Nothing lives that is worthy
Thy agitation, and the earth deserve not a sigh.
Our being is pain and boredom and the world is dirt - nothing more.
Be calm.
Now I know that it is arguable that this little piece of nihilism is simply an early example of emo kid ramblings (the Italian's a renowned for being a passionate people, after all; it seems reasonable that they would be ahead of the times with angst), but somehow the final line makes it unbearably beautiful to me.
As such I looked up some of his other poetry, and came across this:
The poem is about the idea of the Platonic ideal of beauty and the (im)possibility of ever finding it in this life. Leopardi is mourning the fact that he has come to realise that what he has found beautiful in all of the women he has loved is something transcendent; it is what the women embody rather than the women themselves. Leopardi also realises that the true object of his desire, Beauty in and of itself, is always going to beyond him. He is destined to always be the unnoticed lover.
I don't know how this poem was intended, but it is significant to me that it is, and could only ever be, a lament. People, especially in the Western/Judaeo Christian tradition, have always strived towards the infinite (thanks, in part, to the likes of Plato). This comes as part and parcel of having the wonderful imagination and minds that we do; we can abstract from what is and imagine what is not, and work towards making it real. However, we also get rather carried away with this. We are finite creatures, and can never know the infinite (however one might wish to imagine it being, and whatever sense one makes of such an idea). We need humility. The ideal of beauty means that we can strive and create things that we may never even have once believed possible. But it also means that we may fail to appreciate what is in front of us, as we are comparing it to an impossibility. Ideal beauty is exactly that; an idea. Human beauty is what we see in those we love, and in the world as perceived through our eyes. It is probably better to leave ideal beauty for the gods, and try hard to appreciate the beauty in our own lives for what it is.
Although I have to say I do like Leopardi's lament for the ideal. So maybe it is ok to open oneself up to the pain of the Absurd now and then, if only to bring beauty in to the world.
Having said this, for some reason I have done a very bad thing. The "clash of cultures" of the title of this post comes about because, taking a shine to Leopardi's poem, I took the next logical step of attempting to set it to the ukulele. You can hear the results in the video below...
I really am sorry...
Our being is pain and boredom and the world is dirt - nothing more.
Be calm.
Now I know that it is arguable that this little piece of nihilism is simply an early example of emo kid ramblings (the Italian's a renowned for being a passionate people, after all; it seems reasonable that they would be ahead of the times with angst), but somehow the final line makes it unbearably beautiful to me.
As such I looked up some of his other poetry, and came across this:
To His Lady
Giacomo LeopardiBeloved beauty who inspires
love in me from afar, your face obscured
except when your celestial image
stirs my heart in sleep, or in the fields
where light and nature's laughter shine more lovely—
was it maybe you who blessed
the innocent age called golden,
and do you now, blithe spirit,
fly among men? Or does that miser fate
who hides you from us save you for the future?
No hope of seeing you alive
remains for me now,
except when, naked and alone,
my soul will go down a new street
to its unknown home. Already at the dawn
of my dark, uncertain day
I imagined you a fellow traveler
on this arid ground. But there's no thing
that resembles you on earth. And if someone
had a face like yours, in act and word she'd be,
though something like you, far less beautiful.
In spite of all the suffering
fate decreed for human time,
if there were anyone on earth
who truly loved you as my thought depicts you,
this life for him would be a blessing.
And I see clearly how your love
would lead me still to strive for praise and virtue,
as I used to in my early years.
Though heaven gave no comfort for our troubles,
yet with you mortal life would be
like what in heaven leads to divinity.
In the valleys, where the song
of the weary farmer sounds,
and when I sit and mourn
the illusions of youth fading,
and on the hills where I recall
and grieve for my lost desires
and my life's lost hope, I think of you
and start to shake. If only I, in this
sad age and unhealthy atmosphere,
could keep hold of your noble look; for since the real thing's
missing I must make do with the image.
Whether you are the only one
of the eternal ideas eternal wisdom
refuses to see arrayed in sensible form
to know the pains of mortal life
in transitory spoils,
or if in the supernal spheres another earth
from among unnumbered worlds receives you
and a near star lovelier than the Sun
warms you and you breathe benigner ether,
from here, where years are both ill-starred and brief,
accept this hymn from your unnoticed lover.
Translated by Jonathan Galassi
The poem is about the idea of the Platonic ideal of beauty and the (im)possibility of ever finding it in this life. Leopardi is mourning the fact that he has come to realise that what he has found beautiful in all of the women he has loved is something transcendent; it is what the women embody rather than the women themselves. Leopardi also realises that the true object of his desire, Beauty in and of itself, is always going to beyond him. He is destined to always be the unnoticed lover.
I don't know how this poem was intended, but it is significant to me that it is, and could only ever be, a lament. People, especially in the Western/Judaeo Christian tradition, have always strived towards the infinite (thanks, in part, to the likes of Plato). This comes as part and parcel of having the wonderful imagination and minds that we do; we can abstract from what is and imagine what is not, and work towards making it real. However, we also get rather carried away with this. We are finite creatures, and can never know the infinite (however one might wish to imagine it being, and whatever sense one makes of such an idea). We need humility. The ideal of beauty means that we can strive and create things that we may never even have once believed possible. But it also means that we may fail to appreciate what is in front of us, as we are comparing it to an impossibility. Ideal beauty is exactly that; an idea. Human beauty is what we see in those we love, and in the world as perceived through our eyes. It is probably better to leave ideal beauty for the gods, and try hard to appreciate the beauty in our own lives for what it is.
Although I have to say I do like Leopardi's lament for the ideal. So maybe it is ok to open oneself up to the pain of the Absurd now and then, if only to bring beauty in to the world.
Having said this, for some reason I have done a very bad thing. The "clash of cultures" of the title of this post comes about because, taking a shine to Leopardi's poem, I took the next logical step of attempting to set it to the ukulele. You can hear the results in the video below...
I really am sorry...
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