Friday 12 December 2014

Tu, Giovanni

I am still reading Joan Maria Vernet's latest, Tu Giovanni. Once again Vernet presses the whole of himself, mind and heart, learning, archaeology, geography, history, exegesis, into the service of popular writing. But he does not quite succeed in entering into the pain of one who has lost the One he loves. Perhaps because the one who writes lives constantly in the love that does not pass.

"Ani le dodì ve dodì li." I to the beloved and the beloved to me. I am my beloved's and beloved is mine. The singing, the dancing, but also the pain. "We piped, and you would not dance; we sang dirges, and you would not mourn." But the one who loves, enters into both pain and joy. And I like to think that the One who loves was fully what he was, divine and human, and that while he knew everything, he also did not know everything. Divine and human, without admixture, as the dogma would have it. 

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