Author Topic: Paradise Lost by J. Milton [PL 5.564-575, 616-617]  (Read 4695 times)

elena petelos

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Paradise Lost by J. Milton [PL 5.564-575, 616-617]
« on: 15 Jun, 2006, 17:19:05 »
John Milton (9 December 1608 – 8 November 1674) was an English poet, polemicist, and civil servant for the Commonwealth of England. He is best known for his epic poem Paradise Lost.

He was a scholarly man of letters, a polemical writer, and an official serving under Oliver Cromwell. He wrote at a time of religious flux and political upheaval in England, and his poetry and prose reflect deep convictions and deal with contemporary issues, such as his treatise condemning licensing, Areopagitica. As well as English, he wrote in Latin and Italian, and had an international reputation during his lifetime. After his death, Milton's critical reception oscillated, a state of affairs that continued through the centuries. At an early stage he became the subject of partisan biographies, such as that of John Toland from the nonconformist perspective, and a hostile account by Anthony à Wood. Samuel Johnson wrote unfavourably of his politics as those of "an acrimonious and surly republican"; but praised Paradise Lost "a poem which, considered with respect to design may claim the first place, and with respect to performance, the second, among the productions of the human mind". William Hayley's 1796 biography called him the "greatest English author". He remains generally regarded "as one of the preeminent writers in the English language and as a thinker of world importance."



Portrait of John Milton in National Portrait Gallery, London c. 1629. Unknown artist (detail)
Czesław Miłosz at the Miami Book Fair International of 1986

Poems published in Translatum:




   Thus Adam made request, and Raphael
After short pause assenting, thus began.

   
      High matter thou injoinst me, O prime of men,
Sad task and hard, for how shall I relate
To human sense th' invisible exploits [ 565 ]
Of warring Spirits; how without remorse
The ruin of so many glorious once
And perfet while they stood; how last unfould
The secrets of another World, perhaps
Not lawful to reveal? yet for thy good [ 570 ]
This is dispenc't, and what surmounts the reach
Of human sense, I shall delineate so,
By lik'ning spiritual to corporal forms,
As may express them best, though what if Earth
Be but the shaddow of Heav'n, and things therein [ 575 ]


As yet this World was not, and Chaos Wilde
Reignd where these Heav'ns now rowl, where Earth now rests
Upon her Center pois'd, when on a day
(For Time, though in Eternitie, appli'd [ 580 ]
To motion, measures all things durable
By present, past, and future) on such day
As Heav'ns great Year brings forth, th' Empyreal Host
Of Angels by Imperial summons call'd,
Innumerable before th' Almighties Throne [ 585 ]
Forthwith from all the ends of Heav'n appeerd
Under thir Hierarchs in orders bright
Ten thousand thousand Ensignes high advanc'd,
Standards and Gonfalons twixt Van and Reare
Streame in the Aire, and for distinction serve [ 590 ]
Of Hierarchies, of Orders, and Degrees;
Or in thir glittering Tissues bear imblaz'd
Holy Memorials, acts of Zeale and Love
Recorded eminent. Thus when in Orbes
Of circuit inexpressible they stood, [ 595 ]
Orb within Orb, the Father infinite,
By whom in bliss imbosom'd sat the Son,
Amidst as from a flaming Mount, whose top
Brightness had made invisible, thus spake.

Hear all ye Angels, Progenie of Light, [ 600 ]
Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Vertues, Powers,
Hear my Decree, which unrevok't shall stand.
This day I have begot whom I declare
My onely Son, and on this holy Hill
Him have anointed, whom ye now behold [ 605 ]
At my right hand; your Head I him appoint;
And by my Self have sworn to him shall bow
All knees in Heav'n, and shall confess him Lord:
Under his great Vice-gerent Reign abide
United as one individual Soule [ 610 ]
For ever happie: him who disobeyes
Mee disobeyes, breaks union, and that day
Cast out from God and blessed vision, falls
Into utter darkness, deep ingulft, his place
Ordaind without redemption, without end. [ 615 ]


    So spake th' Omnipotent, and with his words
All seemd well pleas'd, all seem'd, but were not all.





http://www.dartmouth.edu/~milton/reading_room/pl/book_5/index.shtml


The Fall of the Rebel Angels by Peter Breughel the Elder (a.k.a. Peasant Breughel*).  Painted in the 16th century, this one predates, Milton, but it is interesting for a comparison to Milton's poetic depiction of the same story in Paradise Lost.
Miscellaneous Paradise Lost
*Και εδώ εννοούν... Brueghel.
:-)
« Last Edit: 06 Aug, 2017, 19:14:59 by spiros »


Frederique

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Paradise Lost by J. Milton [PL 5.564-575, 616-617]
« Reply #1 on: 23 May, 2011, 08:51:17 »
John Milton, When I Consider How My Light Is Spent

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”


Source: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174016
Communicate. Explore potentials. Find solutions.

Frederique

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Paradise Lost by J. Milton [PL 5.564-575, 616-617]
« Reply #2 on: 23 May, 2011, 08:52:45 »
John Milton, On Shakespeare (1630)


What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,
The labor of an age in pilèd stones,
Or that his hallowed relics should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid?
Dear son of Memory, great heir of fame,
What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a live-long monument.
For whilst to th’ shame of slow-endeavouring art,
Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Those Delphic lines with deep impression took,
Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,
Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;
And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.


Source: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175750


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spiros

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Re: Paradise Lost by J. Milton [PL 5.564-575, 616-617]
« Reply #3 on: 18 Mar, 2017, 10:29:02 »
Βρήκα αυτό:

Πόσο αόριστη και απαλή
είναι των πνευμάτων η υφή.
Μπορούν όποιο φύλο θέλουν ν' αποκτήσουν
ή και τα δυο.
Διαλυμένα ή συμπυκνωμένα,
φωτεινά ή σκοτεινά,
τις αέρινες προθέσεις τους
πράξη κάνουν παντοτινά.

Μίλτον, Χαμένος Παράδεισος, Ι, 423


Και αντίστοιχο αγγλικό:

For Spirits when they please
Can either Sex assume, or both; so soft
And uncompounded is thir Essence pure,
Not ti'd or manacl'd with joynt or limb,
Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones,
Like cumbrous flesh; but in what shape they choose
Dilated or condens't, bright or obscure,
Can execute thir aerie purposes