![]() Or, was what he was writing simply beautiful wordplay? Did it mean anything at all? What would happen if we substituted some other word for agape instead of love? What did Paul really want us to think on our wedding days – that the best we could hope for was that our spouses might view us charitably? The authors of the King James Bible, following the example of Wycliffe’s seminal English translation, chose the word charity as the correct translation of agape. What agape meant in the ancient world is open to debate – it was about love of spouse or family, and contrasted with the word and idea of philia which suggested friendship, fraternity and so on – and eros – which was sexual attraction. Yet in the Greek original, the word that is commonly translated into English as the word love is the word agape (are-gar-pee). Its justly famed and poetic evocation of love is perhaps the most popular biblical reading at contemporary wedding ceremonies. To give you but one example: St Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, Chapter 13. We bury love under the rubble of other words and sentiments, deluding ourselves such gravel is gravitas, to make it seem as if we do know what love means. Like Elvis, it’s frequently sighted in unusual locations – the Balga KFC, say, carrying several bags of half-eaten chicken nuggets, or the Mirrabooka Hungry Jacks leaning out of a beaten up Hi-Lux dual cab – but vanishes at the point at which we seek to authenticate it as real. ![]() We apprehend it, we feel it, and we think we know it yet we cannot say what we mean by it. We like love, we love love, but perhaps its only meaning lies in its ubiquitous meaninglessness. Then there is the matter of love itself, love, a word so trammelled by overuse as to be almost senseless. My despair then in realising I had agreed to talk about love stories for some extended period was great. Of all the love stories ever published, I have – realistically – read very few. And the more I read, the greater, I guess, grows the library of unread books. And then there are even more I have never even started. In truth, not unlike Rilke, there are a great many great books and great love stories that I have never been able to get past the first page of. One of them turned to him and asked, ‘How do you feel about Faust, master?’ To which Rilke answered, ‘I have never been able to read more than a page of it.’” Once, according to an account in a book long out of print by the long dead Kenneth Rexroth, Rilke was “leaning gracefully against the mantelpiece in a castle in Switzerland while his devoted duchesses and countesses and other disciples were passionately discussing Goethe’s Faust, a discussion in which Rilke was taking no part whatsoever. He cultivated anyone he could sponge off – women, the titled, the rich, or, ideally, rich titled women. Rainer Maria Rilke was admittedly not a Dockers tagger, but a sort of European equivalent, a German poet – in many respects a charlatan masquerading as a genius who turned out to be a genius.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |