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Tag Archives: Virgil

The Tale of the Strolling Queen

06 Thursday Jul 2017

Posted by la Clarina in Theatre

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Aeneid, Of Men and Poets, Virgil

We had Of Men and Poets again, last week. A one-off performance in the small garden of the small Virgilian museum in the small town where we like to think Virgil was born. On paper, it was perfect: the summer evening, the right place…

True, because of a couple of last-minute substitutions, and because it came in between other things, Nina settled on a reading, rather than a full performance. But we’ve done this before: it’s still lovely to see, and very effective, so nobody worried a whit.

But perhaps we should have. Continue reading →

Aeneas at Washington

22 Tuesday Nov 2016

Posted by la Clarina in Poetry

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Aeneas, Aeneid, Allen Tate, Virgil

The image of American Poet Laureate Allen Tate...

We were speaking of Allen Tate‘s Aeneas at Washington, weren’t we? Well, let me observe in passing that, for one who isn’t all that keen on Virgil – and even less on the Aeneid, I post an awfully good deal about it all…

Oh well, it’s because of the play, mostly, and because I truly like Tate’s take on Aeneas, with its bitter suggestion that the notion of rebuilding elsewhere what had gone up in fire may have gone astray. Tate’s Troy remains a half-forgotten golden shadow, its intended rebirth is an empty shell – and one may well question if it was worth the high price that was paid for it. Continue reading →

Reading Poetry Without Warning

17 Thursday Nov 2016

Posted by la Clarina in Things

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Allen Tate, seamus heaney, Virgil

untitled-2In ten days or so, Nina’s people are going to play Of Men and Poets again, in the tiny theatre where it was born. Not the place where it debuted – but the one where it was first put together… Well, yes, Of Men and Poets (codename 2P) has had its share of adventures, including a first night cancelled thanks to the last real snowfall hereabout, five or six years ago…

Anyway, we’ve been reminiscing, Nina and I, and the actor who plays a (wordless) Aeneas, and other Virgilian memories keep cropping up. Like the conference-speaker who arrived from Rome demanding someone to prepare his Powerpoint presentation for him, and someone else to read aloud four poems during his talk. Four long poems, in English, during a twenty-minute talk, before a mostly non-English speaking presentation. The conference people tried frantically to dissuade him: nobody would understand anyway, the poems together took about a quarter of an hour to be read, and could he explain quite what their relevance to his argument was?

In the end, and with the worst possible grace, the man reduced the poems to one – but on that one, Allen Tate’s Aeneas in Washington, he was adamant, and so someone suggested that I should read it – since I was there already, translating for Seamus Heaney… So yes, I ended up – with very little warning – reading Allen Tate before Seamus Heaney, as well as a full auditorium. Seamus

I think I must have made a deer-in-the-light expression, because Mr. Heaney patted my shoulder and whispered in my ear that I’d done more harrowing things. “Remember when I received the Premio Virgilio, the year before last, and I forgot to give you the text of my speech beforehand, and you translated as I spoke?”

Which I had, and it had been very much like the flying trapeze – with nary a net in sight: terrifying and glorious…

“It can’t be harder than that, can it? Go ahead.”

And because I hero-worshipped Mr. Heaney, and I would have jumped off cliffs at his bidding, go ahead I did. In the end, no one quite understood why Aeneas had to be read at all, since the talk barely mentioned Tate – but I managed to do it without entirely disgracing myself, and Mr. Heaney was very nice about it, and it is a beautiful poem anyway. So, although it was a bit like the flying trapeze again, it also turned out to be a lovely experience, and a memory I’ll cherish. Go figure, I’ll end up having to thank the unreasonable speaker, sooner or later.

 

Turnus

24 Saturday Sep 2016

Posted by la Clarina in Poetry

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Aeneid, Rosanna Warren, Turnus, Virgil

turnusBecause of Of Men and Poets next week, the Aeneid is rather on my mind. I must confess I quite hated it back in my school days, and still can’t make myself like Aeneas… My sympathy goes to Turnus, the young king of the Rutuli, who is minding his business, ruling his kingdom and wooing his cousin, princess Lavinia, when Aeneas barges in, armed with divine favour and Fate’s plans for Rome… Continue reading →

Lost Notes

21 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by la Clarina in Scribbling, Theatre

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Mantova, Moleskine, Of Men and Poets, Rewriting, taking notes, Virgil

2PSo the time has come to rewrite – or at least significantly rework – Di Uomini e Poeti, that is, Of Men and Poets. It had a good run back in 2012, and it was published, but I’ve always wanted to do something more and better with it.

Now a reprise is in the air, for Mantova’s year as cultural capital of Italy: what better chance for a new version of the play?

So I printed a copy and began searching for the notes I’d made back then… Continue reading →

Seamus Heaney’s Virgil

08 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by la Clarina in Poetry

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Aeneid, BBC Radio, Book Six, Ian McKellen, seamus heaney, Virgil

SeamusSeamus Heaney used to say that his love of Virgil began with the wistfulness of his Latin teacher, who wished they could have read Book VI of the Aeneid, instead of the mandatory Book IX…

The notion of poetry to make a teacher sigh – this led the young Seamus to read Virgil, to find more and more ties to the ancient poet, to translate his works, to rework them into his own poems, to weave a golden web of inspiration, echoes and shared themes across the millennia. Continue reading →

Rewriting Myself

19 Thursday Mar 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Scribbling, Theatre

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Aeneid, Hannibal Barca, Rewriting, Second Punic War, Virgil

Again and againI find myself wanting to rewrite things.

Plays, especially. Plays that were staged with good success – one even published…

But now I want to rewrite them, because seeing them staged made me aware of rough edges, mistakes, things great and small that need some more work. And because years have passed and I have learnt a few things since.

Somnium Hannibalis is a stage adaptation of my novel of the same name.* Hannibal Barca, the Second Punic War, the price of all-consuming dreams… An intense little thing – if I say so myself. It had several runs over four years, it played well, and I loved it very much, but now… I want to write it again, to change things, to shift the characters around Hannibal, to have things happen onstage more. It’s not that I have grown to dislike it, but I know how to make it so much better.

Of Men and Poets is a play on Virgil – or rather, on the fate of the Aeneid after Virgil’s death. It was a commission, and it opened rather grandly, back in the day, to the presence of Seamus and Marie Heaney, Peter Fallon, the Gotha of Europe’s Virgil scholars… Then it had a good run and was published. And it wasn’t bad – but I was so green to the craft when I wrote it, and it shows in a hundred little ways. There are many things I know now, and wish I had known back then…

And of course I couldn’t know, because a good deal of it I learnt by sitting backstage or in the audience through show after show, and getting a feeling for what works and what doesn’t, and discussing things with directors and actors… So many lessons that I can and do use in writing new plays – but those old things, they were stories I loved (even though I panicked at first when I was commissioned a play on the damn Aeneid), and it seems a pity to leave them like that. They feel unfinished, and I want to work on them some more.

After the first run of Men&Poets, I told a friend I’d have to do something with it, sooner or later. He stared at me because, he said, he had trouble imagining that a published play could be regarded as unfinished.

“It is on paper, you know…”

Well, it wasn’t unfinished when I delivered it to the company and the publisher – oh, it felt finished enough. It was only later, that it grew unfinished again. And I have a notion that, the more I learn about playwriting, the more unfinished my old plays will become.

And also that, even after I rewrite them, sooner or later they will grow unfinished again, because this is how it works. If I’ll go on rewriting again and again, or what will be worth rewriting… well, this I’ll decide – or learn – as I go. As I rewrite.

_________________________________

* And yes, the Latin title was one of those mistakes…

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