| Title | : | De Profundis |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | - |
| Language | : | Spanish; Castilian |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 188 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1897 |
De Profundis Reviews
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”Now it seems to me that love of some kind is the only possible explanation of the extraordinary amount of suffering that there is in the world. I cannot conceive of any other explanation. I am convinced that there is no other, and that if the world has indeed, as I have said, been built of sorrow, it has been built by the hands of love, because in no other way could the soul of man, for whom the world was made, reach the full stature of its perfection. Pleasure for the beautiful body, but pain for the beautiful soul."
Το «De profundis» γράφτηκε στη φυλακή, σε διάρκεια τριών μηνών το 1897. Είναι μια περίεργη εξομολόγηση. Ένα ξεχωριστό έγγραφο. Μια θρησκευτική μαρτυρία. Μια φιλοσοφική διατριβή. Μια κραυγή απελπισίας και θάρρους.
Το οξύμωρο στην επιστολή αυτή αποτελεί το γεγονός πως απευθύνεται αυστηρώς προσωπικά σε κάποιον αποδέκτη ενώ παράλληλα είναι ένα εξαιρετικό λογοτεχνικό έργο για δημόσια προβολή.
Στην ουσία είναι μια «εκ βαθέων» ψυχής εξομολόγηση του Όσκαρ Ουάιλντ. Το κύκνειο άσμα ενός τεράστιου πνευματικού δημιουργού με μια αφοριστικά καταραμένη κραυγή πάθους και εσωτερικής ποιότητας του Ουάιλντ προς τον ίδιο του τον εαυτό.
Το θέμα του είναι μια τραγωδία πάθους. Μια εκφραστική δυνατότητα ενός απίστευτα ρομαντικού και ερωτευμένου με τη ζωή και τα πάθη ανθρώπου που αισθάνεται γράφοντας το, ότι μιλάει απο τα βάθη της τελικής του ήττας.
Διαβάζοντας το αισθάνεσαι το σπαραγμό και την πτώση μιας τόσο ευαίσθητης και ευφυέστατης καλλιτεχνικής φύσης.
Συμπονάς θαυμάζοντας παράλληλα την απόλυτη καταστροφή μιας υπεροχής προσωπικότητας, που άλλαξε τη φιλοσοφία και την ποιότητα της τέχνης.
Έναν μοναχικό γίγαντα της αγάπης και της μετάνοιας που ακολουθώντας την καρδιά του, τον απεγνωσμένο έρωτα, τον βίαια εθιστικό δρόμο της απολαυστικής ηδονής, κατέληξε να μη γνωρίζει πλέον αν τον ζηλεύουν ή αν τον λυπούνται. Αν τον συμπονούν με θλιβερή κατανόηση ή τον χλευάζουν με ρηχή ευχαρίστηση.
Ταπεινώθηκε, θυσιάστηκε, έχασε τα όσα πλουσιοπάροχα του είχε χαρίσει η ζωή απλόχερα -απο κοινωνική θέση, οικογενειακή ευτυχία, οικονομική ευμάρεια, πνευματική καλλιέργεια, εως καλλιτεχνική ανύψωση στο θρόνο της τέχνης. Και παραδόθηκε στην τιμωρία άνευ όρων.
Αποδέχτηκε τον δημόσιο εξευτελισμό. Τον χλευασμό των εχθρών του. Την προδοσία των φίλων του. Το χαμό αγαπημένων του προσώπων και προσωπικές απώλειες ανυπολόγιστης αξίας.
Συνηθισμένος να μιλάει με αβίαστη ανωτερότητα, φαίνεται να προκαλεί την τραγωδία της μοίρας και τη γεμίζει με μια σύγχρονη φάρσα που πηγάζει απο το κοινωνικό καθεστώς.
Όταν γράφει ειναι σαν να μιλάει με νότες, σαν να συνθέτει τη μουσική που ταιριαζει ακριβώς στην ανομία και την κατάντια της ζωής του.
Είναι ένας άρχοντας υψηλής πολιτιστικής κληρονομιάς και διαχρονικής αξίας.
Ο διασυρμός, η βιαιότητα, τα αισχρά και φθηνά κουτσομπολιά, η στέρηση πνευματικής εμπειρίας και το ρηχό αίσθημα, όσο κι αν αρμόζουν στην κατάσταση που αναγκάστηκε να ζει, δε του ταιριάζουν, είναι ψεύτικα, σαν το χρυσάφι του Μήδα.
Προσπαθεί μέσα απο την εξομολόγηση του να εκλογικεύσει τα δεινά του. Για να αντέξει. Βιώνει κατάψυχα και κατάσαρκα τη θλίψη. Πιστεύει πως πίσω απο κάθε πόνο, κάθε θλίψη, υπάρχει μια ψυχή που αξίζει να αγαπιέται, που στέκεται σε συμβολική θέση με το ίδιο το μυστικό της ύπαρξης.
Αναγάγει τη μοίρα του σε κοινή και πανανθρώπινη. Δεν υπάρχει κανείς, διατείνεται, που να είναι τόσο άθλιος όσο ο ίδιος, να ζει σε παρόμοια αθλιότητα με τη δική του και να μην «πάσχει» για το μυστικό της ζωής.
Πιστεύει στην πνευματική μορφή του αγνωστικισμού και του προσδίδει μια τελετουργική γλώσσα και μια κοσμική αξίωση, όπως αξίζει σε κάθε θρησκεία.
Είναι βαθιά ατομιστής, όπως ήταν κατά την άποψη του και ο ίδιος ο Χριστός.
Ισχυρίζεται πως η φυλάκιση του τον αποδέσμευσε απο κάθε υλική αναγκαιότητα και ενίσχυσε την αυτοπεποίθηση του.
Η απόλυτη ιδέα που κάνει την αυτοκαταστροφή του ενα όνειρο επανεκκίνησης είναι η λογική της τέχνης.
Η τέχνη, που κάνει το φανταστικό πραγματική ύπαρξη και ενώνει την ύλη με το πνεύμα.
Ιδανικός επαγγελματίας της ανώτατης τέχνης σύμφωνα με τον Ουάιλντ είναι ο Χριστός.
Ο Χριστός που έκανε τα πάντα για να καταλάβουν οι άνθρωποι πως το βασίλειο των ουρανών ειναι η ίδια η ψυχή τους. Δίδαξε πως η αγάπη ειναι ομορφότερη απο το μίσος και η μετάνοια ο μοναδικός τρόπος για να αλλάξει κανείς το παρελθόν.
Αγάπησε τους αμαρτωλούς περισσότερο απο τους ευσεβείς και τα σκοτάδια τους.
Η τελική αποτίμηση του συγγραφέα είναι η αποφασιστικότητα και η θέληση να μεταμορφώσει την ψεύτικη αξία του υλικού σε αισθητικό θησαυρό.
Μέσα απο τη διαρκή αξία της τέχνης η χάρη της πίστης είναι μια διαρκής υπενθύμιση και μια προτροπή για να ξεφύγει απο το βάθος της δυστυχίας του μέσω της δημιουργίας.
Το De profundis δεν είναι μια δήλωση εξομολόγησης ή μετανοίας.
Αποτελεί ίσως μια εύθραυστη πρώτη ύλη που θα μπορούσε να δημιουργήσει τη βάση στήριξης ενάντια στην καταβαράθρωση της ανθρώπινης ζωής.
💜✡️💜✡️✡️💜💜
Καλή ανάγνωση.
Πολλούς ασπασμούς!!! -
It is funny how sometimes books come at you (and when I say you, I mean me), sometimes almost in clusters. It is almost like there really is a God and He has infinite knowledge of the universe and knows just what it is that you need to be thinking about right about now, except He is curiously shy and so He doesn’t like to come right out with it and tell you directly what’s on His mind. So, instead, He leaves books lying around in places where you are fairly likely to trip over them and then pick them up and think about them – you know, it’s been a while since I read a book about someone rotting away in prison, I ought to read this…
Except, it hasn’t been a while since I did anything of the sort. Only the other week I was reading another perfectly good book written by a man who was rotting away in a perfectly good prison and that book also had him thinking about the consolation given to him by philosophy. This book isn’t too different from that one (
The Consolation of Philosophy Revised Edition). The big difference is that this should probably be called the consolation of art – but other than that I guess the message of both is much the same.
The Message is pretty much that we are alone in the world. If you are to live a life that isn’t a cliché you have to learn that most people don’t live their own lives, they live lives that should be bound by quotation marks. “Most people are other people.” Wilde says himself. They think other people’s thoughts, they mouth whatever are the most popular opinions of the day, they watch the same stuff on television that everyone else does and they can even put together sentences grouped into endless paragraphs on subjects of infinite fascination as the merits of the computer generated graphics they saw in Avatar.
If you are going to live a worthwhile life (and isn’t that the only question of any interest in the whole of philosophy – which is probably why it is the one question modern philosophy seems to avoid) then Wilde’s advice is to at least try to be yourself. He acknowledges that doing that is a hard thing – Christ, they might even put you in gaol if you try that sort of thing – but the alternative is a much worse prison cell and one where you are both prisoner and warder, where you turn the key that locks you in yourself.
Eliot, of course, was wrong – but being a poet he gets to be wrong as long as he is beautifully wrong. We don’t think of the key, each sitting in our prison thinking of the key as if that confirmed the prison – the most frightening thing is that we don’t think of the key at all – we don’t think of the key because to think of the key is to acknowledge the prison. And for most of us that is too much to acknowledge. Prison? What prison?
But there is an escape plan. We are individuals and life is not the ordered, rational, scientifically verifiable and graphed out hypothesis in fifteen variables that someone of the Enlightenment might have decided you ought to think it is. Wilde sees the great conflict of the human soul as being that between Classicism and Romanticism and in that conflict we need to take sides and the side Wilde takes is Romanticism. As he says, “I am one of those who is made for exceptions, not for laws”.
And let’s face it, we do like our victims to find forgiveness for us after we have meted out our punishments of them. Wilde even discovers Christ, in a sense – though, I think the Christ Wilde discovers isn’t quite the same Christ that many Christians would be familiar with. This is not Christ the punisher, Christ the faith-healer or Christ the disappointed friend – but rather a Christ who is wise enough to use children as his example to us of who we should strive to be like. Such a Christ is someone worthy of being followed.
His was a Christ who was the lover of ignorant people, the protector of the exceptions, the defender of those who might just prove to have a great idea.
I thought this was a remarkable book – and a terribly sad book too. Although in the end of this Wilde, like Boethius, is not as bitter with his fate as he could so easily be, although he envisions a future life that is not dedicated to the pursuit solely of pleasure, but rather to a life that also acknowledges darker shades and minor keys; art is seen as the means to free ourselves from the horrors this world presents us with dreadful, if not predictable, regularity.
This was a remarkable book – I found it incredibly moving and often painfully sad. I think, though, that it is often good to be reminded of both the infinite harm we can cause to other people and also the near perfect gift we give that is contained in our simplest act of kindness. This really is a lovely piece of writing.
The stuff on Hamlet is worth reading on its own – nothing is invariably good, and art must also be included in that – Hamlet creating the play within the play in which to watch the effect this causes is Hamlet the artist. Hamlet’s madness is Hamlet the actor. And this plays a great part in what is the tragedy of Hamlet.
This is, like so many of Wilde’s works, full of quotable quotes and so here are a quick selection of some of my favourites –
“There were Christians before Christ. For that we should be grateful. The unfortunate thing is that there have been none since” –
“A man whose desire is to be something separate from himself, to be a member of parliament, or a successful grocer, or a prominent solicitor, or a judge, or something equally tedious, invariably succeeds in being what he want to be. That is his punishment.” –
“I must accept the fact that one is punished for the good as well as the evil that one does”. -
At the beginning of 2016, I read an abridged version of De Profundis. Alongside with The Importance of Being Earnest, The Picture of Dorian Gray and Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime, it was one of the first things I read by Oscar Wilde and that made me utterly and irrevocably fall in love with him. After finishing the abridged version, I dived into an extensive research on Oscar and uncovered the injustices he had to face during his lifetime. So, the abridged version of this letter solidified him as my trash child, and I’ll forever be grateful for that.
So I’m even more excited that over two years later I finally got around to reading the full letter and let me tell you, the tea is scalding hot in that one! Whilst the abridged version omitted almost all passages in which Oscar called out Bosie and his lowly ways, the full version has it all. So many accusations, so many insults, so much grief, so much heartbreak. Even though Oscar claims it isn’t so, this letter is essentially a love letter. Oscar claims that Bosie means nothing to him, that he has finally managed to break away … oh, my darling child, between the lines it’s so obvious how hurt, how fucking hurt, Oscar was that Bosie ignored him during his imprisonment. Oscar desperately wanted to receive letters from Bosie, be visited by him, have his affection and love… and when after two years, he didn’t hear or see anything, he fucking snapped.I have said that behind sorrow there is always sorrow. It were wiser still to say that behind sorrow there is always a soul. And to mock at a soul in pain is a dreadful thing.
De Profundis is not fun to read. It is absolutely heartbreaking. It’s a demonstration of Oscar at his low point, you see the man for who he is, in the realest and rawest fashion; no mask to hide behind, no wit and snark to conceal his vulnerability. The letter is deeply personal and makes you feel like a perverted intruder or voyeur. These words weren’t meant for us but as the man for whom they were decided never to read them (seriously, fuck you, Bosie!) I think Oscar wouldn’t feel so bad about the public having a share in his suffering and feeling with and for him.
Oscar and Bosie’s love story is a tragic one. Not just due to the confinements of Victorian England that rendered homosexual relationships as “indecent” and “gross”, also because the two of them, in my frank judgement, didn’t belong together. Their relationship was bound to be fucked up. Oscar saw in Bosie the man he always wanted to be, young, beautiful, rich, admired – he was unable to see Bosie for who he really was due to his idealisation of him. And Bosie sought in Oscar, well, a man that could provide for him, financially and socially. Bosie loved the spotlight, he loved being at the side of a man who was hailed and celebrated all over the country. As soon as Oscar’s success dissolved, he no longer served a purpose for Bosie.
This is not a tale of star-crossed lovers. It’s a tale of two men who were bound to destroy one another. In De Profundis, Oscar truthfully details their history and how he tried and continuously failed to cut off his ties to Bosie. Oscar needed Bosie. He couldn’t let him go. The question arises whether Oscar, finally, needed to destroy himself. Oscar was way ahead of his time; that becomes even more clear when you take into consideration that he is more celebrated than ever in the 21st century. Just a few years back, the queen pardoned him for his “crimes”.
Apart from its subject matter, De Profundis is incredibly well written. I honestly cannot imagine Oscar sitting down in his cell for months on end and coming up with such brilliancy. He famously states in that letter: “I, once a lord of language, have no words in which to express my anguish and my shame.” Oh, honey, don’t lie, the words are at your disposal as they always were. Oscar manages to be brutally honest yet endearing in his appeal. He compares himself to his own creations, Dorian Gray in particular. Both “took pleasure where it pleases me, and passed on.” Oscar is disgusted by his former self, his hedonism. Or at least he claims he is.
The thing that fucks me up the most about this letter is that it just shows the paradoxical nature of Oscar and how he, ultimately, failed and didn’t fail to change his ways. Let me elaborate. I genuinely think that Oscar became a “better” person after his imprisonment. He finally managed to see the faults in his excessive ways and that he basically didn’t give a shit about anyone apart from himself prior to 1895. I mean, I could go on a tangent about how he mistreated his wife and how Constance deserved so much better, but we don’t have the time.
After De Profundis, the only other two works that he published were “Two Letters to the Daily Chronicle”, in which he expressed his concern of the treatment of children in prisons, and “The Ballad of Reading Goal”, another appeal for the reform of conditions in British prisons. Both works show Oscar’s gain of empathy and that he was finally trying to do some good.
However, if you look at the bare facts of how he chose to lead his life after his release, I cannot help but shake my head. Whilst he claims in his letter that he’ll refuse to see Bosie again (with the exception of one meeting in which he’ll pick up some of his stuff from him), one of the first things he did after his release was going on a long vacation with him. Ignoring Robbie Ross and all of the other people who actually stood by his side during his imprisonment, he ran back to Bosie as if it were nothing. Their liaison was cut off by threats of cutting off their money. Both of them parted for a final time.
And even though Oscar trashes greedy rich people in his letter and reminds people to appreciate “less as more”, he spent his salary of 150 pounds a year (that he got from family and friends) on booze and prostitutes. Of course, I understand that his fall from grace fucked him up real good and he couldn’t make his exile in Paris a true home for him, and needed coping mechanism for all of his fatal losses (lack of status, no money, Bosie gone, Constance dead).Society takes it upon itself the right to inflict appalling punishment on the individual, but it also has the supreme vice of shallowness and fails to realise what it has done. When the man's punishment is over, it leaves him to himself; that is to say, it abandons him at the very moment when its highest duty towards him begins.
Oscar knew that “society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer;” nonetheless, I can’t help but think that Oscar was definitely not a person who practiced what he preached. He’ll be forever my trash son, don’t get me wrong, but when you look at his life after his imprisonment, he didn’t follow through with his resolutions from De Profundis.
The one thing that legit could make me cry for days is the fact that in his letter, Oscar still had so much hope for the future, for him as an artist; he wanted to create. He genuinely thought he would write again. The fact that he only managed to publish one narrative poem within the three years that he had left of his life, makes me incredibly sad. It’s one of the reasons why I appreciate “Reading Goal” so much, it’ll forever be my favourite work of his.
For anyone who is interested in Oscar, not just an artist but as a person, De Profundis is an essential read. It gives you a unique insight into his mind and how he coped with his fall from grace. In it, he claims that Bosie kept him from being creative, that he didn’t finish anything during his time at his side (i.e. the unfinished “A Florentine Tragedy” or “La Sainte Courtisane”). His words are vicious and ruthless. He wrote certain passages simply to hurt Bosie, to finally evoke a reaction from him. It’s a testimony of their toxic relationship, at the end of their time together both of them were left drained and hollow, yet couldn’t stay away from one another.Most people are other people. Their thoughts are some one else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.
It’s a horrible letter, really, and yet the most beautiful and important thing Oscar has ever written. We finally see the man behind his mask, Oscar behind his constructed facade. -
“Remontarte tres años atrás puede parecerte mucho tiempo. Pero quienes vivimos en la cárcel, sin más suceso en la vida que la tristeza, debemos medir el tiempo por latidos de pesar y por el registro de momentos amargos. No hay otra cosa en qué pensar.
Para quienes estamos presos, las lágrimas forman parte de la experiencia cotidiana. Si pasa un día en la prisión donde no lloremos, es porque ese día nuestro corazón está endurecido, no porque esté feliz.”
Desde su humilde celda de la prisión de Reading y con una honestidad brutal a flor de piel, Oscar Wilde escribe esta carta a su amante Alfred "Bosie" Douglas con la convicción de haber sido extremadamente castigado por la sociedad.
Una auténtica nota desde el subsuelo, donde el dolor y el sufrimiento de uno de los escritores más sensibles de la literatura universal nos da la impresión de estar leyendo los destellos de un corazón "en carne viva".
Conjuntamente con la “Carta al padre” de Franz Kafka son estos, los dos testimonios epistolares más tremendos y emblemáticos que podemos leer y son la clave para entender en cierto modo cómo fue la vida de estos escritores tan humanos, más allá de toda grandilocuencia literaria.
Los esfuerzos titánico de Oscar Wilde para hacerle entender a su amante, un joven frívolo, ventajero y manipulador, de vida disipada como Alfred Douglas son demasiado vanos y a la vez superfluos.
Estamos ante un hombre culto, educado y refinado que tuvo la desgracias de cruzarse en su vida con una persona nociva y ventajera.
¿De qué manera, una mentalidad tan pequeña y obtusa como la de Douglas puede procesar todo lo que Wilde expresa en su epístola? Es un desperdicio para este muchacho, pero un legado de proporciones enormes para quienes amamos la literatura y los que nos conmovemos con el arte de un escritor exquisito y tan perdurable como Wilde.
Todo lo que escribe en “De profundis” es conmovedor, sentido y sublime.
Los esfuerzos que Wilde plasma en su carta para hacerle entender lo que sucedió entre ellos nos da a entender acerca del gran error que cometió el gran autor irlandés al involucrarse en un cenagal del que no pudo salir. Seguirle el juego a Douglas para demandar al padre de este se transformó en un boomerang que lo golpeó con más fuerza y terminó siendo el mismo Wilde quien terminó, primero en el banquillo de los acusados y posteriormente condenado a dos años de prisión por sodomía, siendo esto un golpe del que jamás se pudo recuperar.
Al poner un pie en la cárcel, Wilde pasará del escarnio al sufrimiento desmedido, a la desolación y el martirio para tender luego a una secreta redención, amparándose en la Biblia y en su prodigiosa mente, resguardándose de todo lo que le sucedió y lavando su dolor día a día y mes a mes hasta completar su condena.
Más allá de todo lo que Wilde expone en su carta y la manera en la que realiza su catarsis, sigue siendo inentendible cómo un artista de su posición dejó llevarse por el torbellino de una relación tóxica aún ante las advertencias de la gente que más lo quiso.
Una vez enredado en ese fango, no pudo despegarse y cayó irremediablemente.
Soportó estoicamente su vida en la cárcel, con humildad, siendo compañero de presos comunes. Le arrebataron todas sus obras de arte, le remataron su amada biblioteca, repleta de libros invaluables, lo declararon insolvente, la posterior quiebra y le quitaron legalmente la posibilidad de ver a sus propios hijos.
Lo destruyeron como persona. Lo borraron del mapa y aún así, aguantó todos esos embates y salió de la cárcel, aunque su salud estaba resquebrajada para siempre.
Murió dos años después, solo y enfermo en la habitación de un modestísimo hotel de París.
Podría transcribir decenas de citas que anoté del libro pero creo que eso no tiene sentido. Lo mejor es armarse de compasión y leer “De profundis”.
Esta carta se lee con lágrimas en los ojos y en el corazón. -
Two magnificent texts by Oscar Wilde are particularly poignant.
The Ballad of Reading Gaol, the same place where Wilde has imprisoned, tells the true story and drama of a soldier sentenced for having murdered his wife.
De Profundis is a long letter addressed to Lord Douglas by Oscar Wilde, who blames him for abandoning him to his fate.
Oscar Wilde, who had accustomed us to stunning reflections on life and his aesthetics, gives us a last very moving testimony published after his death in 1900. -
خيّل إليّ وأنا أقرأ هذا الكتاب أنني أتوغل في سراديب مظلمة، كنت بحاجة لتقطيع قراءاتي مرارًا، بسبب الجهد النفسي الذي أحتاج بذله مع وايلد وأنا أتتبع حكايته وتقلبات مشاعره ونوبات غضبه. لنقل بأن إطباق دفة الكتاب بين فينة وأخرى يشبه الحصول على نزهة خارج الزنزانة. لماذا يعود المرء إلى الزنزانة إن كان له عقل أصلا؟ ولماذا واصلتُ القراءة؟
لأرى أكثر.
كيف تورط وايلد في علاقة مع شخص نرجسي لم يكتفِ بعدم حبّه، بل سلبه كل ما لديه. حريته، ماله، زوجته وأطفاله. شخص قادر على امتصاص الحياة من عروقك وتحويلك إلى أكثر مخلوقات الله إثارة للشفقة، شخص يستمد قيمته وحضوره أصلا من تحويلك إلى نسخة مشوهة من حقيقتك. إنها رحلة غريبة من الإذلال والخسارات التي لا يعوضها شيء. في المقابل، بعد سنتين في السجن، بدأت بصيرة وايلد في التفتح مثل وردةٍ في الليل، ساعد السجن في نضوج أفكاره عن الله، والحياة، والعمل الفني أيضًا.
كانت نهاية الرسالة خيبة أمل حقيقية، العودة إلى مناشدات في علاقة محكومة بتدميرك تمامًا، ولكنها في النهاية علاقة نموذجية بين طرف narcissistic وآخر: codependent. وربما يحتاج المرء إلى أكثر من إشهار إفلاسه، والحكم بسجنه لسنتين، لكي يتحرر فعلًا! -
De Profundis or "from the depths" is a long letter written by Oscar Wild to Lord Alfred Douglas while he was imprisoned in Reading Goal.
The letter is Wild's attempt to come to terms with his past, present dire circumstances, and the future that he will have to face once released. As the name states, the letter is an account from the depth - from his soul with all honesty. Although he holds that he is unjustly convicted, he nevertheless admits that he has committed grave errors in the past. He is repentant of the superficial life he has had led. And he seeks forgiveness and bestows forgiveness of those who he believed wronged him.
The letter is also a way of releasing his anger, bitterness, and despair while he struggled to find meaning and purpose for the continuation of his life. He admits that he wanted to end it in utter despair. But yet he struggles, despite his losses (he was made bankrupt and he was barred from any contact with his sons), to come to terms with the nature of life which he says is "full of sorrow" which can be endured only though "love".
It was truly sad to read the emotional and mental agonies that such a fine artist had to go through. And when he said that he had brought disgrace to the name that his loving parents had bestowed on him, my heart broke. It is a huge burden one carries with oneself.
This second time I managed to get hold of the complete letter that was written to Lord Alfred Douglas. It gives a better picture of their relationship and how it led to Wilde's ultimate downfall. The account was heartbreaking. I felt his pain and despair, and couldn't help but feel that if only the society and institutions of justice were more merciful. They didn't punish a man. They punished art. -
Am citit zilele trecute scrisoarea lui Oscar Wilde, publicată de prietenul său, Richard Ross, în 1905, după moartea scriitorului, sub titlul De profundis. În temnița din Reading, Wilde avea voie să scrie o pagină pe zi și să citească (a citit Divina commedia cu dicționarul). A redactat astfel scrisoarea către fostul lui partener - lordul Alfred Bruce Douglas (Bosie) - între lunile ianuarie și martie 1897. Am ales din epistolă acest pasaj cu privire la citate, citări și alterări. Să reflectăm, așadar, asupra pasajului:
„E tragic cît de puțini oameni ajung la sufletele lor înainte de moarte. «Nimic nu este mai rar la orice om», spune Emerson, «decît să fie el însuși». Este perfect adevărat. Majoritatea oamenilor sînt altcineva. Gîndurile lor sînt opiniile altcuiva, viața lor este o imitație, pasiunile lor un citat”.
Și în engleză: „It is tragic how few people ever ‘possess their souls’ before they die. ‘Nothing is more rare in any man,’ says Emerson, ‘than an act of his own.’ It is quite true. Most people are other people. Their thoughts are some one else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation”.
Aș mai spune ceva. Vechiul îndemn de a fi tu însuți în toate împrejurările vieții nu se referă doar la obiceiul citărilor, impus de cărturari și academici. Cînd repeți fără să cugeți gestul unui star, citezi, de fapt. Cînd faci ceea ce face toată lumea, pentru că așa face toată lumea, fără să te întrebi dacă este o chestie înțeleaptă, citezi, de fapt. Citarea este mai vastă decît simpla re-citare a unui enunț mai mult sau mai puțin profund...
P. S. Și lui Jorge Luis Borges i-a plăcut un citat din Emerson. Iată-l: „Să fim cu băgare de seamă, viața însăși poate deveni un lung citat”. -
Es precioso, doloroso y sincero. No se guarda nada y es normal que hubiera sido censurado cuando salió por lo polémico en sus distintos mensajes. Lo que representa para la época en que se creó e incluso hasta el día de hoy.
Comienzo diciendo que esta es una de esas ocasiones dónde no soy capaz de escribir una reseña que exprese todo lo bueno y maravilloso que ha sido para mí este libro por lo que me resigné a dejar salir lo que sintiera.
Y créanme cuando digo que intenté escribir varias veces pero era en vano; borraba absolutamente todo. Y es que no me gustó nada de lo que escribía porque no me parecía a la altura de la extensa carta que Wilde hace, en primera instancia, a su amante; pero de la que se desglosa una amplia variedad de temas que van desde el amor, la terrible decisión de dejarnos consumir por el odio y el dolor. Un escrito personal e introspectivo, acerca de la vida de un artista y productor literario. Nos habla precisamente de letras y arte; de la belleza y de las ideas subyacentes. Considero que es también un diario íntimo que retrata la visión de su autor con una sinceridad que solo se la pudo dar la situación por la que pasaba. Pero sobretodo, con tantos sentimientos impregnados en cada letra que se viven y todo esto tan solo como resultado de una época oscura donde Wilde estaba pasando por el peor momento de su vida y que sería el declive definitivo que marcaría su existencia.
Hay crítica a esa sociedad que lo juzgó terriblemente y hacia la hipocresía de las personas y el puritanismo; a ese conservadurismo y a la negación del ser humano como una maraña compleja en lo moral. Y es que somos hilos enredados y difíciles de soltar. Contado con una lírica preciosa pero dolorosa, que se palpa, se siente y lo transmite demasiado en cada línea con bastante fuerza y franqueza pero sin perder su estilo. Esa marca que lo identifica.
En fin, lo he amado y espero que quienes hayan leído algo del escritor también se animen a leer este escrito, porque lo merece con creces y también porque nos permite conocer mejor y a profundidad a Oscar Wilde y descubrir que tampoco fue perfecto sino un ser humano con defectos y virtudes. -
‘’Αν μας δείξει κανείς λίγη αγάπη, θα πρέπει να αναγνωρίσουμε πως δεν είμαστε καθόλου άξιοι αυτής της αγάπης. Κανένας δεν είναι άξιος να αγαπηθεί. Το γεγονός ότι ο Θεός αγαπάει τον άνθρωπο, μας δείχνει ότι στη θεία τάξη των ιδανικών πραγμάτων είναι γραμμένο να δίνεται η αιώνια αγάπη σε κείνο που είναι αιώνια ανάξιο. Ή αν αυτή η φράση φαίνεται πικρή και δεν μπορεί κανείς να την αντέξει , ας πούμε πως ο καθένας είναι άξιος της αγάπης, εκτός από κείνον που νομίζει ότι είναι άξιος. Η αγάπη είναι μια μετάληψη που θα πρέπει κανείς να τη δεχτεί γονατιστός και να χει στα χείλη του και στην καρδιά του τούτα τα λόγια: Κύριε, ανάξιός είμι’’.
Είναι εξ’ ορισμού σπαρακτικό να διαβάζει κανείς την απόγνωση, την κραυγή μετανοίας και την ‘’εκ βαθέων’’ εξομολόγηση ενός προδομένου εραστή προς έναν προδότη της αγάπης, πόσο μάλλον όταν ο πρώτος διαθέτει την ευγλωττία, την ευαισθησία και την ευφυία να εξυψώσει τον πόνο, τη θλίψη και την έσχατη μοναξιά του σε τέχνη, συντάσσοντας παράλληλα ένα προσωπικό εξομολογητήριο στην απεγνωσμένη του προσπάθεια να καθαρίσει το σπιλωμένο του όνομα και να ανασυντάξει την αυτοεκτίμηση και τον σεβασμό των άλλων.
‘’Τώρα μου φαίνεται πως κάποιου είδους αγάπη είναι η μόνη δυνατή εξήγηση για την καταπληκτική ποσότητα του πόνου που υπάρχει στον κόσμο. Δεν μπορώ να φανταστώ καμιάν άλλη εξήγηση. Έχω πειστεί πως δεν υπάρχει άλλη, και αν ο κόσμος έχει πραγματικά, όπως είπα, χτιστεί με θλίψη, τα χέρια της αγάπης είναι που τον χτίσανε, γιατί με κανέναν άλλον τρόπο δε θα μπορούσε η ψυχή του ανθρώπου, που γι’ αυτόν έγινε ο κόσμος, να φτάσει στο πλήρες ανάστημα της τελειότητάς της. Η απόλαυση είναι για το όμορφο σώμα, ο πόνος όμως είναι για την όμορφη ψυχή’’.
Η γραφή και οι στοχασμοί του Όσκαρ Γουάιλντ περί ομορφιάς, θλίψης, αμόλυντης νιότης, αθωότητας, αγνότητας, προδοσίας, μίσους, πάθους, έρωτα, ζωής, θρησκείας, τέχνης, αποτελούν τροφή για την ψυχή όποιου καταπιάνεται μαζί του. Τον διαβάζεις και χάνεσαι στην βαθύτητα της αντίληψής του και στην όμορφα σμιλεμένη από τις κλασσικές σπουδές αισθητική του, φανερά επηρεασμένη από το αρχαιοελληνικό πνεύμα και τη λατινική γραμματεία.
Ανήκοντας στη λογοτεχνική σχολή του αισθητισμού, είναι φανερό τόσο στο ‘’De Profundis’’ όσο και στο ‘’Πορτρέτο του Ντόριαν Γκρέυ’’ ότι το έργο του διακρίνεται από καλλιέπεια, αισθησιασμό, νοσταλγία, εξιδανίκευση της ομορφιάς, εξύμνηση της αγάπης και του φοβερού συναισθήματος της απώλειας του αγαπημένου προσώπου καθώς και από μια ιδιαίτερη εμμονή με πολύτιμα τιμαλφή, ερωτικά φίλτρα και αρώματα.
Η επιστολή αυτή αποτελεί το κύκνειο άσμα ενός από τους μεγαλύτερους του 19ου αιώνα, ενός ιδιοφυούς πνεύματος και μιας ταραχώδους προσωπικότητας. Σε μια σκοτεινή βικτωριανή εποχή όπου η ομοφυλοφιλία θεωρούνταν ποινικό αδίκημα, δε διστάζει να μπει στο στόχαστρο, να ταράξει τα κατεστημένα και να λοιδορηθεί στο όνομα της αγάπη του για τον νεαρό Άλφρεντ Ντάγκλας. Μιας αγάπης που όμως προδόθηκε με το χειρότερο τρόπο και στιγματίστηκε από αχαριστία.
‘’Μονάχα η φύση, που οι απαλές της βροχές πέφτουν επί δικαίους και αδίκους, θα μου προσφέρει την αγκαλιά των βράχων της να κρύψω το πρόσωπό μου, και θα μ’ αφήσει στις κρυφές κοιλάδες της, στη σιωπή τους, να κλάψω χωρίς οι άνθρωποι να μ’ ενοχλούν. Και θα στολίσει μ’ αστέρια της νύχτα για να μπορώ να περπατάω στα σκοτεινά, χωρίς να σκοντάφτω, θα στείλει τους ανέμους να σκορπίσουν τ’ αχνάρια των ποδιών μου, για να μη με φτάσουν οι άνθρωποι και θα με αποκαθάρει στα πλατιά της νερά και θα με γιάνει με τα μυστικά της τα βότανα’’.
Ανάμεσα σε όλα τα άλλα που πραγματεύεται, είναι μια σπουδή στην ηθική της θρησκείας. Οι θρησκευτικοί του στοχασμοί, αναγόμενοι σε φιλοσοφικές αναζητήσεις και ιδωμένοι απ’ την σκοπιά της τέχνης είναι μια απ’ τις πιο συγκλονιστικές αναγνωστικές μου εμπειρίες.
‘’Πραγματικά, η θέση του Χριστού είναι μαζί με τους ποιητές….
Για μένα υπάρχει κάτι ακόμα σχεδόν απίστευτο στην ιδέα ενός νεαρού χωρικού της Γαλιλαίας που φαντάζεται πως μπορεί να κρατήσει στους ώμους του το βάρος ολόκληρου του κόσμου, δηλαδή όσα ήδη είχαν γίνει και όλα όσα ήταν να γίνουν και να υποφέρουν… Τα όσα υπέφεραν εκείνοι που τα ονόματά τους είναι λεγεώνες και η κατοικία του ανάμεσα στους τάφους: οι καταπιεζόμενες εθνότητες, τα παιδιά που δουλεύουν στις φάμπρικες, οι κλέφτες, οι φυλακισμένοι, οι απόβλητοι, αυτοί που είναι βουβοί κάτω απ’ την καταπίεση και τη σιωπή του ακούει μονάχα ο Θεός. Κι όχι μονάχα το φανταζότανε αυτό, αλλά το πραγματοποίησε κιόλας, έτσι που σήμερα όλοι όσοι έρχονται σε επαφή με την προσωπικότητά του, έστω και αν δεν υποκλίνονται μπροστά στο βωμό του, ούτε γονατίζουν μπροστά στους ιερείς του, βλέπουν κατά κάποιον τρόπο να ξεπλένεται από πάνω τους η ασχήμια των αμαρτημάτων τους και να τους αποκαλύπτεται η ομορφιά της θλίψης τους". -
“And if I then am not ashamed of my punishment, as I hope not to be, I shall be able to think, and walk, and live with freedom.”
What a beautiful and meaningful letter! It’s so fantastic and quite emotional that you’re capable of feeling a lot of strong emotions while you are reading each paragraph on it.
De Profundis is without any doubt a masterpiece and I suppose it’s one of the best letters ever written.
According to the prologue, Oscar Wilde wrote this letter while he was under arrest and sent to prison for at least two years. During his final months of imprisonment, Wilde began to work on De Profundis, and then it started to turn into a long and significant letter at once – it was just finished by Wilde when the author was finally free.
The letter was addressed to his love, Alfred Douglas, and you can tell all the different types of feelings that a person is able to feel when they are in love (I mean, I can only imagine this because I’ve never fallen in love – it doesn’t matter at all though). What it matters is that you can empathize with the person who is writing a piece of work like this; it���s rather powerful, deep, influential, intimate, and very often it’s entirely depressing and sentimental. I just choked up reading it and then I remember saying to myself: “You need to stop reading now, there are just too many feelings all together. You can’t handle this as you would really like to do it.” It was true, and, furthermore, I was living a complicated situation during those final days when I was trying to conclude my reading, so it made my experience a little bit tricky.
I have to confess that this book gave me the “answers” that I needed and it also surprised me with a long, deep cry. Yes, I cried like a baby while I was reading this letter, but then I realized that it’s impossible not to feel what the author is saying and expressing throughout the whole thing; each word feels like a bucket of cold water and each reflection seems to be so close to you – there are phrases which are just so intense and so emotional that can make you feel quite heartbroken. So, here I need to ask you a question: who doesn’t cry while reading this letter? Anyone?
In addition, I’d like to say that I had only a little problem while I was reading this work, which was basically one part in the middle of the letter. When Wilde begins to tell us about religious facts and things related to those topics, it was just too much for me. Don’t get me wrong, it is a beautiful way to express his ideas and it works very well, but I felt like it was a large amount of information that was impossible to follow what he was trying to say.
By the way, these confusing paragraphs reminded me of the chapter 11 from The Picture of Dorian Gray; the main difference was the fact that I enjoyed reading the chapter 11, especially when I read that interesting stuff about Mexico – at that precise moment I knew that it would be worth it a lot. On the contrary, De Profundis sometimes embraces a huge number of religious concepts which weren’t my cup of tea whatsoever – sorry, but it is what it is.
In conclusion, this reading was such a wonderful and unforgettable experience despite some tiny details that I’ve mentioned before, and I know I’m always going to remember many of the phrases and statements that I have underlined. In my view, everyone should give themselves an opportunity to read this heartfelt and unique letter, I think you people are going to get a lot from it. -
Kalbim kırılarak okudum mektubu ve aşağıdaki satırlarda umduğu gibi en azından yolun sonunda doğa wilde’ı biraz olsun kucaklamıştır diye umarak...
“Bizim oluşturduğumuz biçimiyle ‘toplum’da bana yer olmayacak, ‘toplum’ bana bir yer vermeyecek; ama yağmurunu suçlu suçsuz herkesin üzerine fark gözetmeden yağdıran doğada, saklanabileceğim kaya yarıkları, sessizliğinde gönlümce ağlayabileceğim gizli vadiler olacak. Doğa, karanlıkta sendelemeden yürüyebilmem için geceye yıldızlar asacak, kimse beni izleyip incitmesin diye rüzgarı ayak izlerimin üstüne salacak; beni görkemli sularla yıkayıp temizleyecek, acı otlarıyla iyileştirecek...” -
¿Algunas vez les pasó de leer el inicio de un libro para solo echarle un vistazo y terminaron leyendo mucho más de lo que planeaban?
Bueno, a mí me acaba de pasar: no pude parar de leer hasta terminarlo.
Puedo ser perfectamente feliz solo. Con libertad, libros, flores y la luna, ¿quién no puede ser feliz?
Me gustó muchísimo esta carta (megacarta) de Oscar Wilde a su amante. Este trabajo me permitió conocer más a fondo a uno de mis autores favoritos; a comprenderlo y admirar su grandeza y complejidad. Me enteré de muchas cosas de su vida que no me las hubiera imaginado. Wilde expresó con transparencia sus pensamientos y su sentir. Tiene partes que me llegaron al alma. Wilde escarba en la sociedad y en las injusticias de la época; asimismo escarba en sus decepciones y tristezas. Me permitió ver su espíritu desbordado por las lágrimas y su corazón herido. Me enseñó parte de su jardín en donde mantiene a sus arboles más verdes, y también me mostró en donde yacen sus hierbas más pobres. -
Δεν το θεωρώ ως μια ερωτική εξομολόγηση ή ως ένα μυθιστόρημα αλλά ως μια βιογραφία των τελευταίων χρόνων πριν την φυλάκισή του. Και ένα απόσπασμα που μου άρεσε. «Ένας άνθρωπος που λαχταράει να’ναι κάτι διαφορετικό από τον εαυτό του-μέλος του κοινοβουλίου ή επιτυχημένος χονδρέμπορος αποικιών ή εξέχων δικηγόρος ή δικαστής ή κάτι εξίσου ανιαρό- πετυχαίνει πάντοτε, χωρίς εξαίρεση να γίνει αυτό που θέλει. Αυτή είναι η τιμωρία του. Αυτοί που θέλουν μάσκα, είναι αναγκασμένοι να την φοράνε.»
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Καταριέμαι την ώρα και τη στιγμή που αγόρασα αυτό το βιβλίο
Όχι, δεν έχω κάτι εναντίον της γραφής του Όσκαρ Ουάιλντ, αντιθέτως αυτό του το εκτενές γράμμα το βρήκα ως μια υπέροχη και σπαραξικάρδια κατάθεση ψυχής.
Τότε τι καταριέμαι;
Τοn συγγραφέα του προλόγου της εισαγωγής και της ανάλυσης του De Profundis.
Τόσο εκτενής ήταν που εξαπλώθηκε στο 1/3 του βιβλίου σαν κακοήθης όγκος.
Δεν ήταν τόσο ανάλυση όσο μια ευκαιρία να ξετυλίξει το ομοφοβικό του ταλέντο ο κριτικός/σχολιαστής Ρήγας Γαρταγάνης. Έκανε επίθεση στον Ουάιλντ και είχε επίσης και το θράσος να πιάσει στο στόμα του και τον Μεγάλο Καβάφη.
Ποιος; Ένας Ρήγας Γαρταγάνης πού ούτε η μάνα του δεν τον ξέρει να ασχοληθεί με δύο ποιητικούς θρύλους.
Στην εισαγωγή του υπάρχει αφθονία ειρωνείας, πατροναρισμού, δοκησισοφία και άφθονες χριστιανοταλιμπανικές μπούρδες.
Θα μου πείτε: Τι περίμενες από μια εισαγωγή που γράφτηκε το 1955.
Το ξέρω, αλλά αυτό δεν απέτρεψε απ' το να μ' ανάψουν τα λαμπάκια.
Επίσης θα μου πείτε γιατί το αγόρασα. Το είδα έτσι παλιό και βιντάζ και μόλις είδα τον τίτλο και το όνομα του συγγραφέα το πήρα χωρίς δεύτερες σκέψεις, μέσα σε άγνοια με το τι θα διάβαζα στην κριτική.
Θα παραθέσω μερικές από τις ομοφοβικές του μπούρδες εδώ, έτσι για να σας ανάψουν κι εσάς τα λαμπάκια. Τι; μόνος μου θα τ' ανάβω; να μου κάνετε παρέα.
«Όσο περισσότερο μια εποχή είναι βυθισμένη μέσα [στον] βούρκο, τόσο και οι αντιπροσωπεύοντες έργω και λόγω αυτόν το βούρκο προβάλλονται και θεωρούνται μεγάλοι συγγραφείς, [όπως για παράδειγμα] του δικού μας μεγάλου (;) Καβάφη.
Συγγραφέας της παρακμής και της ωραιοποιημένης σήψης.» σελ. 7-8
Καλά μέχρι εδώ; Πάμε παρακάτω:
«Και ακάθεκτος και μαστουρωμένος [ο Ουάιλντ] τρέχει προς την τρίτη και τελική πράξη της τραγωδίας του, τη γερασμένη, αποκρουστική, κι όχι λιγώτερα τραγική, εικόνα του πορτραίτου του Ντόριαν Γκραίη» σελ. 26
«Το όλον δε πρώτο μέρος του Ντε Προφούντις, δεν είναι παρά η αποκάλυψη των βρομερών σχέσεων δύο ομοφυλοφύλων, ενός χυδαίου και χωρίς κανένα ιδανικό νεαρού βλαστού της αριστοκρατίας των μυλόρδων [Ντάγκλας], που είχε βουτηχτεί στο βούρκο, αλλά και κατορθώνει να κρύβει με μαεστρίαν την ολοκληρωτική του διαφθορά, ενός δηλ. κακοήθους νεαρού, με ένα νοσηρό ωραιοπαθή [Ουάιλντ] με καλλιτεχνικά χαρίσματα που καμουφλάρει την διαστροφή του ντύνοντάς την με καλλιτεχνικά φορέματα.» σελ. 83
Να συνεχίσω;
«Πνευματικό και συναισθηματικό δαλτωνισμό [αχρωματοψία] ή μάλλον μια μορφή μερικής σχιζοφρένιας θα μπορούσε να ονομάσει κανείς την περίπτωση του Ουάιλντ.» σελ. 112
Ο Σχιζοφρενής Ουάιλντ με το πριόνι.
«[Ο Ουάιλντ] είναι νεκρός πια για την τέχνη, είναι νεκρός για τη ζωή.» σελ. 116
Νεκρός για την τέχνη ο Ουάιλντ λέει. Τι άλλες παπαριές θα διαβάσω;!;
Η συνέχεια και το τέλος στο μπλογκ μου
ΒιβλιοΑλχημείες -
Του άξιζε μια αγκαλιά
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A piece of beautiful, honest, philosophical writing that flows from a chastened soul.
Passages that tug at my heartstrings:
"To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul."
"Truth in art is the unity of a thing with itself: the outward rendered expressive of the inward: the soul made incarnate: the body instinct with spirit."
"Now it seems to me that love of some kind is the only possible explanation of the extraordinary amount of suffering that there is in the world. I cannot conceive of any other explanation. I am convinced that there is no other, and that if the world has indeed, as I have said, been built of sorrow, it has been built by the hands of love, because in no other way could the soul of man, for whom the world was made, reach the full stature of its perfection. Pleasure for the beautiful body, but pain for the beautiful soul."
"Time and space, succession and extension, are merely accidental conditions of thought, the imagination can transcend them and move in a free sphere of ideal existences. Things also are in their essence of what we choose to make them; a thing is according to the mode in which we look at it." -
1º Acto - Uma Parteira Chamada Dor:
- "Suffering is really a revelation. One discerns things one's never discerned before"
2º Acto - A Roda dos Opostos:
- "I turned the good things of my life to evil and the evil things of my life to good"
3º Acto - A Experiência Constrói o Ser:
- "To regret one's own experience is to arrest one's own development"
Cai o Pano:
No fim de tudo o que há a reter, é que quem trilha o Caminho do Puro Prazer, trilha o Caminho da Dor sem sequer saber.
Quer nos agrade quer não, Dor e Prazer nasceram casados e assim permanecerão!...😜 -
There is so much pain on these pages.
This is a vengeful love letter from a man who lost everything because he loved ( the wrong) man. -
When faced with the abyss before you, is there only emptiness or is there a new beginning?
This is an intensely personal examination of Wilde's journey during incarceration. It follows the Stages of Grief and intertwines the religious with art. It has some incredible observations that made me examine my own thoughts and assumptions.
But it is a very unimaginative nature that only cares for people on their pedestals. A pedestal may be a very unreal thing. A pillory is a terrific reality. They should have known also how to interpret sorrow better. I have said that behind sorrow there is always sorrow. It were wiser still to say that behind sorrow there is always a soul. And to mock at a soul in pain is a dreadful thing. In the strangely simple economy of the world people only get what they give, and to those who have not enough imagination to penetrate the mere outward of things, and feel pity, what pity can be given save that of scorn?
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Ένα σπαρακτικό βιβλίο από έναν πολύ αγαπημένο συγγραφέα. Ο Wilde εδώ ξεγυμνώνει την ψυχή του και μας δείχνει πέρα του πόσο ταλαντούχος συγγραφέας είναι, το πόσο ευαίσθητος και πολύπλευρος άνθρωπος είναι. Ακόμα και αν δε συμφωνεί κάποιος με τις απόψεις του ή τον τρόπο ζωής του, δεν μπορεί παρά να αφεθεί στο μαγικό γράψιμό του και στον δαιδαλώδη κόσμο του, όχι μόνο σε αυτό το βιβλίο του αλλά σε όλα ανεξαιρέτως τα έργα του. Απλά απολαυστικός!
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Non esagero nel dire che avrò letto il De profundis almeno sei o sette volte. Non tanto per la vicenda in sé (arcinota agli amanti di Wilde e non), ma perché in ogni sua riga ho sempre trovato uno spunto di riflessione, un'orizzonte nuovo, prospettive, risposte. Perchè, pur dalla disperazione di una cella è un libro che parla di resurrezione.
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"(...)
Uns amam pouco tempo, outros demais,
Uns vendem, outros compram;
Alguns praticam a ação com muitas lágrimas
E outros sem um suspiro, sequer:
Pois todo o homem mata o objeto do seu amor
E, no entanto, nem todo homem é condenado à morte.
— Oscar Wilde (Balada do Cárcere de Reading)
De Profundis é uma longa carta, dirigida a Alfred Douglas, que Wilde escreveu na prisão de Reading, onde, durante dois anos, cumpriu pena de trabalhos forçados pela acusação de práticas homossexuais.
É um relato pungente do sofrimento de um homem que perdeu tudo pelo "amor que não ousa dizer seu nome": o património, a família, os amigos, a saúde, a reputação, o amor...
"(...)
Jovem encantador,
Dize-me: por que, triste e suspirante, erras
Nestes reinos aprazíveis? Peço-te, dize-me:
Qual o teu verdadeiro nome? “Meu nome é Amor.”
Então, o primeiro virou-se para mim,
E gritou-me: “Ele mente, porque o nome dele é Vergonha.
Eu é quem sou o Amor, e costumava estar aqui
Sozinho, neste belo jardim, até que ele chegou
Como um intruso durante a noite.
Sou eu o verdadeiro Amor, que anima de uma chama mútua os corações dos rapazes e das raparigas.
Então, suspirando, o outro disse: “Segue tua fantasia,
Porque eu, eu sou o Amor que não ousa dizer seu nome”.
— Alfred Douglas (Os Dois Amores)
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In the letter Wilde wrote to his friend Robert Ross enclosing this extended essay he finishes with a beautiful image
' On the other side of the prison wall there are some poor black soot-besmirched trees which are just breaking out into buds of an almost shrill gren. I know quite well what they are going through. They are finding expression '.
These lovely few sentences capture quite marvelously the thrust of this book. It is an account of Wilde's re-birth from in amidst the degradation and cruel shaming brought about by his arrest and imprisonment. From out of the depths of his sorrow and bitterness you see the pushing upwards of a soul seeking to be at rights with himself and the world. This is not an essay filled with witticisms or sharp aphorisms but it is, as he might have said at another time, bejewelled with turns of phrase and ideas which really move. His humility and genuine acknowledgement of his own responsibilities does not lessen the sense of heartbreak that you read betwen the lines.
' I grew careless of the lives of others. I tok pleasure where it pleased me and passed on. I forgot that every little action of the common day makes or unmakes character.....i was no longer the captain of my soul, and did not know it. '.
This book is fascinating because you read Oscar Wilde's journey as he moves to a fuller and freer wisdom and the centrality of his sense of being in posession of his soul, his real self. It reminded me of that quotation from Edith Wharton in ' The touchstone' where she writes something like ' we live in our souls as if an unmapped region a small area of which we have cleared for our own habitation '. Wilde is struggling and succeeding to take posession of more and more of his mysterious hinterland. A journey with an amazingly open and honest guide.
At one point he writes of his plans for the next 18 months after his release, sadly this was all he was to have before his death but he states that ' if i may not write beautiful books, I may at least read beautiful books; and what joy can be greater '
Oscar, I couldn't have said it better myself -
I can't believe how highly rated this book is here. I can't remember being so crushingly disappointed by anything since the Star Wars prequels. I had been waiting to read this for so long before I finally bought it for myself; I love Oscar Wilde but he can be a bit glib, so I was eager to read what he had written while imprisoned. I was hoping to see him become genuinely introspective, learn what drove him to the conversion I knew came soon afterward, and generally read some beautiful, heartfelt stuff.
This is not that book. Almost all of the book is self-important unbearable ranting in which he blames his lover for all his troubles, while referring to himself as a capital-A Artist and a genius. It felt like reading blog posts from Kanye West. Describing this book as a "love letter" seems to me absurd. It's written by someone who was obviously in love, but that love is bitter, resentful, and often seems to have curdled entirely to hate. As we flip through Wilde's rolodex of spite and hear every grief and gripe he has stored up against his lover, it soon becomes more interesting to imagine how Douglas would defend himself than to continue reading such one-sided self-pity. It suggests Wilde really hadn't come to any realizations or greater understanding-- saying "I blame myself" is not very convincing if you follow that up with "for letting you do this to me."
There is absolutely no doubt that he is a writer of amazing ability; when Wilde actually did get introspective, there were moments of intense beauty and power in this text. For me, they weren't worth slogging through all the unsent-emails-to-my-ex type screeching that surrounded it. -
(4,5*)
Σύντομες περίοδοι, κοφτός λόγος, παράθεση άμεσων ερωτημάτων...όλα συντελούν στην αποκάλυψη της ψυχικής διάθεσης του Oscar Wide κατά τη συγγραφή του γράμματος. Άλλοτε σκεπτικός, άλλοτε θλιμμένος, πικραμένος, στοχαστικός και ειρωνικός. Κείμενο με φιλοσοφικές, κοινωνικές και θρησκευτικές προεκτάσεις, προσφέρεται για περισσότερες από μία αναγνώσεις σε διαφορετικές φάσεις της ζωής μας.
"Αυτό είναι ο προαιώνιο παραλογισμός της ανθρώπινης ζωής, να είσαι απόλυτα ελεύθερος και ταυτόχρονα νομοτελειακά υποταγμένος."
"Ο πόνος είναι μια απέραντη στιγμή και δε μπορούμε να τον χωρίσουμε σε διαστήματα. Μπορούμε μονάχα να συλλάβουμε τις αποχρώσεις και επαναλήψεις του."
ΥΓ: Δεν έμεινα καθόλου ικανοποιημένη από τη συγκεκριμένη έκδοση (Αργοναύτης). Πολλά συντακτικά-ορθογραφικά λάθη και λάθος σημεία στίξης δυσχεραίνουν σε αρκετά σημεία τη ροή της ανάγνωσης. Ελπίζω πώς η μετάφραση ήταν αρκετά καλή ώστε να μην αλλοιωθεί το περιεχόμενο και το νόημα του κειμένου. Σίγουρα όταν επιστρέψω για μία ακόμη ανάγνωση θα προτιμήσω άλλη έκδοση. -
Υπέροχος Oscar Wilde! Μια επιστολή κόλαφος η οποία απευθύνεται στον εραστή του Άλφρεντ Ντάγκλας. Ένα δριμύ κατηγορώ με φιλοσοφικές προεκτάσεις.
Θεωρώ ότι χάνει στην μεταφραση οπότε την επόμενη φορά θα προτιμήσω την αγγλική γλώσσα όπως είχα κάνει στην περίπτωση του Dorian Grey και στο The importance of being Earnest. Το 5αρι καθαρά για το κείμενο και όχι για την έκδοση στην οποία βάζω επιεικώς 2!!!!
Το οπισθόφυλλο της έκδοσης Ζαχαροπουλος το οποίο έχω στα χέρια μου αναφέρει ότι απευθύνεται στον νεκρό ερωμένο του ενώ εντός του βιβλιου μαθαίνουμε ότι ο Ντάγκλας ήταν εν ζωή όταν πέθανε ο μεγάλος συγγραφέας. Μεγάλο φάουλ των εκδόσεων. Μια έκδοση με πολλά προβλήματα. Το μελάνι σε καποιες σελιδες είχε φύγει και σε αλλες φαινοντουσαν διπλες οι λεξεις. Επίσης όταν γράφετε βιογραφικά καλό θα είναι τους μήνες να τους λέτε ολόκληρους Π.χ. Ιούλιος όχι Ιούλης.
Τραγικά λάθη! Η ανάγνωση τους αποσυντονίζει! Κρίμα! -
Υπέροχος! Η γλώσσα και οι σκέψεις του με μάγεψαν. Ανυπομονώ να διαβάσω Το Πορτραίτο του Ντόριαν Γκρέυ για το οποίο ακούω τόσα και τόσα :)
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This is one of the letters Wilde wrote while in prison. It is very heart felt and references many of the things he studied while at Oxford.
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How can a love be so true be so
wrong? No, erase that. Who am I to say that it is wrong?
Oscar Wilde (1854–1900), Irish writer, poet, aesthete and Lord Alfred Douglas (1870-1945), British author, poet, translator are in-love with each other and they are both homosexuals. Also, Wilde is married to Constance Lloyd (1859-1898) and they have two children: Cyril and Vyvyn.
Douglas is single at 21 and Wilde, 37, married and already a father when they start their affair. After a year, Wilde is incarcerated due to
"gross indecency", or homosexual acts. The year is 1895 and London is not yet open to homosexuals.
It was the Douglas father, John Douglas, 9th Marquess of Queensberry who gathered all the evidences against the then famous novelist and playwright Wilde. The motive according to Wilde: the father and son hate each other. The mother is afraid of both. In fact, the mother has been sending Wilde letters with a P.S. On no account let Alfred know that I have written to you.
De Profundis ("from the depths") is a long letter of lamentation of Wilde addressed to his lover Douglas, written during his imprisonment that lasted for 2-1/2 years. It started with bitterness (with Wilde enumerating the money spent on Douglas' whims and caprices) before moving to more profound and thought-provoking references to the Holy Bible, Shakespeare, The Divine Comedy, Plato, etc. It is worded beautifully the I had to stop several times and process and savor his words. Just to give you an example:
Suffering is a long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one centre of pain. The paralyzing immobility of life, every circumstance of which is regulated after an unchangeable pattern, so that we eat and drink and walk and lie down and pray, or kneel at least for prayer, according to the inflexible laws of an iron formula: this immobile quality, that makes each dreadful day in the minutest detail like its brother, seems to communicate itself to those external forces the very essence of whose existence is ceaseless change.
The big question I have is: did the young Douglas also love the much older Wilde? Or did he just use Wilde for money? The book did not answer this. There are evidences or references for both sides. I think it would depend on what the reader wants to believe. I would not want to give my opinion because if I do that, I will either be condemning or encouraging their kind of love. Who am I to do that?
The narrative is powerful, poignant and strong. If this is not anchored on love, I doubt if it will the impact that still resonates to its readers up to now. I Googled "De Profundis" and there found a Facebook account where seemingly gay men put their comments on this book. The prevailing sentiment, it seems, is that they find Wilde's musings liberating and inspiring.
Powerful narrative. Brilliant writer.
