'On Pindar he once said, "He is a kind of Australian poet; has long
tracts of gravel, with immensely large nuggets imbedded." This was in reference
to the obscurity and inequality in the Odes: a hasty judgment, perhaps,
on that colossal genius, if his work be closely studied as a whole.
One
evening, in that upper room which could not be entered without a rising
of the heart, a sense of exaltation, as of one admitted to the central
shrine of Delphi, he read out off-hand Pindar's great picture of the
life of Heaven in the second Olympian into pure modern prose, splendidly
lucid and musical. This feat, incomparably more difficult and effective
than when the pseudo-poetic facile disguise of some archaic form of
language is resorted to, so struck me, that I begged him to think of
preparing a version of these all but unique relics of the Greek Heroic
Ode for English readers. But he smiled and said that "in his mind the
benefit of translation rested with the translator." These were
memorable words; but I fancy that ancient poets were at the moment
before him.'
Tennyson, Hallam. (2013). p. 241. Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir By His Son (Vol. 4). London: Forgotten Books. (Original work published 1899).
Friday, 25 July 2014
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