squeezing the slave soul of russia Is it possible to cease being a slave whilst cultivating whoremastery? ( Read more... )
Tags: multiculturalism, russian, sex, slavery, translation
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12:58 pm
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kojève en ligne → online
| Je suis en train de traduire Kojève sans accès à un texte imprimé. Je serais très reconnaissant à n’importe qui voulant corriger le texte défectueux qui se trouve en ligne. |
I am translating Kojève without access to a printed text. I would be very grateful to anyone willing to proofread the faulty text found online. |
cordially, — Michael Zeleny@post.harvard.edu 7576 Willow Glen Road, Los Angeles, CA 90046 — 323.363.1860 — http://larvatus.livejournal.com/ All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. — Samuel Beckett
Tags: translation
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12:34 pm
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no ptyx
― for Eric Gans
In 1887, Stéphane Mallarmé published a sonnet composed in the form of an allegory of itself. Its outer parts, the first quatrain and the second tercet, comprised a frame that contained the inner parts, the second quatrain and the first tercet. Their relation represented the way whereby the literal subject matter of the poem, a window reflected in the mirror in a darkened room, contained the nighttime sky. To complicate his task further, the poet chose to alternate in the quatrains the masculine rhymes in ‘ix’ and ‘yx’ that ended with a consonant, with feminine rhymes in ‘ore’ that ended in a silent e, inverting their genders to feminine ‘ixe’ and ‘yxe’ alternated with masculine ‘or’ in the tercets. The French vocabulary is ill suited to supplying rhymes in ‘ix/yx’. In response to this deficiency, Mallarmé invested the word ptyx with a novel meaning. His usage seemed at first a hapax legomenon within French literature, a term thitherto unexpressed in its language. But in ancient and modern Greek, πτύξ stood for a layer, a plate, a fold, or a writing tablet. In particular, it designated a special kind of a fold, such as may be found in a seashell. In fact, Victor Hugo already had drawn his inspiration from this term to employ Ptyx as a proper name in La Légende des siècles. Mallarmé had something very different in mind. His ptyx was not any given being, place, or thing, but a special kind of object. Its very nature inhered in its absence:
Ses purs ongles très haut dédiant leur onyx, L’Angoisse, ce minuit, soutient, lampadophore, Maint rêve vespéral brûlé par le Phénix Que ne recueille pas de cinéraire amphore |
Her pure nails sprung up exalting their onyx, Anxiety, this midnight, bearing light, sustains, In twilight many dreams burnt up by the Phoenix Whose smoky ashes no sepulchral urn contains |
Sur les crédences, au salon vide : nul ptyx Aboli bibelot d’inanité sonore, (Car le Maître est allé puiser des pleurs au Styx Avec ce seul objet dont le Néant s’honore.) |
Atop the sideboards, in the empty room: no ptyx, That voided toy of vibrant nonsense, left inside, (Because the Master’s gone to draw the tears from Styx With that exclusive object wherein Naught takes pride.) |
Mais proche la croisée au nord vacante, un or Agonise selon peut-être le décor Des licornes ruant du feu contre une nixe, |
In vacant north seen through the casement frames, a gold May agonize at times, within the setting, to behold Fire-breathing unicorns arrayed against a nix, |
Elle, défunte nue en le miroir, encor Que, dans l’oubli fermé par le cadre, se fixe De scintillations sitôt le septuor. |
She, lifeless naked mirror image, repetition Whom in the twinkling framed forgetting, is to fix Through sparkling timed in septet, composition. |
| ― Stéphane Mallarmé, Œuvres complètes, édition présentée, établie et annotée par Bertrand Marchal, tome I, Gallimard: Bibliothéque de la Pléiade, 1998 (MOC I), pp. 37-38, cf. p. 98 |
― translated by MZ |
( Read more... )
Tags: french, mallarmé, poetry, translation
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04:08 pm
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concerning the lives of stéphane mallarmé on and off the isle of ptyx
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Il n’existe que trois êtres respectables : Le prêtre, le guerrier, le poète. Savoir, tuer et créer. Les autres hommes sont taillables et corvéables, faits pour l’écurie, c’est-à-dire pour exercer ce qu’on appelle des professions. — Charles Baudelaire, Mon cœur mis à nu There exist but three respectable beings: The priest, the warrior, the poet. To know, to kill, to create. The rest of men belong to the fatigue party, made for the stables, in other words for the practice of that, which is called professions. — Charles Baudelaire, My heart laid bare[0] |
Stéphane Mallarmé began his career in nearly devotional emulation of the ill-fated cultivator of les fleurs du mal. Notwithstanding the affinities of his ethos, his destiny was to differ in one significant regard. Or so he insisted in a letter to his friend Henri Cazalis, written in October of 1862:[1] ( Read more... )
Tags: baudelaire, french, huysmans, jarry, mallarmé, translation, valéry
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12:46 pm
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le monde et le pantalon

NAGG. ― Ecoute-la encore. (Voix de raconteur.) Un Anglais ― (il prend un visage d’Anglais, reprend le sien) ayant besoin d’un pantalon rayé en vitesse pour les fêtes du Nouvel An se rend chez son tailleur qui lui prend ses mesures. (Voix du tailleur.) « Et voilà qui est fait, revenez dans quatre jours, il sera prêt. » Bon. Quatre jours plus tard. (Voix du tailleur.) « Sorry, revenez dans huit jours, j’ai raté le fond. » Bon, ça va, le fond, c’est pas commode. Huit jours plus tard. (Voix du tailleur.) « Désolé, revenez dans dix jours, j’ai salopé l’entre-jambes. » Bon, d’accord, l’entre-jambes, c’est délicat. Dix jours plus tard. (Voix du tailleur.) « Navré, revenez dans quinze jours, j’ai bousillé la braguette. » Bon, à la rigueur, une belle braguette, c’est calé. (Un temps. Voix normale.) Je la raconte mal. (Un temps. Voix de raconteur.) Enfin bref, de faufil en aiguille, voici Pâques Fleuries et il loupe les boutonnières. (Visage, puis voix du client.) « Goddam Sir, non, vraiment, c’est indécent, à la fin ! En six jours, vous entendez, six jours, Dieu fit le monde. Oui Monsieur, parfaitement Monsieur, le MONDE ! Et vous, vous n’êtes pas foutu de me faire un pantalon en trois mois ! » (Voix du tailleur, scandalisée.) « Mais Milord ! Mais Milord ! Regardez ― (geste méprisant, avec dégoût) ― le monde… (un temps)… et regardez ― (geste amoureux, avec orgueil) ― mon PANTALON ! »Un temps. Il fixe Nell resté impassible, les yeux vagues, part d’un rire forcé et aigu, le coupe, avance la tête vers Nell, lance de nouveau son rire. HAMM. ― Assez !Nagg sursaute, coupe son rire. ―Samuel Beckett, Fin de partie, Les Éditions de Minuit, 1957, pp. 36-38 |
NAGG: Let me tell it again. (Raconteur’s voice.) An Englishman, needing a pair of striped trousers in a hurry for the New Year festivities, goes to his tailor who takes his measurements. (Tailor’s voice.) “That’s the lot, come back in four days, I’ll have it ready.” Good. Four days later. (Tailor’s voice.) “So sorry, come back in a week, I’ve made a mess of the seat.” Good, that’s all right, a neat seat can be very ticklish. A week later. (Tailor’s voice.) “Frightfully sorry, come back in ten days, I’ve made a hash of the crotch.” Good, can’t be helped, a snug crotch is always a teaser. Ten days later. (Tailor’s voice.) “Dreadfully sorry, come back in a fortnight, I’ve made a balls of the fly.” Good, at a pinch, a smart fly is a stiff proposition. (Pause. Normal voice.) I never told it worse. (Pause. Gloomy.) I tell this story worse and worse. (Pause. Raconteur’s voice.) Well, to make it short, the bluebells are blowing and he ballockses the buttonholes. (Customer’s voice.) “God damn you to hell, Sir, no, it’s indecent, there are limits! In six days, do you hear me, six days, God made the world. Yes Sir, no less Sir, the WORLD! And you are not bloody well capable of making me a pair of trousers in three months!” (Tailor’s voice, scandalized.) “But my dear Sir, my dear Sir, look― (disdainful gesture, disgustedly) ―at the world― (pause) and look― (loving gesture, proudly) ―at my TROUSERS!” (Pause. He looks at Nell who has remained impassive, her eyes unseeing, breaks into a high forced laugh, cuts it short, pokes his head towards Nell, launches his laugh again.) HAMM: Silence! (Nagg starts, cuts short his laugh.)
―Samuel Beckett, Endgame and Act Without Words, Grove Press; Reissue edition (1970) pp. 22-23 |
Comments are here.
Tags: beckett, translation
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03:18 am
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isolation
« En amour, la seule victoire, c’est la fuite. » ― Napoléon Bonaparte
Pendant la première partie de sa vie, on ne se rend compte de son bonheur qu’après l’avoir perdu. Puis vient un âge, un âge second, où l’on sait déjà, au moment où l’on commence à vivre un bonheur, que l’on va, au bout du compte, le perdre. Lorsque je rencontrai Belle, je compris que je venais d’entrer dans cet âge second. Je compris également que je n’avais pas atteint l’âge tiers, celui de la vieillesse véritable, où l’anticipation de la perte du bonheur empêche même de le vivre. ― Michel Houellebecq, La possibilité d’une île, Fayard, 2005, p. 173; voir aussi l’entretien du 25 août 2005 et La fracture Houellebecq de 27 octobre 2005, publiés dans Le Nouvel Observateur |
During the first part of his life, one becomes aware of his happiness only after having lost it. Then comes an age, a second age, when one already knows, as soon as he starts to live in happiness, that he is going to end up losing it. When I met Belle, I understood that I had just entered this second age. I also understood that I had not reached the third age, that of true infirmity, when the anticipation of losing happiness altogether prevents one from living it. ― translated by MZ |
 Rembrandt van Rijn, Susanna and the Elders, 1647, Mahogany, 76.6 x 92.7 cm, Gemäldegalerie, Berlin ( Read more... )
Tags: french, houellebecq, love, translation
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03:09 pm
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family values II
― for Victor Yodaiken
ἔτι καὶ αἱ παροιμίαι, ὥσπερ εἴρηται, μαρτύριά εἰσιν, οἷον εἴ τις συμβουλεύει μὴ ποιεῖσθαι φίλον γέροντα, τούτῳ μαρτυρεῖ ἡ παροιμία, μήποτ' εὖ ἔρδειν γέροντα. ― Aristotle, Rhetoric, 1376a |
Further, proverbs, as stated, are evidence; for instance, if one man advises another not to make a friend of an old man, he can appeal to the proverb, Never do good to an old man. ― translated by J. H. Freese |
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Tags: aristotle, bullshit, citationalism, french, friends, houellebecq, philosophy, translation
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10:17 pm
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heartfelt diplomacy The following exchange is traditionally attributed as the demand for fealty made by the Turkish sultan Mehmet IV (1642—1693) to the Zaporozhian Dnieper Cossacks, followed by the answer given by the Cossacks and their chieftain Ivan Sirko (1605?—1680). Son of sultan Ibrahim I born of and brought up by his Russian concubine Turhan Hatice, Mehmet IV ascended to the Ottoman throne following the assassination of his father in 1648. His reign witnessed great military victories against Venice, Transylvania, and Poland. However, his ambition to extend his rule into Podolia and Ukraine in the East, and Austria and Hungary in the West, was thwarted on September 12 of 1683 by the rout of the Ottoman armies at the walls of Vienna, at the hands of the coalition led by Charles IV, Duke of Lorraine and king Jan III Sobieski of Poland. In the wake of a further defeat in 1687 at Mohacs, inflicted by the Holy League led by Charles V of Lorraine, Mehmet IV was deposed and imprisoned by his council. He lived out his days with two concubines, confined in quarters overlooking his favorite hunting grounds. Cossack chieftain Ivan Sirko distinguished himself in campaigns against Poland, the Ottoman Empire, and Crimean Tatars, accompanied by constant fluctuation in principles and alliances. A characteristic episode in his military exploits has him liberating seven thousand Christian prisoners from Moslem captivity. To these beneficiaries of his martial prowess Sirko offered a choice between accompanying his Cossacks to Rus, and returning to their original Crimean homes. He then dispatched his trops to slaughter three thousand Christians that chose to return to their homes instead of starting from scratch amongst the Cossacks. Surveying the ensuing carnage, the heroic chieftain spoke: Forgive us, brothers, and sleep here until the Last Judgment of our Lord, lest you multiply in the Crimea amongst the infidel, vexing our brave spirits, and causing your eternal unbaptized damnation. (Простите нас, братья, а сами спите тут до страшного Господнего суда, чем размножаться вам в Крыму между бусурманами на наши молодецкие головы, а на свою вечную без крещения погибель.) This amalgam of pragmatic interest in preempting the reproduction of potential enemies with altruistic concern for saving Christian souls provides a vivid illustration of the Cossack chieftain’s favorite saying: «Нужда закон змінює», need will amend law. Today, this intrepid Cossack hero is celebrated in official Ukrainian coinage. ( Read more... )
Tags: bullshit, translation
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07:56 pm
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defeatist propaganda Born Daniil Ivanovich Yuvachev (Даниил Иванович Ювачёв) on December 30th (17th in the old style) of 1905, Daniil Kharms originally spelled out his favorite pseudonym in Latin script as Daniel Charms, deriving it simultaneously from charm, harm, and dharma. Best known in his lifetime as a prolific writer of children’s books, he reserved most of his avant-garde writings for posthumous publication under perestroika, escaping the Great Terror of the late Thirties, only to starve to death in a prison hospital on February 2nd of 1942, charged with spreading defeatist propaganda. It would be impossible to overestimate the influence of Kharms’ definitive epitome of defeatist propaganda on the evolution of Russian performance art.
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Tags: russian, translation
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02:15 pm
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the ethos of translation I

| 1 |
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door — Only this, and nothing more.” |
Une fois, sur le minuit lugubre, pendant que je méditais, faible et fatigué, sur maint précieux et curieux volume d’une doctrine oubliée, pendant que je donnais de la tête, presque assoupi, soudain il se fit un tapotement, comme de quelqu’un frappant doucement, frappant à la porte de ma chambre. « C’est quelque visiteur, — murmurai-je, — qui frappe à la porte de ma chambre ; ce n’est que cela et rien de plus. » |
Une fois, par un minuit lugubre, tandis que je m’appesantissais, faible et fatigué, sur maint curieux et bizarre volume de savoir oublié, — tandis que je dodelinais la tête, somnolant presque, soudain se fit un heurt, comme de quelqu’un frappant doucement, frappant à la porte de ma chambre, — cela seul et rien de plus. |
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Tags: baudelaire, french, mallarmé, poe, translation
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01:44 pm
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les petits maîtres
― à Eric Gans
petit-maître Vieilli, littéraire. Jeune élégant, jeune élégante aux allures et aux manières affectées et prétentieuses. Pluriel : des petits-maîtres, des petites-maîtresses. ( Read more... )
Tags: baudelaire, french, language, mallarmé, sex, translation
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03:24 am
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des esseintes
| Afin de jouir d’une oeuvre qui joignît, suivant ses voeux, à un style incisif, une analyse pénétrante et féline, il lui fallait arriver au maître de l’Induction, à ce profond et étrange Edgar Poe, pour lequel, depuis le temps qu’il le relisait sa dilection n’avait pu déchoir. |
To enjoy a literary work that adjoined, according to his wishes, to an incisive style, a penetrating and feline analysis, he had to get to the master of Induction, that profound and strange Edgar Poe, for whom, since the moment when he started re-reading him, his devotion could not have declined. |
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Tags: baudelaire, french, huysmans, poe, translation
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05:42 am
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franco-american prophecy
| Le monde va finir. La seule raison pour laquelle il pourrait durer, c’est qu’il existe. Que cette raison est faible, comparée à toutes celles qui annoncent le contraire, particulièrement à celle-ci : qu’est-ce que le monde a désormais à faire sous le ciel ? — Car, en supposant qu’il continuât à exister matériellement, serait-ce une existence digne de ce nom et du dictionnaire historique ? Je ne dis pas que le monde se réduit aux expédients et au désordre bouffon des républiques du Sud-Amérique, que peut-être même nous retournerons à l’état sauvage et que nous irons, à travers les ruines herbues de notre civilisation, chercher notre pâture, un fusil à la main. Non ; — car ce sort et ces aventures supposeraient encore une certaine énergie vitale, écho des premiers âges. Nouvel exemple et nouvelles victimes des inexplorables lois morales, nous périrons par où nous avons cru vivre. La mécanique nous aura tellement américanisés, le progrès aura si bien atrophié en nous toute la partie spirituelle, que rien parmi les rêveries sanguinaires, sacrilèges, ou anti-naturelles des utopistes ne pourra être comparé à ses résultats positifs. Je demande à tout homme qui pense de me montrer ce qui subsiste de la vie. De la religion, je crois inutile d’en parler et d’en chercher les restes, puisque se donner encore la peine de nier Dieu est le seul scandale en pareilles matières. La propriété avait disparu virtuellement avec la suppression du droit d’aînesse ; mais le temps viendra où l’humanité, comme un ogre vengeur, arrachera leur dernier morceau à ceux qui croiront avoir hérité légitimement des révolutions. Encore, là ne serait pas le mal suprême. |
The world is going to end. The only reason for which it could last, is that it exists. This reason is feeble, compared to all those that announce the opposite, particularly to this one: what does the world have from now on to do under the sky? — Because, supposing that it should continue to exist materially, would that be an existence worthy of its name and a historical dictionary? I do not say that the world reduces itself to the expedients and the farcical disorder of the republics of South America, that perhaps we shall even revert to savagery and that we shall proceed, across the grassy ruins of our civilization, to seek our grazing ground, rifle in hand. No — because this fate and these adventures would still presuppose a certain vital energy, echo of the first ages. New example and new victims of the unexplorable moral laws, we shall perish by what we had believed to live. Mechanics will have Americanized us so much, progress will have so thoroughly atrophied in us all our spiritual faculties, that nothing among the sanguinary, sacrilegious, or anti-natural daydreams of the utopians could be compared with its positive results. I ask any thinking man to show me what remains of life. Concerning religion, I believe that it is useless to speak and to seek its remains, since to go to the trouble of once again denying God is the only scandal in such matters. Property had virtually disappeared with the suppression of the right of primogeniture; but the time will come when humanity, like a vengeful ogre, will extract its remainder from those who will believe themselves to have legitimately inherited from the revolutions. Still, that would not be the supreme evil. |
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Tags: baudelaire, french, politics, translation
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