melting & burning

Amor fati
October 31, 2016, 10:26 pm
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Amor fati (lit. “love of fate”) is a Latin phrase that may be translated as “love of fate” or “love of one’s fate”. It is used to describe an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in one’s life, including suffering and loss, as good or, at the very least, necessary, in that they are among the facts of one’s life and existence, so they are always necessarily there whether one likes them or not. Moreover, amor fati is characterized by an acceptance of the events or situations that occur in one’s life.

This acceptance does not necessarily preclude an attempt at change or improvement, but rather, it can be seen to be along the lines of what Nietzsche means by the concept of “eternal recurrence”: a sense of contentment with one’s life and an acceptance of it, such that one could live exactly the same life, in all its minute details, over and over for all eternity.

from wiki


Ralph Barton’s suicide note
August 17, 2014, 10:25 pm
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Everyone who has known me and who hears of this will have a different hypothesis to offer to explain why I did it. Practically all of these hypothesis will be dramatic—and completely wrong. Any sane doctor knows that the reasons for suicide are invariably psychopathological. Difficulties in life merely precipitate the event—and the true suicide type manufactures his own difficulties. I have had few real difficulties. I have had, on the contrary, and exceptionally glamorous life—as lives go. And I have had more than my share of affection and appreciation. The most charming, intelligent, and important people I have known have liked me—and the list of my enemies is very flattering to me. I have always had excellent health. But, since my childhood, I have suffered with a melancholia which, in the past 5 years, has begun to show definite symptoms of manic-depressive insanity. It has prevented my getting anything like the full value out of my talents, and, for the past three years, has made work a torture to do at all. It has made it impossible for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of life that seem to get other people through. I have run from wife to wife, from house to house, and from country to country, in a ridiculous effort to escape from myself. In doing so, I am very much afraid that I have spread a good deal of unhappiness among the people who have loved me.

Ode – Mihai Eminescu
January 15, 2014, 9:56 am
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Odã (în metru antic)

Nu credeam sã-nvãt a muri vrodatã;
Pururi tînãr, înfãsurat în manta-mi,
Ochii mei nãltam visãtori la steaua

Cînd deodatã tu rãsãrisi în cale-mi,
Suferintã tu, dureros de dulce…
Pîn-în fund bãui voluptatea mortii

Jalnic ard de viu chinuit ca Nessus,
Ori ca Hercul înveninat de haina-i;
Focul meu a-l stinge nu pot cu toate
Apele mãrii.

De-al meu propriu vis, mistuit mã vaiet,
Pe-al meu propriu rug, mã topesc în flãcãri…
Pot sã mai renviu luminos din el ca
Pãsãrea Phoenix?

Piarã-mi ochii turburãtori din cale,
Vino iar în sîn, nepãsare tristã;
Ca sã pot muri linistit, pe mine
Mie redã-mã !

(1883, în vol. Poesii)


Ode (in ancient meter)

Hardly had I thought I should learn to perish;
Ever young, enwrapped in my robe I wandered,
Raising dreamy eyes to the star styled often
Solitude’s symbol.

All at once, however, you crossed my pathway –
Suffering – you, painfully sweet, yet torture…
To the lees I drank the delight of dying –
Pitiless torment.

Sadly racked, I’m burning alive like Nessus,
Or like Hercules by his garment poisoned;
Nor can I extinguish my flames with every
Billow of oceans.

By my own illusion consumed I’m wailing,
On my own grim pyre in flames I’m melting…
Can I hope to rise again like the Phoenix
Bird from the ashes?

May all tempting eyes vanish from my pathway,
Come back to my breast, you indifferent sorrow!
So that I may quietly die, restore me
To my own being!

(Translated by Andrei Bantas)


Ode (in antikem Versmaß)

Hatte niemals geglaubt, daß ich je lernte zu sterben,
Ewiglich jung, in meinen Mantel gehüllt,
Hob den träum´rischen Blick ich zum Sterne
Der Einsamkeit auf.

Unverhofft aber kamst du auf dem Weg mir entgegen,
O Leiden, du – schmerzvolle Süße…
Bis auf den Grund trank ich des Todes Begierde,
Qual ohn´ Erbarmen.

Jammervoll brenn´ ich, lebendig gemartert wie Nessus,
Oder Herkules gleich, von seinem Gewande vergiftet;
Nicht kann ich löschen das Feuer in mir mit allen
Wassern der Meere.

Von dem eigenen Traume verzehrt, muß ich klagen,
An dem eigenen Brandpfahle schmelz´ ich in Flammen…
Werde ich jemals der Asche entsteigen wie der
Unsterbliche Phoenix?

Mach´ die Augen mir klar, die trübe vom Wirrsal des Weges,
Komm an die Brust mir, du traurige Gleichmut,
Damit in Ruhe ich sterbe, gib mich
Mir selber zurück !

(Tradus de Alfred W. Tüting)