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--A. Weaver, Simmons College
Janet R. Jacobson, Director, Center for Research on Women, Barnard College
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I have owned a copy of this work for over ten years. Having read the work from cover to cover several times, I cannot begin to guess how many times I have referred to individual chapters for reference. Mr. Osborne writes in a style which is easy to read for the Opera fanatic, as well as the scholar. The work contains chapters on each of Verdi's operas (including those which are relatively obscure in The United States). He gives background on the original sources as well as the contemporary historic events of the time.
I reccommend this book without reservation.
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A great score, it's easy to read and a standard size (9in x 12in). It's a great low price, perfect for the starving music student. It lies flat on a desk or music stand for easy study. I highly reccommend this for professionals and opera-goers alike.
Regarding the format of the book, I found it a bit annoying that sometimes you have to look on the following page to find the title for a picture. I liked the detailed introduction by the journalist, Raoul Mancinelli, that mixes a sense of the history, descriptions of the geography, and an appreciation of the ingenuity of the people. With over 150 photographs to ponder and treasure, this book is a delight.
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They've done a lot of small structures that bring technology and entertainment together. Their projects for MoMa, Whitney Museum, and the Guggenheim are a couple of examples. Although they're very unique designs in addition to comprehensive enhancements in media use, they have a seclusive atmosphere. That was one of the issues that was brought up by the students and faculty. The modules, however comfortable and ergonomic they can be, tend to separate individuals from the outside environment almost completely. They did not provide a good answer to the question. Yet, there's no reason for harsh criticism for that; since they devote themselves to one particular theme in architecture. Perhaps we, as either students or professionals, always have the image of Le Corbusier or Aalto in our minds, that we think that an architect should do everything. It becomes nice when a man can get a hand on many things, but it should not be disrespected when a hand does one job only. In fact, specialization becomes a must with globalism.
I really liked their project for University of Washington, where they placed literally a 'slice' of an aeroplane onto a grass area in the campus. They've designed mobile seats, that can rotate vertically and horizontally, to allow for lectures, lounge relaxing and exhibitions, as the seats move.
'Isolating functions, not people...' Yes, this is what they had said, I now remember. I agree, their intention is not to isolate people. They instead intend to isolate functions, so that they are better realized without interruption. One might disagree with that, if interruption is a personal pleasure.
LOT/EK is definitely one of the most specialized, unique, creative and technological architectural firms today. Purchase the book to see their amazing work.
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Volume 1 covers "Oberto" to "Rigoletto," 2 covers "Il Trovatore" to ""La Forza del Destino," and 3 "Don Carlos" to the final "Falstaff." The revised edition, which is now available in paperback format, begins with an introduction to Verdi and his times and a general consideration of the early operas. Volume 2 offers two chapters on the changing traditions in Italian opera and Verdi's maturing in his craft; while Volume 3 (in the hardcover edition I managed to find) plunges directly into the operas.
Each opera is handled in two sections. First an in-depth narration of the circumstances leading to the creation and opening night of each work, and then a scene by scene analysis of plot and music. This differs from the organization of the one-volume Charles Osborne book, "The Complete Operas of Verdi," which treats the music separately from plot. As much as I admire and have used that work for years, I believe the Budden volumes--so much fuller and therefore so much more useful--will supplant it from this time forward.
I can only urge Oxford to reissue that 3rd volume as soon as possible.
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---Megan W.
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Giuseppe Conte's poetry is always aware of the fact that Nature remains the foundation and background for any civilization, even though she may be easily forgotten. He writes of how Mediterranean civilizations are all intricately linked with their common setting of sand and ocean, and the "I" in Conte's poetry is often linked to flora and fauna. In "After March" he writes, "I want only to bloom, to live again,I,/no longer I, but hibiscus, acacia." Conte's fascination with how Man remains connected to the land makes him an interesting European counterpart to the Native-American poet Ray A. Youngbear.
Giuseppe Conte is learned in English literature and admires the works of D.H. Lawrence and Walt Whitman. As he writes in his introduction to this English edition, his thoughts have often been directed west to the Americas, and in fact he has travelled to the U.S. several times after the publication of "L'oceano e il ragazzo." In several places here, such as "The Conquest of Mexico," his poetry deals with the Aztec gods, metaphors for a natural world that remains even after the religion that personified its aspects has become extinct.
I can't comment much on Stortoni's translation of Conte's Italian, as I read the Italian text in this facing-page translation. However, I have glanced at her translation and it seems relatively faithful, although as a non-native speaker of English she does make occasionally idiosyncratic choices of phrase. Nonetheless, she deserves praise for making the work of the fascinating poet accessible to the English-language reader. She has also translated Maria Luisa Spaziani's SENTRY TOWERS into English and is certainly doing a great service for English speakers.
While not as intensely sublime as the poetry of Giuseppe Montale, a much more famous Ligurian who won the Nobel prize in 1975, and not as influential as the works of Quasimodo or Ungaretti, the poetry of Giuseppe Conte is certainly worth a look. His use of modern style while reaching back to the dawn of Mediterranean civilization is truly moving.
"The Ocean and the Boy" is a wonderful compilation of Italian poetry written by Giuseppe Conte and translated by Laura Stortoni. Conte's poems touch on many themes, from pre-Colombian Mexico, to his childhood, to Greek mythology. My favorite theme, though, one that runs consistently through Conte's poetry, is the theme of Nature. Conte spends many lines either intricately describing the flora and fauna that surrounds him, or defining himself in terms of Nature: "I want only to bloom, to revive, I,/ no longer I, but hibiscus, acacia. . ." Of particular interest to me were his poems about the sea, including "What Was the Sea?", "You Should Have Heard the Wind", and "The Ocean and the Boy Walk...." I love the way Conte describes the ocean of his childhood: "It had/ tails and paws of water among the/ rocks, it polished the pebbles, it made. Cyphers of light on the sand: it was/ deep but unfeeling, they said, and celibate, individual, sterile." and "the wind/ of the sea, lifting the waves, tearing up/ the clouds and reweaving them. . ." These poems spoke to me because as a child that had the good fortune to grow up near the sea, Conte made me recall my own experiences: warnings of the oceans unpredictable behavior and the terror I felt (and still sometimes feel in my nightmares) that the huge mass of blue would swallow me up if I waded in too deeply. Yet, one does not have to have had to experience the sea as a child to appreciate these poems, only an understanding of the ocean as a metaphor for incomprehensible and seemingly endless vastness. In "The Ocean and the Boy Walk" Conte presents the ocean as a metaphor for his mind or unconscious, Conte IS the ocean, the ocean (his unconscious) even speaks for him when he cannot "The Boy is mute, the Ocean cries/ far-off cries,...the Ocean does not keep silent, no,/ the Boy descending, knows/ there is a voice, deeper than the darkness. . ." The layout of this book is as equally as impressive as the poetry contained within. Each original poem is presented with the English translation on the opposite page, giving the reader the opportunity to reference as they please. Having the poems side by side makes this book perfect for those interested in learning Italian or learning how to translate from Italian to English, or vice versa, regardless of the reader's level. Printing the Italian is also a credit to the translator, Laura Stortoni, for this forces her to be extremely true to the original poem. That aside, credit is due to her just for the simple fact that now those who are not literate in Italian have the opportunity to enjoy Conte's poetry. When I was studying for my B.A. in Spanish Literature I came to realize just how important it was to experience the literature of other cultures. And of course no translation, no matter how accurate, can compare with the original, but reading a translated version is better than nothing at all. I also began to understand that what makes a good novelist, playwright, or poet, are those can reach an audience beyond their own culture. This is the type of poet Conte is: universal. This book of poetry is filled with poems that can speak to any human once the barrier of language has been broken down. I highly recommend it.
A poetry lover from Santa Barbara, CA
Translating, From the Latin, transferre, means, in simple words, to carry something from one place to another. The literary translator carries words, the heaviest of all burdens, from one language to another. But the very act of choosing a certain poem is, first of all, a profession of identification. A remote, often arcane, reason strikes a special inner chord in the translator's soul, giving him/her no peace until the original poem is eaten, chewed, absorbed and finally regurgitated in the other language, having become fiber of the fiber, flesh of the flesh, of the translator. After translating a poem, I often think of it as mine. If I wanted to translate it in the first place, it was a poem I should have written myself. Giancarlo Pontiggia says that the literary translator should simply go where the text orders him to go, letting himself be carried away. I have always trusted my mysterious illuminations far more than the painstaking thirteen drafts that some have recommended for literary translators. While translating Giuseppe Conte's poetry, the "carrying" of the verses was light, spontaneous, with the English words magically appearing to my mind while I was reading the Italian text. This probably happened because Conte speaks of places I have seen, of feelings I have felt. The sea he describes was the sea where every summer I would roam those vast beaches, burnt by the sun and vexed by the winds.
Conte is as possessed by the sea as I am. The sea invades us, pervades us, in the same way that it pervades the poetry of Salvatore Quasimodo and of the Greek poets Elytis and Seferis. As I read Conte's poetry, I saw; and as I saw, the images translated themselves into English without any apparent effort on my part. This is the magic wrought by the poetry that strikes our arcane inner chords. The sea described in this volume is seen with the wonder of a child's eyes, a wonder akin to that of Homeric heroes. It is the "wine-colored sea" described by Homer, a sea fighting and loving, with unpredictable alternation, the earth and the beach, a sea that attempts to conquer, to devour, to attack, to then retreat in peace and soothing calm. The landscapes and seascapes described here are mythical and yet precise: for myths are never general, rather, they emerge from a complexity of details. Conte mentions specific names of local flora and fauna, describes the lush, precarious hills sloping towards the sea, attracted to the waves and yet threatened by them, just as we humans are attracted to danger. This landscape/seascape, sketched with the detailed technique of a naif painter, is a precise childhood memory acquiring the haunting proportions of myth. These memories deserve to be carried and be recorded into another language, so that they can also affect those who cannot read the original. And so I translated them. As a translator, I often feel, humbly, that I have opened a door so that others can enter. Please come in.
Bravo Giuseppe, Bravo......