Read ☧ Twilight in Italy ☪

I began reading this book to accompany my recent travels While Lawrence visited some of the same places I did, I didn t learn much about them I was fairly certain I wouldn t, as it s not that kind of book it s not a travel guide Things he sees, people he meets, places he s been trigger Lawrence s themes the passionate south vs the cold north, dark vs light, the old yes vs the new yikes , man vs womanI ll admit that I put the book down shortly after I began it, as I was not able or willing to deal with the tremendous detail given to roadside shrines still don t love that part of it , but gradually his contemplations drew me in Whether or not you re contemplating spending time on Lago di Garda, or trekking south from Zurich to Lugano, Lago Maggiore, Como, you might find this stimulating after a brief struggle, I certainly did. I have enjoyed every book of Lawrence s, struggled with many, respected all, but I stand in awe of the beauty and majesty of this one Lawrence clearly enjoyed writing it so much that I wondered that he was able to keep his feet upon the ground When he walks in the warm sunshine and hears two friars speaking to one another, he manages with profound power to pull me from my doldrums and into his time to stand or walk with him When he clambers among the rocks in search of flowers, I cannot say a word of reproach, because I know that there will be exquisite beauty revealed if only I am quiet for a moment and I am never disappointed.Was this ever a travel book Could it ever be Were we meant to have an argument about things with Lawrence as if we were in high school Or possibly we were meant to walk along and listen and watch and feel the majesty of his observations, sometimes blunt and harsh, other times exquisite and bordering on the ethereal, never leaving the human, even in the chasing down of all the interpretations of men seeking God When reading various passages, I would stop, put the book down and stare out the window for a while so that I might walk and listen with him just a while longer.and that was transcendent I suppose that years ago I wrestled like Jacob at Penuel and took offense at Lawrence, racing to judge him for this and that trifle I learned that in doing so, I would miss the greater part of his magic with the images he would otherwise create.and Lawrence was never stingy with his portraits I dare say he creates them with abandon and passion that is incapable of seeing things other than as a poet sees, incapable of following the path by which a poet is led In that sense, it is pointless to argue that one does not agree or see eye to eye on particular points of view about things or people, that he is being cruel or unusually harsh in some place or other One might as well argue about the ways in which colors are seen through a prism when a master is putting the image back into a format, it is simply beneficial to listen to the beauty.It has been months since I finished this book and I have thought about what to write about this book On one hand, I was so elated by its beauty that I could hardly put it down On the other, I was disappointed because I felt its tether straining to be released I began wondering why Lawrence wrote this book at all and I was forced to come to terms, as I always am with his literature, that he was making observations of a changing time and place against a larger backdrop of both immutability and worldly incomprehension In may ways, Lawrence might have been writing about some new world government, a technocracy designed to make use of things and people without caring for them any longer While I doubt that he could have foreseen our modern plight of soulless existence, flailing against unrighteousness without first seeking righteousness ourselves, Lawrence was no doubt aware of the way in which the world had a kind of planned obsolescence in mind for all individualism The beauty of his writing, nevertheless, overcomes any possible critical argument I might have thrown at him at one time Then again, perhaps understanding where the substance of beauty exists might be the key to great literature. Read ☧ Twilight in Italy ♍ This Is A Pre Historical Reproduction That Was Curated For Quality Quality Assurance Was Conducted On Each Of These Books In An Attempt To Remove Books With Imperfections Introduced By The Digitization Process Though We Have Made Best Efforts The Books May Have Occasional Errors That Do Not Impede The Reading Experience We Believe This Work Is Culturally Important And Have Elected To Bring The Book Back Into Print As Part Of Our Continuing Commitment To The Preservation Of Printed Works Worldwide I ve been reading this book on the Muni and the BART every morning, to and from work San Francisco to Oakland, Oakland to San Francisco Repeat, repeat Almost done It s a tiny book, a little slip of a thing A magic elixir for the odd stain on the train seat A soft and confiding voice in the din of transit warfare Someone said somewhere in a disparaging review of this book that Lawrence certainly didn t need to leave home to write it But of course he did Leaving home is what he did Repeat, repeat Almost done Year after year. This was my first venture into the essays of D H Lawrence his first travel book set in northern Italy.It follows his journey from Munich across the Alps to Riva del Garda and then on to the town of Gargnano on the southern western shore of Lake Garda where he stayed from the winter of 1912 to the spring of 1913.Lawrence starts by writing about the crucifixes he finds on the mountain road, describing them as factory made pieces of sentimentalism monuments of physical death creating a darkness across the landscape with their shadows and mysteries and beautiful elegies of self commiseration These tainted and vulgar effigies are made even poignant by the vivid accounts of carvings of Christ hewn out of bare wood which for Lawrence was significant of the true spirit, the desire to convey a religious truth, not a sensational experience In the essays that follow, from time spent in the lakeside towns and villages, he describes the people he meets with much warmth and admiration from the real Italian greatness of local aristocrats, to the conscious ease of ageing peasants who deny the advance of time, to the free thinking, immoral and slightly cynical attitudes of the young bloods at the theatre.His descriptions of the landscape are exquisite throughout taking in the powerful beauty of the mountains where the ice and the upper radiance of snow are brilliant with timeless immunity from the flux and the warmth of life , and looking down on the dim and milky lake which looks like a moonstone in the dark hills while above the sky gushes and glistens with light Contrasts throughout the book between people and their environment are endearing such as the strange, clear beauty of form about the men of the Bavarian Highlands with their blue eyes very keen, the pupil small, tightened, the iris keen, like sharp light shining on blue ice and on collecting some little periwinkles he reflects that they were very blue, reminding him of the eyes of the old spinner woman With further contrasts and reflections such as life and death, the mind and the senses, spiritual ecstasy and mechanical perfection, negative and positive, the old and the new, this is no ordinary travel book It is a work of philosophy with lively and charming insights into various aspects of Italian rural life A wonderful book and one I will be returning to many times for further discoveries and study, a favourite for all time. I always think DH uses 5 words when only 2 would suffice Nice opinionated text though. Picked this up as an ebook and have been reading it on and off on flights, a little bit at a timethere is heartbreaking beauty in the poetic language, and I loved this glimpse into a vanished Italy in all its ugliness and glory. I had a very intimate connection with this book Describes Italians how Italians never could It also presages the rise of fascism in some ways. Herbie, as we were wont to call the Love and Lover man, lived on Lago di Garda, where I babysat my two year old grandson at Riva del Garda while his Mom was off working for a London law firm most of the week With classic errors in the Italian I had read for 34 years, I reassured him, Non preoccuparti, tua Momma sta andando, Don t worry, your Mom is going away Herbie was further south, past the lemon groves in his day prior to WWI, my Riva was on the Austrian border, and there was smuggling across the mountains Lawrence was down in Gargnano with its two nearby monasteries, San Tommaso up on a hill above the town, the Church of the Eagle, and San Francesco right on the shore Looking for the path up to the plateau of heaven, I was quite baffled by the tortuous, tiny, deep passages of the village 26 These passages led to old steps, used for centuries as occasional urinals I first found these narrow paths in fortified hilltowns around Carrara like Nicola and Fontia Wonderful to walk, the cart wide steps with a rounded lip for mule drawn carts At Nicola I saw pieces of chicken thrown out of second story windows down to the pavement for cats and maybe ravens DHL wrote this so young that his writing is better toward the end one could almost touch the stillness as one could touch the walls 162 , and the strange, glassy translucency of the snow lit air 161 Lawrence goes to the Theater at Sal on Garda He sees D Annunzio, Ibsen s Spettri, which he considers depressingly phallic in the Scandinavian way, crossed with Italian phallicism one thinks of the engraved phalluses at Pompei doorways , Good Luck One night his padrone, the Di Paoli, invite him to Amleto, uno drama inglese The evening honors the Actor Director Enrico, sturdy short lead, on whom DHL is merciless DHL arrives late, near the end of Act I Enrico looked a sad fool in his melancholy black The doublet made him look stout and vulgar, the knee breeches seemed to exaggerate the commonness of his thick, rather short, strutting legs 73 We may forget that for all his confrontation of bourgeois British manners, Herbiewas thoroughly British in his valuing of dress and appearance the aristocratic leg, the tallish figure He accuses the whole cast, essentially, of not being English The King and Queen were touching The Queen, burly little peasant woman The King, her noble consort had new clothes His body was real enough, but it had nothing to do with his clothes They established a separate identity by themselves 74 But Lawrence is also very critical of Hamlet the character His nasty poking into his mother his conceited perversion with Ophelia, make him always intolerable repulsive, based on self dislike Enrico played him as the modern Italian, suspicious, isolated, self nauseated, laboring in a sense of physical corruption A later Italian historian, Fabio Cusin, would agree on the suspicion, isolation and self disgust, in his Antistoria d Italia 1970 DHL says To be, or not does not mean to live or not to live but the supreme I, the King and Father To be or not to be King, Father, in the Self supreme And the decision is, not to be 77 He runs on about the deepest impulse in man, the religious impulse, or the desire to be immortal He argues for the ancients, the supreme I, the Ego ruled, but for Christians, supremacy involves renunciation, surrender to the Not Self The pagan Ego became the greatest sin Pride, the way to total damnation A US citizen in 2018 cannot help but wonder how the Christian Right wing came to forget the worst Christian sin of Pride, the foolish pride of the US Trumpster president And DHL has his own Brexit I was free in this heavy, ice cold air, alone London, far away below, beyond, England, Germany, Francethis continent all beneath was unreal, false, non existent in its activityIt was so big, yet it had no significance 163 And a century later, DHL has our global encroachment and environmental extinctions right the hideous rawness of the world of men, the horrible, desolating harshness of the advance of the industrilized world upon the world of nature, that is so painful 160. Crossing the alps to Italia inspires Lawrence to tediously overthink anything Italiano and attach existential complexities to every Italian thing along the way No dolce vita for D H Wah.