EPIFANIE
Quelle che seguono, fanno parte di una raccolta di epifanie scritte dallo stesso Joyce negli anni fra il 1900 ed il 1904, giunte fino a noi in due gruppi di manoscritti conservati alla Lockwood Memorial Library dell' Università dello stato di N.Y.e Cornell University Library a Ithaca (N.Y.). In queste pagine sono state annotate solo le epifanie utilizzate, anche con sostanziali modifiche, nel testo oggetto dello studio. La raccolta e le note sono state tratte dal testo curato da Giorgio Melchiori. Per epifania Joyce intende "un'improvvisa manifestazione spirituale, o in un discorso o in un gesto o in un giro di pensieri degni di essere ricordati". Quando cominciò a comporle, "egli considerava ciascuna di esse come un componimento in sé compiuto" dove "la rivelazione poetica doveva realizzarsi attraverso la prosa del parlato quotidiano, anche nelle sue forme più degradate o semiarticolate". Successivamente l'autore modifica l'atteggiamento: non solo registrazione passiva di attimi fuggevoli, intuizione di attimi della realtà oggettivati e autonomi, ma ricerca della struttura verbale con la quale comunicare agli altri una realtà diventata soggettiva. Quando Stephen spiega a Lynch la dottrina estetica tomistica, e commenta il terzo requisito della bellezza, chiarisce l'improvvisa intuizione dell'essenza di un oggetto:The mind in that mysterious instant Shelley likened beautifully to a fading coal. The instant wherein that supreme quality of beauty, the clear radiance of the esthetic image, is apprehended luminously by the mind which has been arrested by its wholeness and fascinated by its harmony is the luminous silent stasis of esthetic pleasure, a spiritual state very like to that cardiac condition which the Italian physiologist Luigi Galvani, using a phrase almost as beautiful as Shelley's, called the enchantment of the heart.
"L'accento è posto tutto sull'istante come unità di misura dell'esperienza estetica, e non è un caso che proprio in questi anni Marcel Proust avviasse la sua più grande esplorazione del tempo perduto dall'esperienza momentanea della madeleine intinta in una tazza di tè, e D.H. Lawrence parlava della creazione poetica come 'l'attimo, il vivo, lo stesso getto sorgivo di ogni sarà ed è stato. L'espressione è come uno spasmo, un nudo contatto in cui tutte le esperienze sono presenti contemporaneamente. Non vuole andare in nessun posto, Semplicemente, ha luogo'. E per Virginia Woolf il compito dell'artista consisteva nel fissare e dare forma a quelli che chiamava 'momenti dell'essere'. Più tardi T.S. Eliot definirà questo momento come the still point of the turning world (il punto fermo del mondo che ruota) e lo graverà di significati trascendenti chiamandolo 'Incarnazione'. Ma Joyce non seguì certo gli altri sulla strada di un fumoso misticismo".
Egli passa invece dalla espressione drammatica e oggettiva alla teorizzazione dell'attimo intuitivo attraverso una rete di parole ed immagini nella quale cogliere la rivelazione dell'istante, ma quando si propone di epifanizzare l'evoluzione spirituale del giovane artista in Irlanda (A Portrait of the Artist - breve racconto precedente alle Gesta di Stephen) si trova in difficoltà perché la tensione creativa diventa gravosa. E' a questo punto che l'autore prende le distanze nei confronti di quanto aveva teorizzato con così tanto entusiasmo: l'epifania, concepita come oggetto da contemplare, fisso, statico, per sua natura non può svilupparsi in una direzione spazio-temporale, propria del racconto. Così, quando trasforma il racconto nel lunghissimo romanzo autobiografico Le Gesta di Stephen, le epifanie trovano posto all'interno della narrazione come momenti di alta rappresentazione estetica, sospesi, immobili all'interno di una dimensione narrativa in divenire.I "componimenti in sé compiuti ed autonomi" divengono allora frammenti da inserire nelle opere di maggior impegno o, abbandonando le illusioni giovanili prendono forma ironica, come in quella scritta in una lettera al fratello Stanislaus nel 1907 ove descrive la sua situazione:{Scena: una stanzetta piena di spifferi con pavimento a mattonelle, cassettone sulla sinistra, su cui sono posati i resti del pranzo, al centro un tavolino con il necessario per scrivere (Lui non se ne dimentica mai) e un salino: sullo sfondo, un letto di piccole dimensioni. Un giovane col naso gocciolante è seduto al tavolino: sul letto siedono una madonna con bambino frignante. E' un giorno di gennaio.} Titolo di quanto precede l'Anarchico.
Qui sotto vengono citate le epifanie sia nella forma originale che in quella modificata ed inserita nel testo; cliccando vengono si visualizzano le note o, per una maggior comprensione, la parte di testo interessata.
Epifania | Epifania nel testo |
Mr Vance - (comes in with
a stick) ... O, you know, he'll have to apologize, Mrs Joyce. Mrs Joyce O yes Do you hear that, Jim? Mr Vance Or else if he doesnt the eaglesll come and pull out his eyes. Mrs Joyce O, but Im sure he will apologise. Joyce (under the table, to himself)
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The Vances lived in number seven. They had a different father
and mother. They were Eileen's father and mother. When they were grown up
he was going to marry Eileen. He hid under the table. His mother said:
-- O, Stephen will apologize. Dante said: -- O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes.--
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The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations. They are held out to say: We are alone - come. And the voices say with them: We are your kinsmen. And the air is thick with their company as they call to me, their kinsman, making ready to go, shaking the wings of their exultant and terrible youth.
Epifania | (Epifania nel testo) |
Her arm is laid for a moment on my knees and then withdrawn and her eyes have revealed her - secret, vigilant, an enclosed garden - in a moment. I remember a harmony of red and white that was made for one like her, telling her names and glories, bidding her arise, as for espousal, and come away, bidding her look forth, a spouse, from Amana and from the mountains of the leopards. And I remember that response whereto the perfect tenderness of the body and the soul with all its mystery have gone: Inter ubera mea commorabitur. | An inaudible voice seemed to caress the soul, telling her names and glories, bidding her arise as for espousal and come away, bidding her look forth, a spouse, from Amana and from the mountains of the leopards; and the soul seemed to answer with the same inaudible voice, surrendering herself: Inter ubera mea commorabitur. |
Epifania | Epifania nel testo |
Faintly, under the heavy night, through the silence of the town which has turned from dreams to dreamless sleep as a weary lover whom no caresses move, the sound of hoofs upon the Dublin road. Not so faintly now as they come nearer the bridge; and in a moment, as they pass the dark windows, the silence is cloven by alarm as by an arrow. They are heard now far away, hoofs that shine amid the heavy night as diamonds hurrying beyond the grey still marshes to what journey's end - what heart? - bearing what tidings? | April 10. Faintly, under the heavy night, through the silence of the city which has turned from dreams to dreamless sleep as a weary lover whom no caresses move, the sound of hoofs upon the road. Not so faintly now as they come near the bridge; and in a moment, as they pass the darkened windows, the silence is cloven by alarm as by an arrow. They are heard now far away, hoofs that shine amid the heavy night as gems, hurrying beyond the sleeping fields to what journey's end - what heart? - bearing what tidings? |
Epifania | Epifania nel testo |
The children who had stayed
latest are getting on their things to go home for the party is over..
This is the last tram. The lank brown horses know it and shake their bells to the clear night, in admonition. The conductor talks with the driver, both nod often in the green light of the lamp. There is nobody near. We seem to listen, I on the upper step and she on the lower. She cames up to my step many times and goes down again, between our phrases and once or twice remains beside me, forgetting to go down, and then goes down Let it be; let it be .And now she does not urge her vanities, her fine dress and sash and long black stockings - for now (wisdom of children) we seem to know that this end will please us better than any end we have laboured for. |
In the hall the children
who had stayed latest were putting on their things: the party was over.
She had thrown a shawl about her and, as they went together towards the
tram, sprays of her fresh warm breath flew gaily above her cowled head and
her shoes tapped blithely on the glassy road. It was the last tram. The lank brown horses knew it and shook their bells to the clear night in admonition. The conductor talked with the driver, both nodding often in the green light of the lamp. On the empty seats of the tram were scattered a few coloured tickets. No sound of footsteps came up or down the road. No sound broke the peace of the night save when the lank brown horses rubbed their noses together and shook their bells. They seemed to listen, he on the upper step and she on the lower. She came up to his step many times and went down to hers again between their phrases and once or twice stood close beside him for some moments on the upper step, forgetting to go down, and then went down. His heart danced upon her movements like a cork upon a tide. He heard what her eyes said to him from beneath their cowl and knew that in some dim past, whether in life or revery, he had heard their tale before. He saw her urge her vanities, her fine dress and sash and long black stockings, and knew that he had yielded to them a thousand times. |
Epifania | Epifania nel testo |
She is engaged. She dances
with then in the round -a white dress lightly lifted as she dances, a white
spray in her hair; eyes a little averted, a faint glow on her cheek. Her
hand is in mine for a moment, softest of merchandise.
She dances with then in the round - evenly, discreetly, giving herself to no one. The white spray is ruffled as she dances, and when she is in shadow the glow is deeper on her cheek. |
For answer she had danced away from him along the chain of hands, dancing lightly and discreetly, giving herself to none. The white spray nodded to her dancing and when she was in shadow the glow was deeper on her cheek. |
Epifania | Epifania nel testo |
High up in the old,
dark-windowed house: firelight in the narrow room: dusk outside An old woman
bustles about, making tea; she tells of the changes, her odd ways, and what
the priest and the doctor said
I hear her words in the distance. I
wander among the coals, among the ways of adventure
.. Christ! What
is in the doorway?
A skull - a monkey; a creature drawn hither to
the fire, to the voices: a silly creature. -- Is that Mary Ellen? -- No, Eliza, it's Jim. -- O O, good evening, Jim. -- D'ye want anything, Eliza? -- I thought it was Mary Ellen... I thought you were Mary Ellen, Jim. |
The firelight flickered on
the wall and beyond the window a spectral dusk was gathering upon the river.
Before the fire an old woman was busy making tea and, as she bustled at
the task, she told in a low voice of what the priest and the doctor had
said. She told too of certain changes they had seen in her of late and of
her odd ways and sayings. He sat listening to the words and following the
ways of adventure that lay open in the coals, arches and vaults and winding
galleries and jagged caverns. Suddenly he became aware of something in the doorway. A skull appeared suspended in the gloom of the doorway. A feeble creature like a monkey was there, drawn thither by the sound of voices at the fire. A whining voice came from the door asking: -- Is that Josephine? The old bustling woman answered cheerily from the fireplace: -- No, Ellen, it's Stephen. --O--O, good evening, Stephen. He answered the greeting and saw a silly smile break over the face in the doorway. -- Do you want anything, Ellen? asked the old woman at the fire. But she did not answer the question and said: -- I thought it was Josephine. I thought you were Josephine, Stephen. And, repeating this several times, she fell to laughing feebly. |
Epifania | Epifania nel testo |
A long curving gallery: from the floor arise pillars of dark vapours. It is peopled by the images of fabulous kings, set in stone. Their hands are folded upon their knees in token of weariness and their eyes are darkened for the errors of men go up before them for ever as dark vapours. | A long curving gallery. From the floor ascend pillars of dark vapours. It is peopled by the images of fabulous kings, set in stone. Their hands are folded upon their knees in token of weariness and their eyes are darkened for the errors of men go up before them for ever as dark vapours. |
Epifania | Epifania nel testo |
A small field of still weeds and thistles alive with confused forms, half men, half goats. Dragging their great tails they move hither and thither, aggressively. Their faces are lightly bearded, pointed and grey as india-rubber. A secret personal sin directs them, holding them now, as in reaction, to constant malevolence. One is clasping about his body a torn flannel jacket; another complains monotonously as his beard catches in the stiff weeds. They move about me, enclosing me, that old sin sharpening their eyes to cruelty, swishing through the fields in slow circles, thrusting upwards their terrific faces. Help! | A field of stiff weeds and
thistles and tufted nettle-bunches. Thick among the tufts of rank stiff
growth lay battered canisters and clots and coils of solid excrement. A
faint marshlight struggling upwards from all the ordure through the bristling
grey-green weeds. An evil smell, faint and foul as the light, curled upwards
sluggishly out of the canisters and from the stale crusted dung.
Creatures were in the field: one, three, six: creatures were moving in the field, hither and thither. Goatish creatures with human faces, hornybrowed, lightly bearded and grey as india-rubber. The malice of evil glittered in their hard eyes, as they moved hither and thither, trailing their long tails behind them. A rictus of cruel malignity lit up greyly their old bony faces. One was clasping about his ribs a torn flannel waistcoat, another complained monotonously as his beard stuck in the tufted weeds. Soft language issued from their spittleless lips as they swished in slow circles round and round the field, winding hither and thither through the weeds, dragging their long tails amid the rattling canisters. They moved in slow circles, circling closer and closer to enclose, to enclose, soft language issuing from their lips, their long swishing tails besmeared with stale shite, thrusting upwards their terrific faces Help! |
Epifania | Epifania nel testo |
The quick light shower is over but tarries, a cluster
of diamonds among the shrubs of the quadrangle where an exhalation arises
from the black earth. In the colonnade are the girls, an April company.
They are leaving shelter, with many a doubting glance, with the prattle
of trim boots and the pretty rescue of petticoats, under umbrellas, a light
armoury, upheld at cunning angels. They are returning to the convent demure corridors and simple dormitories, a white rosary of hours- having heard the fair promises of Spring, that well-graced ambassador . Amid a flat rain-swept country stands a high plain building, with windows that filter the obscure daylight. Three hundred boys, noisy and hungry, sit at long tables eating beef fringed with green fat and vegetables that are still rank of the earth. |
The quick light shower had drawn off,
tarrying in clusters of diamonds among the shrubs of the quadrangle where
an exhalation was breathed forth by the blackened earth. Their trim boots
prattled as they stood on the steps of the colonnade, talking quietly and
gaily, glancing at the clouds, holding their umbrellas at cunning angles
against the few last raindrops, closing them again, holding their skirts
demurely. And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and wilful as a bird's heart? |