I am absolutely loving re-reading the simply marvellous translation of Hercules Furens by the demi-goddess that is Emily Wilson. Best known for her exquisite translation of Homer's Odyssey (the first female to ever translate the work into English) Emily Wilson is probably not as well known for her work on Platonic philosophy. I bought one of her works, The Death of Socrates and found the book quite informative (highlighting some fragments of Plato which are important, as well as a few critical essays). Equally, Emily Wilson does not like Socrates, at all. According to Emily Wilson, he should have been at home taking care of the kids and his wife rather than gallavanting off drinking with his mates and spending long hours meditating. No doubt this has been the bugbear of many a married woman throughout the annals of human history. Anyway, back to Seneca.
Only 27 lines and 7 syllables are indebted to Seneca in my play Boadicea: Queen of the Iceni presently (which currently stands at an admirable 1,340 lines precisely at the moment - very nearly almost the same as Hercules Furens). I've known for a while now that I will have a lot more trimming to do, because it needs a good old fashioned nip and tuck, not to mention a few sections cutting down (which I am not really looking forward to doing - because to remove too much risks removing as many merits as flaws, maybe even more). Yet, today, as I journeyed to that... place (Tartarus - my workplace) I was transported to another world - reading Seneca's Hercules Furens. I couldn't wait to get home and break out my Latin copy and the commentary I have.
This all came about because I was doing some editing for the old ball and chain which discussed Hades (so naturally I put in some citations of primary sources, being the wily and well educated master of classical studies that I am - you know, the one that cleans the gunk out of the burnt pans and sauce tubs each night, because, well, that's what you do with two degrees in Classical Latin in Dark Age Britain - this is not 15th-16th century Renaissance Italy, or the Golden Age of Chinese poetry during the 8th century Tang Dynasty, evidently. These are the Dark Ages, most especially in poetry - even today's In Our Time episode on Li Bai and Du Fu was evidence of this [see 45 minutes and 20 seconds in]: all our [Britain's] best translators of poetry have emigrated over to the United States - including Emily Wilson, I might add! Well, apart from one: yours truly).
Anyway. Rant over. I remember choosing to study Seneca's Hercules Furens during the mythology module I studied as an undergraduate, and I had fogotten just how good a play it is. I really do not think it will ever been seen as being as great as Seneca's Thyestes (a magnificent play) but it's still extremely good. The artwork is coming on nicely, by all accounts, and the play is progressing nicely as well. Who knows, maybe once I am dead, my poetry will be appreciated, in a better, more enlightened period of history (one not so pre-occupied with war, plague, famine, drought and global warming).
Max.
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