Monday, 16 January 2023

Top 10 ψυχρά of 2022

or what's hot and what's not in prose style 2023...

What would Aristotle think?

In no particular order and with my tongue very much in my cheek:

1a. Using a substantivised adjective + genitive over the traditional adjective + noun pairing, 1b. pluralising things that don't need be, 1c. distressing use of the definite article (or 1d. indefinite article). For example, instead of saying 'I'm interested in economic theory and the Roman economy' you can say 'I'm interested in theories of the economic and in the economies of the Romans'. This trifecta is trendy with those using theories of the queer, the critical, and the affected (see further 8 below). Most recent sighting: 

They further demonstrate how the analytical frameworks developed by queer theorists in the last thirty years deeply resonate with the ways in which Euripides' plays twist poetic form in order to challenge well-established modes of the social.

2. 'Whilst'

Just use 'while' or 'although' - you're not a 19th century novelist and you're not from Central England either.

3. Using γάρ in English. 

For it makes me laugh for to use 'for' for a conjunction. Popular in American English where I think it is idiomatic rather than fancy.

4. 'In this connexion' 

One I confess I was too fond of as an undergrad. 'In this connection' is the coward's choice. If you're going to do it, at least stick your neck out with the archaic spelling but I'd suggest it's better to avoid getting into connections altogether.

5. 'In terms of' 

Another personal failing and one which looks worse for its South Dublin parochiality. Hilariously abused by Irish rugby players. Leinster and Ireland back-rower Caelan Doris recently managed an incredible three 'in terms ofs' in one interview - bless. But that's fine for Doris in terms of he's a star rugby player and I'm a tyro academic...

6. 'As such'

Another guilty pleasure. A seemingly helpful way to connect two sentences together when one really wants 'accordingly' or 'therefore' etc. I would actually disagree with the 'as such' then 'as what?' test:

A: The antecedent of 'as such' can be the previous sentence itself. As such, the... B: as what? 

A: As the antecedent of 'as such' can be the previous sentence itself it, that is, the antecedent of 'as such', can be the previous sentence itself. B: As such, just avoid as such.

7. Em, too many em-dashes

Em-dashes are great, but when I find myself using them merely to save me from comma splices then it's time to stop Dickinsoning around and write shorter sentences! Sometimes it's better to leave them to their namesake, who once said:

Because I could not stop using Em-dashes...

The Em-dashes kindly stoppped working for me

8. Translationese Foucauldian Tricolon Crescens

It's not the noughties anymore, you sound like your man in Seinfeld: it's outrageous, egregious, preposterous!

9. 'The fact that'

Just say what you mean! This phrase makes sense in everyday speech. Like many maligned filler phrases and words it is an important way of securing your chance to speak in a group. We could even describe it as asseverative (μήν is a bit more succint). What is annoying about it is that it is perhaps more affected than commoner particles which are just discourse markers like 'like'. In any case, it has no place in good academic prose. A similar junk phrase, which is commoner in academic publications, is 'what it is is'. What it is is yikes! Just 'that' will usually serve for 'the fact that'. Cut that officious fat.

10. 'Often'

Ma bête noire.

Dishonourable mention here for using too much French, Latin, German etc. (#11) - a sure sign of insecurity and one I know only too well, but it can be witty if done right. In any case (#12?), 'often' is often a total copout. It often generalises and hedges far too much. If I say 'Aristophanes often parodies tragedy', that is unlikely to cause much consternation. Yet the question often remains, how often is often? Often, it is perfectly fine to use often for something that is relatively (#13, relative to what?) frequent but it often lets an author make broad totalising statements without good evidence of something occurring often. The real problem is often when 'often' begins to mean 'more than once' and often therefore 'all the time' but in such a way that it often becomes difficult to pin an author down and argue against their claims.

Happy belated new year.

Sorry, belated happy new year!






Thursday, 17 March 2022

Antiphanes, Antigone, and The Meaning of Life

Antiphanes was one of the great playwrights of Middle Comedy. He really deserves an edition & commentary to go with Hunter's Eubulus (1983) and Arnott's Alexis (1996). The Suda gives us a classic biographical trope, saying that he was the son of slaves... yadda yadda... good for him if true... The Suda also tells us that he won 13 victories, 8 apparently at the Lenaia (from the victor's list inscriptions) - the other 5 presumably at the City Dionysia. He produced plays from 385 BCE onwards (Anon. De. Com). Based on the number of titles we have (approx. 140) he must have had a fairly long and productive career. 

One of my favourite fragments of Antiphanes (fr. 228 KA, play unknown) is preserved in the epitome of Athenaeus' Deipnosophistae, how lucky we are! It also crops up in Eustathius' commentary on the Odyssey - surprise, surprise. We're in Book 1 and amongst the characteristic chaos of miscellany we get a few thoughts on drinking, specifically in the context of the Dogstar's reputed tendency to dry things out - including people's organs! The solution, of course, is to keep one's innards moist with wine, which brings us to a great piece of advice from Antiphanes.

Here's the text from Kaibel's edition of the Deipnosophistae. Neither Olson's Loeb Bk. 1 p. 127 nor the Kassel-Austin fragment differ from it too significantly. I have, with Olson, deleted the interpolated line which Kaibel and Kassel-Austin print in brackets.




So those that drink go with the flow and live a long and beautiful life. Those that don't, sensible sticks in the mud, are destroyed by the current. What wonderful imagery, where did Antiphanes get it? 

Sophocle's Antigone, where else? Creon's son Haemon, Antigone's betrothed, is the font of this piece of wisdom. Haemon is desperate to persuade the despicable Creon (complaints to oudenmoimelei@nugastheatri.com) to forgive Antigone and spare her from execution. The example of the unbending tree which is uprooted is followed by a nice ship of state simile. Haemon's point is that Creon must be ready to make concessions when it is advantageous to everyone. To resist means destruction. I still remember reading Haemon's speech very early in the morning (in a haze of Drum) before my Greek tragedy class during my undergrad - those were the days! Here's the original version then with a plain translation (compare Jebb's):



The irony, or better the profundity of Haemon's advice is that it could also be applied to Antigone. What happens when one Sophoclean hero comes up against another? Unstoppable forces and immovable objects. Neither yield and both are destroyed... 

So drink! But not like a Sophoclean hero who doesn't know when to stop. Admit it when you're wrong, but don't always go with the flow... 


Wednesday, 8 September 2021

Fragments of Greek Comedy (after A.E. Housman)

Aristocrates fr. 69 Kock = Bollux ix.21

[And looking for a wool-tufted stopper for my asshole]

A grater, a frying-pan, and drinking instead from 

a wooden cup, for Thrassa fell on the goblets 

and smashed them. Just the other day she scorched

the new pot Philocerce had from Corinth

She should give thanks that I do not sell her

to the Dogfox

***

Menodyoboulon fr. 2 Meineke = Athenaeus 17.896f

A: When I was your age, you could give your 

slave boy six obols and send him to the fishmarket

and he would bring back a hemiektos of gorgon-headed sprats,

a basket of well-hung Copaic eels, two swift coming tunnyfish steaks,

†wrestling schools† and carrying it all himself

he would still have one obol in his mouth

and another clenched tightly between his cheeks

B: Not throwing a dinner party for Dinarchus

were you?

A:        No by Zeus, but for Hypereides!

***

Philander fr. 332 = Poxy 1341.2 

A: What are you saying? I don't believe you

This can't be true, oh what shall I do?

You mean to say that my son, my clever

Xylinous has fallen in love with that girl Laikastridia?

B: That's the truth master, why would I lie to you?

A: So it seems all mortals must suffer

We try and act as best we can but fate has other plans

How can my son be in love with a woman?

B: Try and calm down master, it is only natural after all.

Weren't you the same when you were a young man?

A: Well when you put it like that, I have had a complete 

change of heart, I can't even remember what it is

I was so angry about, to think I was going to turn them

both out of house, no, no not at all. 

We must have a wedding at once! There must be torches,

garlands, flute players. Quick, go down to the market 

at once and hire out a whole army of cooks!

***

'An indeterminate little man with a scraggy moustache'


Read the original here


Wednesday, 28 April 2021

Behind You! Tzetzes on Lycophron

 John Tzetzes or  Ἰωάννης Τζέτζης was a Byzantine scholar and poet who lived and worked in Constantinople in the 12th century AD.  While modern scholars occasionally have harsh words for the pedant and poetaster Tzetzes, his activity as a grammarian and poet has preserved valuable fragments of ancient poetry, even if he has often been accused of inaccuracy in his quotations. One author for whom Tzetzes is particularly important is Hipponax. Tzetzes seems to have had access to some portion of Hipponax's poetry (his first book of iambics whatever that means), and he clearly knew more of Hipponax than he did of Archilochus (whom he very rarely quotes). He quotes Hipponax frequently in various works, but especially in his commentary on (Pseudo)-Lycophron's Alexandra with which his brother Isaac apparently assisted him.  

In the Alexandra, Cassandra prophesies Menelaus coming among the Iapyges in a journey which mirrors the itinerary of the Argonauts. The geography is muddled and the Tzetzes brothers are not particularly helpful, we could be anywhere from Sicily, to Calabria, to Apulia. We are in the bootheel of Italy for sure anyway. There he will dedicate a mixing bowl from Tamassus, a wild bull hide shield, and a pair of Helen's shoes to Athena Skuletria or Athena Despoiler. Helen's shoes are ἀσκέρας εὐμαρίδας (v. 855) or fur-lined Persian slippers. Alone ἀσκέρα and εὔμαρις refer to two different kinds of shoe: a winter boot with fur or felt and a shoe or slipper of deerskin worn by barbarians (sc. Persians). Lycophron is obviously showing off his knowledge of shoe terminology, no trifling matter. But the pedantic Brothers Tzetzes were not about to let Lycophron away with this one!

Commenting on this line, Tzetzes (I think it is John's voice!) makes clear that askerai are felt boots or artaria (not that that's that helpful!). He proceeds to apostrophize Lycophron and accuses him of stealing words from Aeschylus and Hipponax, and even worse he's stolen them all wrong!

Now the next bit, I have no idea if it's meant to be funny or Tzetzes Bros. are deadly serious here, but I think it's hilarious:

ἀλλ’ ἀναμνήσω τοῦτον ἐγὼ τὸν σοφὸν ποιητήν. οὐκ οἶσθα, ὦ Λύκοφρον, ὅτι, ὅτε σὺ τὴν Ἱππώνακτος κατεῖχες βίβλον, κατόπιν σου ἑστηκὼς ἐγὼ ἑώρων σε τὰς αὐτοῦ λέξεις ἀναλεγόμενον καὶ τὸ ἀσκέρας δὲ ἐκεῖσε εὕρηκας καὶ οὕτω τέθεικας μὴ προσχὼν μηδεἰς νοῦν ἔχων τὰ ῥήματα.

But I will remind the clever poet of this. You did not know, Lycophron, that, when you were holding the book of Hipponax, I was stood behind you watching when you read his words and you found thἀσκέρας there and so you wrote it down neither paying attention nor keeping in mind the meaning. 

Libro de Los Juegos, 1283. Alfonso X de León y Castilla

There is something funny about the idea of Tzetzes creeping up on Lycophron and watching him at work, I like to imagine the scene which Tzetzes crafts here happening in a mediaeval scriptorium. But it is Tzetzes who is presenting himself as a sort of time-traveller, someone with a unique and personal insight into the workings of poets from the classical past. It's a pity that John ruins the image a little by really belabouring the point in the lines that follow, it is a very long scholion. But it is nonetheless a very vivid and amusing digression and it breaks up what can be quite heavy bedtime reading. For all Tzetzes' self-aggrandizing and schoolmasterly pedantry - I caught out the great and learned Lycophron (did he really?) - the vignette captures the ability which scholarship has to collapse the distance of a thousand years, from Tzetzes back to Lycophron and from us looking back on Tzetzes. Wouldn't we much rather stand behind the giants (not so big after all) than on their shoulders? 

Time to write some gotcha-articles on the solecisms of Homer!






Wednesday, 21 April 2021

Panyassis was a pain in the ass-is

 

 No one ever wished it longer than it is

Samuel Johnson on Milton's Paradise Lost  


I was tracking down a hapax in Panyassis the other day and stumbled across a hilarious gem in the testimonia. Testimonia are ancient sources which mention or comment on the poet or his works but do not quote from them. They are usually included at the start of a modern edition of an ancient author, especially in editions of fragments. Panyassis of Halicarnassus, apparently a relative of Herodotus, was an epic poet active in the 5th century BC. He is said to have written a Heraclea in 14 Books narrating the deeds of Heracles, as the title suggests.

Paniasis de Halicarnaso
Miguel Hermoso CuestaCC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Included in the testimonia is an inscription, apparently made on the back of a bust which is now identified as Panyassis himself.  

The inscription reads: Πανύασσις ὁ ποιητὴς λυπηρότατός ἐστι or 'Panyassis the poet is the most painful'. The bust was found in Herculaneum and now resides in the National Archaeological Museum of Naples. I will be going to verify the inscription when all this is over!

It has been supposed, rightly I think, that the perpetrator of this graffito was a bored and frustrated student. To think, Donald Sutherland as the professor in Animal House couldn't even grab his students' attentions by admitting that he also finds Milton boring


For someone who spends so much time reading bits and pieces of ancient comedy and digging for humour in other texts, it's a rare pleasure to get some inkling of the everyday banter and student satire of the ancient world. I think it's clear enough that λυπηρότατός means that Panyassis is the most pain-inducing because of his dry and dusty poetry. At any rate a fragment of Cratinus gives us ἄνθρωπος λυπησίλογος 'a man who causes pain by talking'. 

Unlike Milton, and unfortunately for Panyassis too little of his poetry survives for us to know how well-founded the graffiti critic's judgement was. Certainly other ancient sources do not necessarily take a dim view of him, though recommendation by Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Quintilian might point exactly to why students might have been sick of him. 

There's something tragicomic about poor Panyassis now being remembered like this because of one disgruntled pupil of rhetoric. They could at least change the picture on his Wikipedia article... But there's also a lesson to be learned here about literary history and how easy it is to construct narratives or to reduce a poet's whole work to a joke or a pithy quote. I only hope the graffiti I used to read in cubicles won't survive for the literary historians of the future.

 Anyway, I'm off to scratch some biting comments about Milton into the local statuary!

Monday, 1 February 2021

tragoedia universalis (a long and painful read)

Antigone Gives Token Burial to the Body of Her Brother Polynices, Jules-Eugène Lenepveu 1835-1898, The Metropolitan Museum of Art

There is a popular conception that Athenian tragedy is universal, and that its counterpart, Old Comedy, is parochial and therefore inaccessible. This runs alongside a broader preference for tragedies (which we now often call dramas) when it comes to cinema. A brief look at Best Picture Winners at the Academy Awards (great reproducers of public taste) shows us that comedy has to work harder to be deemed worthy of artistic merit. When 'comedies' do win, it is a monstrous occurrence. Think of the dreadful Shakespeare in Love (1998) which beat the pure and holy Oscar fodder Saving Private Ryan (1998), or The Artist (2011) which defeated all the American-language films which are so popular these days. Most would protest that anyone who really cares about film would steer clear of the Oscars, and they would be right. But, oddly enough, the comparison is useful.

In the golden era of Athenian drama, the competitors were shortlisted (somehow) and after their plays were performed they were awarded 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place respectively. It would be difficult to say which play was 'the best' in a given year. The tragedians were judged on four plays performed one after another, and while one tragedy might have stood out in each tetralogy, it's not clear by what metric it might be compared to the victorious comedy of that year. We would probably like to infer that the best tragedy is presumed to be superior to the best comedy, but I don't think Athenians in the 5th century BCE really saw it that way. Apples and oranges. Plato famously has Socrates claim, presumably contrary to common opinion, that the same man can write comedy and tragedy. For all the formal similarities we can observe between tragedy and comedy, it perhaps seemed futile, unfair, or just silly to pit them against each other.

Sometimes I imagine two ancient theatre-goers, one prefers tragedy and the other comedy, arguing with one another as Euripides and Aeschylus quarrel in Aristophanes' Frogs. Possibly such a comedy really existed, certainly comedies about drama itself were performed before Frogs and remained popular afterwards. Even New Comedy which we often imagine as nothing but ancient rom-coms, had a considerable interest in the reception of earlier drama and poetry. Diphilus for example, wrote a play which anachronistically portrayed Hipponax and Archilochus as competing lovers of Sappho! Why am I suddenly thinking of Shakespeare in Love again?!

This digression turns out to be a handy shortcut to what I think the central problem is with our modern conception of tragedy as universal. Comedy's naked interest in its own literary, philosophical, political etc. etc. context actually points us in the right direction. Aristophanes really liked tragedy, but he especially liked Euripides - whatever nasty things he says about him in his plays. Dionysus' complaint at the beginning of Frogs that there are no good tragedians left and that he has a longing for Euripides must reflect some sort of feeling amongst the Athenian literati (to which Aristophanes belongs) that tragedy had gone to pot. If Athenian democracy is often claimed to die with Demosthenes or at Chaeronea, then equally silly people might claim that tragedy dies with Euripides. The supposed degeneration of Greek poetry as the Classical period comes to an end and what we call the Hellenistic period begins is now a very tired concept in Classical scholarship, and one rightly treated with suspicion as smelling a bit of fascism. This is a sticky topic best treated elsewhere but the same sort of thinking feeds into our misrecognition of tragedy as universal. The point is that even 80 years or so before Chaeronea, Aristophanes begins the process of the canonisation of the three great Athenian tragedians. While Aristophanes cannot really be held responsible for what happens next, I cannot think of an earlier extant example of such a retrospective view of tragedy.

After Frogs, the stability of comedy and tragedy in the 5th century (nothing but a mirage in the first place) is blown up. The changes are easier to trace in comedy if we start with Aristophanes' later plays (Wealth and Assemblywomen) and pay close attention to the fragments of Middle Comedy until we get to Menander and then to the messy relationship between the fabula palliata and New Comedy. Menander, for reasons left for yet another post, is at some point deemed the greatest comic poet of his time. Thus our popular genealogy of comedy just goes: Aristophanes ---> Menander ---> Roman stuff? Plutarch at least, compares them as the two preeminent representatives of two different styles of comedy from two different times (Menander obviously comes out on top). Occasionally, I should admit, Cratinus and Eupolis, and Diphilus and Philemon are given honourable mention in order to complete the triads. In modern thinking (surely influenced by ancient reception and canonisation), Menander is also awarded the garland of being 'universal' and sometimes is seen more as an heir to Euripides than any one comic poet. This is a purely ideological process, during which Menander and his poetry were reshaped to fit a particular ideal. The same tension (Aristophanes vs. Menander) can be mapped onto Plautus and Terence.

It is difficult to find a parallel discourse for tragedy. There is nothing after Euripides. Of course, there was a huge amount of new tragedies being composed and performed all over the Hellenistic world, and we do get the Alexandrian Pleiad as a canonised group of tragedians from the 3rd century BCE, but next to nothing remains of their output. Even for students of Hellenistic poetry, names like Sositheus or Philiscus are spicy and exciting - or perhaps dry and dusty. Again, unless one is interested in early Latin literature names like Accius, Pacuvius, and Naevius are delightfully fresh. If we heave ourselves forward in time for a moment and look back at our line of great tragedians, just before Shakespeare we get... Seneca. Now there is a real tragedy.

How can we jump from Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides straight to Seneca and then to Shakespeare? This is the problem which the process of canonisation and transmission presents. A whole tradition can be lost forever because of a few arbitrary events - others it seems are deliberately destroyed. A diverse set of factors influence which authors are to be remembered, and which of their texts are to survive. It is naive or simply crass to believe that what we now consider the basis of 'Western' drama attained that status purely on its own merit (tastes change). I once heard from a young man that Ennius must not have been very good, and that that is why the Annales has survived only in shreds and scraps. I'll leave that one up to you. Parts of Fritz Lang's Metropolis (1927), widely considered one of the greatest films ever made, are lost for Christ's sake!

It's often thrown around that certain tragedies are still with us because they ended up on Byzantine school curricula, and that explains the survival of physical texts but not why they ended up on the curriculum in the first place. Perhaps we can understand if we go back to a famous anecdote about Ptolemy III Euergetes playing switch-a-roo with the "official" texts of the plays of the three great Athenian tragedians, sending copies back to Athens and keeping the "originals" and thus forfeiting the deposit he had paid on them. The point of this dubious anecdote (told by Galen of all people) is to show how desperately the Ptolemies wanted to possess the cultural prestige of Classical Athens and what that comes with. To speak crudely here, the Romans do much the same thing with Classical Greek culture and literature and the trend becomes unstoppable thereafter. In the first instance then, tragedy becomes a high prestige genre and certain authors are privileged within it, firstly for practical and political reasons and then perhaps on the basis, still arbitrary, of literary merit. Things get even messier when Christianity begins to spread and tragedies are suddenly subjected to an entirely new set of criteria. Accordingly, tragedies are reinterpreted along the lines of Christian morality. It is to be suspected that Seneca's success might be the product of the favour he found with Christian writers (otherwise I cannot understand it). A particularly fascinating example of the interactions between canonised Athenian tragedy, now with a good thousand years of accretions, is the Christus Patiens, a cento of Euripidean and Aeschylean tragedy which treats the crucifixion of Christ and has often been attributed to Gregory Nazianzen (Archbishop of Constantinople in the 4th century). A few hundred years later, Milton wrote his Samson Agonistes which is meticulously modelled on Sophoclean tragedy with nods to Euripides (especially Medea) and Aeschylus (Prometheus Bound). Milton cites the Christus Patiens as legitimising his endeavour to compose a Greek tragedy on a Christian theme.

The immense popularity of ancient Athenian tragedy in the modern theatre -most every actór and directór must get their grubby hands all over an Antigone or an Oedipus before they're done- relative to the neglect of comedy is the result of this historical process
Someone who believes that Athenian tragedy is universal will point out that I have actually proven its universality in a roundabout way by showing how tragedy transcends time and place in a way which Old Comedy cannot. It is worth pointing out that tragedy can do this because it holds pride of place in the mythologised "Western Civilisation" narrative. More bluntly it is difficult to claim a superior cultural heritage by appealing to fart jokes in Aristophanes. Still! Everything is historically contingent and tragedy is surely no exception.

I'll take Sophocles' Antigone as an example. It is one of the most popular Athenian tragedies at present, and has a very rich reception history. It is also more difficult to assail its alleged universality. The clash between Antigone's moral obligation to her family and yet also to obey the law seems to be widely applicable. But the conflict between the individual and the state has also been a classic problem for "Western" philosophers and political theorists. I'm thinking of J.S. Mill's
Oh no, it's Hegel! (Image)
On Liberty
because nothing has been more influential, whether we realise it or not, on our everyday thinking about such conflicts. But the Antigone itself is was also a favourite of Hegel's, and his reading seems to have had a massive influence as well.
 
But to dare even think about the Antigone in these terms is completely reprehensible. Perhaps a modern adaptation could present a version of the Antigone like this but it would be an adaptation, a version. I wonder in these cases, if we hypothesise an "original", would the Antigone be the kernel of truth and beauty at the centre of the play or would it be a completely superficial veneer which deceives an audience into giving a performance more respect than it deserves? In order for tragedy to be "universal" it must constantly be altered and adapted, and I take no issue with modern performances and translations, but if it must be changed to such an extent is it really universal?

To be fair, this is what Athenian tragedy was: poets presenting existing myths and stories in dramatic form. Indeed, many of the tragedians dealt with the same subjects. Sophocles and Euripides both wrote an Electra (and then there is overlap with material from Aeschylus' Oresteia), and so on. My point anyway is that tragedy's universality is a fact of reception, and while I don't really believe we can recover some pristine point where a play comes into existence free of such messy things like history... I do think it is worth re-enstranging or defamiliarizing tragedy a little rather than just imposing our own assumptions onto it. At the same time, I think it is time that comedy is seen as a more 'universal' form. And I mean this with the same caveats. In my opinion anyway, the idea of Old Comedy is far more 'universal' than that of classical Athenian tragedy. Killing your father and marrying your mother is not my idea of relatable - not yet anyway. Thanks for grappling with those universal human problems, Sophocles. Look, Aristophanes' heroes seek to end some injustice, to strive for some sort of utopia, they want to eat, drink, and have orgies! Of course, just like with tragedy I have to be selective to make this argument and gloss over the sexual violence that is so often a part of Aristophanic comedy. Perhaps that issue should make us question our canon all the more. Still, with that component removed, what could be more universal than the desire for peace and plenty?

Cut the cards!

Are some jokes/puns untranslatable? Bugs Bunny Rides Again (1948) One of the many joys of working on ancient Greek comedy is also one ...