At the end of March there was a puff piece about Anne Carson in the NY Times, occasioned by a staged reading of her translation of, I think, Euripides’ Hekabe.1 One short passage attracted my attention:
For all this, Ms. Carson said, she is not a poet. ‘Homer’s a poet,’ she said. ‘I would say I [...]
Anne Carson, The Beauty of the Husband.
‘As is’
he she we they you you you I her so pronouns begin the dance called washing whose name derives from an alchemical fact that after a small stillness there is a small stir after great stillness a great stir
– Anne Carson
χρύσειοι
<δ’> ἐρέβινθοι
ἐπ’ ἀϊόνων
ἐφύοντο1
and golden chickpeas were growing on the
banks
– Sappho (Voigt fr. 143)
trans. Anne Carson.
I once sat through a lecture wherein the speaker claimed that the presence of an imperfect verb was sufficient to prove the presence of a narrative. Though that notion seems a bit silly to me, I have no real opinion on [...]
::
ego hoc feci mm–mmviii
© 2000–8 M.F.C.