El sublim silenci d’Àiax. Pseudo-Longí, David Hume i Rowan Ricardo Phillips

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Lo sublime es eco de la grandeza de espíritu, de ahí que la simple idea, por sí sola, sin palabras, cause admiración, en virtud de la  grandeza del pensamiento, como el silencio de Áyax en la Nekyia.

Pseudo-Longí
De lo sublime
Traducció al castellà de Manuel Pérez López

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»Totes les altres ànimes, morts i difunts sense vida,
eren allà, afligides, contant cadascuna una pena.
L’ànima d’Àiax el Telamònida era allà, sola,
sense acostar-se’m, encara enutjada per una victòria
sobre les armes d’Aquil·les, que jo vaig guanyar en disputa
al campament: les posà com a premi sa mare l’augusta,
i en van ser jutges els fills dels troians i Pal·las Atena.
Més valia que no hagués vençut en aquella contesa!
Fou per això que la terra va rebre un home tan digne,
Àiax, el qual en bellesa, en aspecte i en fets superava
tota la resta d’aqueus, sense el fill de Peleu, el més noble.
Jo m’hi vaig adreçar amb paraules meloses i amables:
“Àiax, fill del gran i eminent Telamó, no podries
ara, ja mort, oblidar-te de l’odi que em tens per aquelles
armes funestes? Els déus les crearen com una desgràcia
per als aqueus, que et perderen a tu com qui perd una torre.
Quan vas morir, ens quedàrem per sempre afligits, i tan tristos
com per Aquil·les el fill de Peleu. I tota la culpa
és de Zeus, que tenia un odi feroç contra els dànaus,
tropa de llances, i així t’imposà aquest destí lamentable.
Vine, senyor, i escolta el que dic i les coses que conte;
calma el furor i aplaca el teu cor i la seua altivesa”.
Vaig dir això. I no respongué i se’n va anar amb les altres
ànimes cap a l’Èreb, on són els difunts sense vida.
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Odissea, XI, 541-564
Traducció de J. F. Mira

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WHO is not struck with any signal Instance of GREATNESS of MIND or Dignity of Character; with Elevation of Sentiments, Disdain of Slavery, and with that noble Pride and Spirit, which arises from conscious Worth and Virtue? The Sublime, says LONGINUS, is often nothing but the Echo or Image of Magnanimity; and where this Quality appears in any one, even without uttering a Syllable, it excites our Applause and Admiration; as may be observ’d of the famous Silence of AJAX in the Odyssey, which expresses more noble Disdain and resolute Indignation, than any Language can convey.

David Hume
An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals

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El poeta de Nova York Rowan Ricardo Phillips (amb estrets llaços amb Catalunya), fa una versió d’aquesta escena de la nekyia odisseica en el seu poema The Odyssey, Book 11: ll. 538-556. Ell mateix en fa una ressenya: 

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“This is a vision of the nekyia in Book 11 of The Odyssey as taking place in Heaven as opposed to the underworld. The silence of Ajax in the face of Odysseus’s beautiful but suffocating grandiloquence, and his anger at Odysseus even after death, is one of literature’s grandest examples of the power of silence and the endurance of rage. I have long been transfixed by this moment and by the open-ended chill of that silence. Set against the constant need for Odysseus to speak and his seemingly instinctual impetus to try to either win things or fix things, I heard, as I thought through this poem, Heaven emerge as a marvelous mise-en-scène through which to further explore that poignant human chain that ever connects us to the poignancy of poetry’s past.”

Rowan Ricardo Phillips

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Aquesta és una visió de la nekyia del Llibre 11 de l’Odissea com si transcorregués al paradís com a oposat a l’inframon. El silenci d’Àiax enfront de la bonica però carregosa grandiloqüència d’Odisseu, i la seva ràbia envers Odisseu fins i tot després de mort, és un dels més grans exemples en la literatura del poder del silenci i de la persistència de la ira. Fa molt que vaig quedar commogut per aquest moment i pel calfred que deixa aquest silenci. Contraposat a la constant necessitat de parlar d’Odisseu i el seu aparentment instintiu ímpetu d’intentar o bé guanyar o bé arreglar les coses, vaig sentir, com vaig fer a través d’aquest poema, emergir el paradís com una meravellosa posada en escena mitjançant la qual continuar explorant aquesta punyent cadena humana que sempre ens connecta amb la intensitat del passat de la poesia.

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The Odyssey, Book 11: ll. 538-556

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The soul of swift-soled Achilles hearing me
Praise his son, silvered, and then was gone,
His long strides causing him to blend, light-bent,
Into the shining, maize meadow cloudbank
Shadowed by that one solitary tree
It takes sixteen years for light, let alone
A soul, to cross.
…………….The other dead, who thrived
Though they had died, rejoiced at seeing me
And sang, one by one, to me; and I in
Turn said back to one after the other
That the song that soul sang was a blessing
And that I had never heard anything
Like it; which was true, but also, I must
Admit, they bored me to tears, tears that their
Surprisingly still finite knowledge took
As tears of pure joy from hearing them sing.
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Only Ajax Telamoniades
Kept away, arms crossed, refusing to speak,
Dim-starred and disappearing into his rage.
All because of a simple spar of words,
A mere speech, and winning Achilles’ armor.
Athena above and those men at the ships
Decided that, not me, although it’s true
He never stood chance. But by custom
Should have been given the matchless metal.
How I wish I hadn’t won that contest.
How the ground closed over his head for it.
What a fool I can be. Ajax. Who knew
No equal in action but for the one
Man who surpassed him, just-fled Achilles,
So capable of happiness despite
All that happened because he washed up here,
Heaven: this implausible place for us.
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Strange that Ajax is also in Heaven
Despite ending his legendary life.
In the end he’s won, but he doesn’t seem
To understand that he’s won. Poor Ajax.
Like always, I thought I had winning words
And so I said to him with unreturned gaze:
“Son of great Telamon, mighty Ajax,
War tower, shake free of your anger.
No one else is to blame but Zeus, and look,
He is no longer here, friend. Paradise
Has found you and given you an eternal
Roof under the one tree of High Heaven.
Zeus treated us so terribly, and you,
Whom he should have loved like his strongest son,
You worst of all.
…………………But that is history
Now. Come, my strong brother, lord and deserved
Winner of all Achilles wore and was,
Come, be with us here; let me hear the light
Of Heaven in your voice; and let me know,
Because I love you, how you (of all men!)
Ended up in the keen of this endless berm.”
But Ajax, gift-eyed, said nothing to me
And took his seat under the rowan tree.

Rowan Ricardo Phillips

Rowan Ricardo Phillips

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Rowan Ricardo Phillips ha traduït a l’anglès Ariadna al laberint grotesc, de Salvador Espriu [Ariadne in the Grotesque Labyrinth, Dalkey Archive Press, 2012] ).

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