I was in that... place again, with those... people, my "learned" colleagues. It was very busy, but nothing of note happened, at least not sufficiently noteworthy to be included in an intellectual's diary.
I am acutely aware that the audience here is rather limited (at least compared to my FB 'Meta' page), but it is enough that there exists a record of my frivolous, trifling and not leastways fulfilling 'life' (subsistence) as the lowest most basest slave that ever there were in Britain in its darkest age since Gildas wrote his De Excidio Britanniae.
My reading material today was a nice little book I picked up in a second hand shop in Cambridge when I lived there: The Celts by Nora Chadwick. It is an introductory work, but is well written, impartial, objective, and the author evidently has a keen knowledge of several languages and indeed a broad understanding of the archaeological evidence. Even if Nora does not cite her sources (ever) she does at least most often let the reader know which source she is referring to (so as a keen and wily literary type, I can simply pull the relevant book from my many shelves, or less often, look at some digitised version of a particular source).
As a result, this work (indirectly) will have a bit of an impact on my play - Boadicea: Queen of the Iceni which is almost finished now, being up to 1,150 lines (roughly 1,250 should be the limit, as any of Euripides' or Seneca's plays are). There is much beneath the surface, uncited, and I have kept to my notion of not citing anything classical, with one or two exceptions. I cannot say it is completely original, because it's not. Everything from Winston Churchill, Queen Elizabeth the First, even the late Prince Consort are in there. Yet most of all, there are two 'pillars' propping this work up: John Milton and Christopher Marlowe. (Shakespeare is not ignored, but is overshadowed by the "Muses' darling" and the immortal Milton).
As with any great literary work, it's not what one keeps in, but what one leaves out. There are some parts which are not really fit for a broad audience. As with any play I write, I take the approach that children may be in the audience, so I cannot make it in any way untasteful or unsuitable. It has to have style, but without the gore of Titus Andronicus or anything deemed unseemly.
In short, it is coming along nicely. I did actually have to stop myself from putting in certain things. There is a telling passage in Macrobius, which I only put half of in (like Macbeth it is an actual real magic spell, in Latin - and I don't mean people pulling rabbits out of hats). There is only one other invocation in the play, which I drew from modern hermetic writings interwoven with classical mythology. It was an invocation of all the four winds (though, according to Vitruvius, there are many more than that). As I just finished writing the final word, late in the night, well past the Witching Hour, suddenly the winds blew violently knocking all the trash cans all over the street. "Coincidence, or something more?" as Johnny Depp's character Dean Corso said in the controversial Roman Polanski movie The Ninth Gate (based on the novel The Club Dumas).
I confess, I have some motives for writing this work. They are positive motivations, namely, one could not help but notice living in Cambridge that the only two of Marlowe plays are regularly staged and performed by the Marlowe Society are (1) Dr. Faustus, and (2) Edward the Second. Why? Why not Dido: Queen of Carthage? (A much more classical work). Why not Tamburlaine the Great? The reason is simple: Dr. Faustus is a magical play, and Edward the Second is a very British play. So, if those are the only two remnants from "The Muses' darling" which survive (that is, Christopher Marlowe), then in order for me to achieve creative immortality, I, as a playwright, have a duty to pen a play that is both very British and most magical, which I have done. There is a romantic element (of course, no great story can exist without the unstoppable force of love). Equally, there is much of me invested into this play, not least of which the kinds of feelings you read here in this diary of mine... Speaking of which:
Even if I am neglected in my life, here, and now, this will not always be the case. This will be seen as a literary Golden Age, but is, in truth, a Dark Age. Prosaic novels are the mainstay today. I recall reading in Schaps' Handbook for Classical Research during my master's degree that, "Were Homer alive today he would have written a novel." I also recall studying Continuing Classical Latin that translating poems into "powerful" prose is where it's at nowadays. I could not disagree more strongly. At least, on the M.A., it was emphasised that one does not translate Catullus into prose, and the set text (not the Seneca) of Euripides' Trojan Women was done by the most excellent Diane Svarlien. Like the late great Rex Warner (I refer to his rare translation of Euripides' Medea, not his canonical translations of Thucydides etc.), Diane Svarlien is capable of translating excellent prose as well as being gifted enough to render poetry into verse well.
One wonders what would have been made of me in Elizabethan England, or in Florence 1463, or in 9th century Baghdad. An average translator back in the Abbasid Caliphate recieved £30,000 a month. I will not make that in three years! This is precisely why this is the literary Dark Age. One cannot see this as any kind of 'Renaissance', and certainly not a 'Golden' Age!
Consider, for example, these verses I wrote today.
Callizena:
If it may please your majesty, pray mam,
our scouts report that Verulamium
is well defended, girded by strong walls,
ramparts bristle with Rome’s machines of war.
It’s thought they’ve stored up much livestock and corn.
Boadicea:
What of their arms and armour, Roman?
Callizena:
Indeed, fashioned from Hephaestus’ forge.
Boadicea:
What kind of man is their governor?
Might he be amenable to our cause?
Callizena:
It is said that he’s a reasonable man.
Boadicea:
Lastly, good Druidess, what of the men
under his charge? What about their morale?
Where do their loyalties lie, him or Rome?
Callizena:
Steadfast, they are all in good spirits,
Dionysian Artificiers,
a guild of architects, very loyal,
brothers, bound by oaths sworn before the gods.
Boadicea:
All things and in all places are subject
to the gods and their power covers all
alike. Thus, accordingly, we should act.
Callizena:
I shall make all the necessary
preparations, to do what must be done.
Boadicea:
My thanks. May Andate bless our venture,
so that we are assured of victory.
Callizena [produces a talisman of two bodies entwined then raises her hands to heaven]:
Lunar Achaya, whose authority
is granted by the stars. Soldier, lover,
beloved by Mars and Hermaphrodite,
bring doom to citizens of this city.
Boadicea: Queen of the Iceni by Maxwell Lewis Latham, (most of) Scene 4, Act 3.
Primary sources: Xenophon, Anabasis 2.2.7; Cassius Dio 62.9.2-3; The Picatrix 1.4.7, 4.9.34.
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