jwilzewske: textuality

Showing posts with label textuality. Show all posts

Monday, April 23, 2012

Sex, Lies, and Music: Schumann’s Poet-Lover Alter-Ego

D ichterliebe’, the title chosen or accepted by Schumann for his choice of Heine’s texts, involves a double-meaning. Schumann the composer-poet found in the poems evidence that their protagonist is a poet-composer: one who is inspired by bird-song (No. 1), one whose sighs become nightingales (No. 2), one who inspires the lily to sing (No. 5), one who dreams magical fairy-music (No. 15), and one who finally buries all his songs at sea (No. 16). That persona, originally Heine’s surrogate [was embraced by Schumann as his own surrogate]... For the purposes of the poems, Heine spoke through the role of the unhappy Dichter; for the purposes of the songs, Schumann transformed that figure into a Dichter of his own.”
— Edward T. Cone, ‘Poet’s love or composer’s love?’, in Steven Paul Scher, Chapter 10.

T he relation between Schumann and poetry is pretty revealing,” said pianist and long-time chamber music presenter Cynthia Siebert at a recent dinner party. “It is? How is it revealing and what is it that’s revealed?” I wondered. The conversation proceeded off in other directions. But my curiosity was piqued! Challenge accepted!

M usic theorist/pianist/composer Edward Cone wrote 20 years ago that Robert Schumann’s Dichter (poet) is dramatically different from Heinrich Heine’s Dichter. According to Cone, Schumann’s Dichter chooses music as the primary means of expression while words are secondary.

B ut the music depends on the other. The piano is inseparable from the vocal melody and the words. The piano persists in completing the voice’s unfinished cadences in No. 2, with the prolongation of each B. Every B, relinquished by the voice, resounds briefly before it resolves to A. The same prolongation-resolution motif appears also in No. 3.

N o. 4 has piano doubling the voice, and the two parts alternately imitate each other—a kind of counterpoint that might either suggest the complete co-dependent behavior of both, or the deliberate independence of each from the other. The rhetorical reversals [“He went to the country; to the town went she.”] are chiasmic: miniature embodiments of musical absorption of two-into-one where the two quasi-orgasmic experiences paradoxically highlight the separateness of the two at the peak of their union.

N o. 7 has voice and piano extensively doubling each other throughout—a kind of lovemaking or lovers’ dance. The voice is “on top” or leads through most of the song, but the piano is the one whose outburst at the climax has the voice in an inner or lower position.

M ost subtle in the ‘interpenetration’ of voice and accompaniment is the very first song of the cycle, which sets the tone for all that follows. The doubling is delicately heterophonic—as when the voice, but not the piano, anticipates the resolution of a suspension; or when the piano, but not the voice, remains suspended; or when the voice, after inserting an appoggiatura, resolves a suspension. The effect is the kind of blurring that might result if the piano could pedal the vocal line, treating the voice as a strand of the piano texture [and subduing it, see m.4, image above].”
— Edward T. Cone, ‘Poet’s love or composer’s love?’, in Steven Paul Scher, Chapter 10.

I look up the date and see that Dichterliebe, Op. 48, was composed in 1840, when Schumann was 30 years old, the year he and Clara at long last became married, against her father’s will. Susan Youens and others see nothing too subtle about the motivations and construction of Dichterliebe:

T he persona sings of his tears and sighs transforming themselves into [sprouting, turgid] floral offerings and love’s nightingales in ‘Aus meinen Tränen spriessen’; he sings in hectic, [pumping] alliterative excess of ‘die Kleine, die Feine, die Reine, die Eine’ in ‘Die Rose, die Lilie, die Taube, die Sonne’; and finds that he cannot trust the beloved’s words of love in ‘Wenn ich in deine Augen seh’.’ In ‘Ich will meine Seele tauchen,’ the persona longs to submerge his soul in the lily’s chalice. That this is a sublimation of sexual imagery is evident in the post-coital sobbing in the piano at the end.”
— Susan Youens, Carnegie Hall program notes, 2010.

T here are 14 excellent essays on music-text relationships in the multi-author volume edited by Steven Paul Scher (link below), including several that address music-text manifestations in Schumann’s compositions. Juicy bedtime reading!

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Gene Pritsker: William James and Pluralistic Consciousness Beyond the Margin

T he new recording of Gene Pritsker’s ‘William James’s Varieties of Religious Experience: A Chamber Opera’ is beautiful—musically and dramatically.

W illiam James was fascinated by what he termed our ‘selective interest’—our harmoniously adjusting ourselves to things seen and unseen. In the sea of evolving, conflicting stimuli in which we are immersed, we pay attention to a small subset of things... mostly things that match our predispositions and expectations: our interests and beliefs. A renowned psychologist and pragmatist and empiricist philosopher, James in the late 19th Century set about to assemble evidence that could reveal whether and how experiences that are gated by interests and beliefs in things unseen can catalyze positive changes in people—especially when people attach symbolic or emotional/spiritual importance to the experiences. “Explore the peculiarities of this attitude... All our attitudes... are due to the objects of our consciousness... the things we believe to exist. We feel a presence in the room... definitely localized... coming suddenly, and suddenly gone... I felt myself to be the less ‘real’ of the two...”

I n VRE (p. 55), James says “so far as religious conceptions are able to touch this reality-feeling [of objective presence of the Other] they would be believed in spite of criticism, even though they might be so vague and remote as to be almost unimaginable... even though they might be such non-entities in point of ‘whatness’...”

Gene Pritsker, guitar
Greg Baker, guitar
Dan Barrett, cello
Larry Goldman, contra bass
Lynn Norris, soprano
Chanda Rule, mezzo soprano
Marc Molomot, tenor
Charles Coleman, baritone
Chester Layman, narrator
Kim Pritsker, narrator

D elicate, taut, and incisive writing. Beautiful interplay between instruments and voices, between the rhythm/melodies/harmonies and the text. ‘Synaptic’ guitar picking; a really elegant solo improvisation on Track 5.

T he guitars-cello-bass instrumental ‘presence’ pervades the whole—this fact plus the fact that the voices in the foreground are so crisp and tangible make it seem as though the instrumental parts must collectively be ‘God’. But then the timbre of the voice changes, and I’m doubting that my sense of that was right. Maybe this is sonic evidence for some sort of pantheism? Everything is divine... everything that’s not being deceptive, anyway.

P ritsker’s ‘William James’s VRE’ is not a contemporary event-centric historical opera per se (not a “headline opera” about a famous historical figure and a famous moment in history, a la John Adams’s ‘Doctor Atomic’, on J. Robert Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project to create the atomic bomb). Sometimes event-centric works feel too self-referential—‘program music’ or a suite of ad hoc ‘concept’ compositions that are too overtly seeking adherents.

T his chamber opera is not like that. It’s far too unpredictable! It does, though, share with historical operas an attractive ‘topicality’ in terms of (a) dramatizing interrelated subjects (spirituality; religion; multiculturalism; tolerance) that have plenty of currency these days and (b) grounding these in the life of one well-known historical protagonist.

I really admire the judicious excerpting of William James VRE texts for this libretto! Attention to the unbiddenness of how we recall things: verses, that bubble up in our minds, contrary to our ambitions or plans.

M any passages from James’s book (VRE) are dense and literary: the sentence structure was meant to be read by readers of 100+ years ago. When spoken aloud in this opera, these words engage our minds in provocative ways that highlight the finiteness of our attention as well as the alienness of the century-ago culture that produced the notions in VRE. Our relation to the music that is being performed while the voice-over narration is going on is altered, far more than happens in ‘conventional’ opera.

W hat’s more, some of the narrators/texts are more ‘reliable’ as narrators than others. Each is clearly earnest in his/her own way, and yet some of them make statements that are more accessible or less accessible to us, given our own beliefs and style and inclinations/disinclinations to share our feelings in ways that resemble what the narrator is doing. Listening to these different narrators/singers, we’re led to recognize more of what we ourselves are doing: selectively filtering, giving and getting, allowing and forbidding.

T he opera and the ‘arc’ of the 8 tracks of the recording ably convey dramatic tension of setting out on a journey to explore the diversity of spirituality; of encountering many instances and types of experience; of empirically assessing each of these; and finally integrating and summarizing what we’ve found out.

T he 43-min performance time is just sufficient to develop the ideas and the ambience and characterizations, and bring things in for a satisfying “landing”.

T he sound has warmth and intimacy throughout, perfectly matched to the subject and content. Beautiful performances by all, plus excellent engineering and production values on the recording.

I ’m uplifted by this new Pritsker CD—impressed by the authenticity of music that “had to come out”, had to be composed, had to exist. There is a wonderful ‘meta-meta’ aspect to the work as well. It is as though Pritsker has created a sonic picture of ‘William James’s Red Mood’ (see Arthur Danto’s famous book of 30 years ago, link below)—plus a further picture, an abstract minimalist exemplar of geometrical art which happens to be lush and sensuous and red and pulsating—plus yet a further picture, a metaphysical painting based on the fact that James knew the Nirvanic and Samsara orders are identical and that the Samsara world is fondly called the Red Dust by its deprecators.

J ames near the end of VRE says “Religious mysticism... is much less unanimous than I have allowed... It is dualistic in Sankhya and monistic in Vedanta” (VRE p. 336). He maintains that, rather than being adversarial or conflictual, the varieties of spiritual experience can in fact be harmonious with each other... there can be rapproachment between individuals and religions that hold what appear to be incompatible ‘over-beliefs’. James says that this can be done by looking to everyday feelings and to everyday acts—however unplanned and discordant with ambitions and ideologies as they may be—looking to these as comprising the essence of real religion (VRE p. 397).

T his opera by Gene Pritsker honors that Jamesian notion. The opera—and this recording—are a welcome invitation to self-discovery, to mutual respect and tolerance for the spirituality (or lack thereof) of others, and to joyous, mindful living in community. Look for the CD when it’s released in February. Very worth your listening!

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Quatuor Ebène Play as Though They Were a Fifth Person, or an Entire World

S ie spielen, als ob sie eine fünfte Person wurden.” [The quartet plays as though they were a fifth person.]
— Ensemble—Magazin für Kammermusik, JUN-2007.

O r, alternatively, when I listen to Quatuor Ebène perform Debussy’s String Quartet in G minor, it makes me think that they play as though the quartet were not a human person at all but instead were Nature herself.

Debussy, Op. 10, III, ‘Andantino’, mm. 16-19

[50-sec clip, Quatuor Ebène, Debussy, String Quartet in G minor, Op. 10, III, ‘Andantino’, mm. 16-27, 1.6MB MP3]

T he quartet’s love of jazz and affinity for an immersive aesthetic is partly what I mean. They untangle this piece and make it far more ‘declarative’ [in the sense that a software developer would use that word; ] than ‘procedural.’

Debussy, Op. 10, III, ‘Andantino’, mm. 29-36

[40-sec clip, Quatuor Ebène, Debussy, String Quartet in G minor, Op. 10, III, ‘Andantino’, mm. 28-40, 1.1MB MP3]

T hey impart the impression that old works were somehow composed yesterday. To call it spontaneity would under-call it for what it is, or—worse—invoke again the idea of conversation, which it is not. Freshly fallen rain is more what I have in mind...

Debussy, Op. 10, III, ‘Andantino’, mm. 49-53

[40-sec clip, Quatuor Ebène, Debussy, String Quartet in G minor, Op. 10, III, ‘Andantino’, mm. 41-54, 1.1MB MP3]

S ome years ago Naomi Cumming discussed “syntactic frames,” such as phrase endings, with regard to how they affect us listeners/performers (link below). And frames are the salient feature of the musical structure of this Op. 10—salient feature of what Debussy wrote, and of what the Ebènes play here.

T he Ebènes do not, though, ask questions [of each other, as they are performing the work] about how Op. 10’s frames are declared in the first place, nor how instantiations of frames classes make Op. 10’s musical structures function as an “app.”

Debussy, Op. 10, III, ‘Andantino’, mm. 64-67

[40-sec clip, Quatuor Ebène, Debussy, String Quartet in G minor, Op. 10, III, ‘Andantino’, mm. 55-69, 1.1MB MP3]

F or Kant and for critics whose aesthetics and methods are descended from Kant (like Edward Cone) the “app” is the embodiment of “beautiful form.”

K ant’s view was that “beautiful form” is ideally intention-free: it shows nothing, represents nothing, it encapsulates everything; it is the “play of sensations in time,” whose internal “design [datastructure] constitute[s] the object of the judgment of taste”.

S ilence can be a musical frame, just as a datastructure in a computer’s memory that has been initialized to all zeros can be a frame. Part of what is going on in mm. 41 to 60 of the third movement of Op. 10 is the non-discursive, declarative independence of the parts, which nonetheless function as a whole. Like a flock of birds flying in formation.

T he border of the music feels “absorptive”—it captures and dispels the energy of the quartet’s preceding sounds.

F or Edward Cone, frames are the constructors/destructors of musical worlds, fictive or real ones. It is not that each world has nothing to say and nothing to see. Instead, it is simply the case that each is an environment that is intention-free, proposition-free, primeval (see Cone 1966, p. 16, link below).

E ach remains unchanged as a result of actions or events or temporal processes that transpire within it.

R esembling the way in which the programs and datastructures that comprise a computer’s operating system are primeval (links below)? Anyhow, this is what Quatuor Ebène’s account of Debussy’s Op. 10 feels like to me. Organic, primeval—‘ambient’ even—not ‘discursive’ like most string quartets are discursive. This was a new idea for me this week; maybe not new or revolutionary for you, but new at least for me.

Pierre Colombet, violin
Gabriel Le Magadure, violin
Mathieu Herzog, viola
Raphaël Merlin, cello

Q uatuor Ebène has studied extensively with the Ysäye Quartet, with Gábor Takács, and with Eberhard Feltz and György Kurtág. The Ebènes won in 2004 the ARD international competition in Munich and the Forberg-Schneider Foundation’s Belmont Prize in 2005.

T hey are performing in the U.S. and Canada during February. Somehow I must arrange to be in one of those cities on the same date as Quatuor Ebène is! Drive to experience more intention-free primeval newness...

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Jeff Herriott: ‘Dissipation of a Thought’, Emergence of Another, Yet Another

I ’m working now with some very high-pitched material... It’s seeming likely that I’ll end up with something for two soprano saxes, with some high multiphonics cascading on top of one another. Right now, the form is seeming like it will consist of some close intervals that slowly open up and out, with focus on some intricate tuning adjustments or quarter-tones. There will likely also be a few little ascending and descending lines as the piece progresses, and the whole thing will probably end up being close to 100 seconds. My plan is to take my thin electronics part and try to flesh out the ‘live’ part a bit more.”
— Jeff Herriott blog, 28-APR-2009.

T he thing that troubles me about the analysis in Peter Kivy’s new book is that it seems to crystallize both music and text—holds them, for the sake of analysis, to be ‘static’ when in fact they are dynamic and ‘emergent’, particularly when the material is new to us. Implicitly, the analysis undervalues the processes of remembering or forgetting—of retrieval, of dissipation. In other words, the ‘ancient quarrel’ between literature and music seems to depend on our ignoring major aspects of neurobiology and how our cognitive processes handle qualitative complexity. Dependent, too, on our ignoring not just the emergent aspects of reading, playing, and hearing the piece, but the emergent aspects of the compositional process itself—embodied by remarks like the ones that composer Jeff Herriott makes in his blog (blockquote above).

T his thought occurred to me as I listened to Jeff Herriott’s ‘dissipation of a thought’, right after finishing reading Peter Kivy’s book.

H erriott’s compositions are often surprisingly textual—even the ones that are wordless, instrumental pieces. How can we know this? Well, text linguistics studies structural and formal variants of textuality, for which separate descriptive and ontological models are developed beyond surface-level syntax. A ‘text’ is defined as an utterance or communicative occurrence that meets [most of] seven criteria of text-ness (Beaugrande & Dressler, 1981):

Expressive cohesion,
Coherence,
Intentionality,
Acceptability/Consensuality,
Informativity (conveying something or bringing about a change in [many of] the text’s readers/hearers),
Situationality, and
Intertextuality, including persistence and/or replication-publication.

[‘dissipation of a thought’, for flute, vibraphone, cymbals, crotales, voice and live electronics]

T he structure of ‘dissipation of a thought’ meets most if not all of the seven criteria above. It is not only a ‘text’ in the sense of a persistent, published, replicable, intertextual document. It is coherent, cohesive, and localized to a situation or context. The intentions... may be ambiguous, but the evocative title is enough to focus our reception of the piece, beyond what the music itself does.

T he hermeneutic ambiguity in the first section of ‘dissipation’ arises in its complex harmonies, paradoxically at odds with the piece’s ‘primrose path’ development. It also arises in Herriott’s ingenious manipulation and deviation from prevailing electroacoustic topoi. Examples include a deviation from deceptive cadences and voice-leading, as well as Herriott’s use of subtle, remote tonal relationships—between the tonal base of ‘dissipation’ and the modulation in later sections.

E ven the ambiguity that we experience can be assessed from the perspective of the seven standards of textuality:

the musical text itself [‘dissipation’] as process and product, including harmonic relationships and voice-leading in cohesion and the relationships among underlying morphemes caused by the manipulated topoi in coherence (including novel, remote tonal relationships);
the participants’ intentionality (manipulation and deviation from topoi) and the recipients’ [listeners’, performers’] acceptability concerning various approaching interests rather than contextual understanding (the reasons for the perceived ambiguity);
the broader context of informativity (including the musical events based on the simulation of resolutions, the deception instead of fulfilling of expectations and the compensation for the deceptions as well as unexpected deviations from usual topoi), the situationality of the title ‘dissipation’ concerning its genre and intertextuality involving similarities to other mixed-ensemble electroacoustic compositions.

S o how we interpret a piece while playing or listening should be decided not only by intuition but also by a contextual understanding of musical flow. We get clues from the application of rubato, for example; from the manipulation of expectation and deception in the management of rhythmic flows. Through the correlation of Herriott’s [explicit] ‘temporal management’ to his [implicit] ‘compositional plot’, the tension and relaxation of a composition become clear to us—become informative.

I t may be crucial that some [sub-]systems stay constant or do not learn, whilst some must have ‘flexible-response’ characteristics, including learning and innovation and forgetting. Taken-for-granted movements of the hands and feet may be focused-on with uncustomary, acute consciousness in music, dance, visual art.”
— Jenks & Smith, p. 204.

T o find a piece informative, we don’t need to posit a ‘persona’ or ‘personae’ who are engaged in a representational tableau. Nor do we need then to concede that a narrative piece that is not inhabited by personae is necessarily ‘program music’, a point that Kivy persuasively makes (Ch. 5). So here we have a case-in-point, this ‘dissipation of a thought’ by Jeff Herriott. Not that it doesn’t or couldn’t have personae represented by the parts; it could. My points are that we are not sure about this during our early engagements with it, and that our comprehension of the piece’s textuality ‘grows’ on us, emerges, is subject to ongoing revision as we absorb it.

P eter Kivy is right in saying that there is nothing wrong with absolute music affording [empty] pleasure to the ear and mind—providing that and nothing more. Some music happily does precisely that. But it seems to me a mistake if we so narrowly define what a musical ‘text’ is in such a way as to rule out the possibility that it provides much, much more—define it so narrowly and statically as to rule out processes that routinely do happen to us… happen inside us as we perform or listen to absolute music, such as Jeff Herriott’s ‘dissipation of a thought’.

E mergently, each thing leads to others.

O ften [in a piece that is new to us, or that we have heard or played only a few times], we don’t appreciate what the meaning of a passage is until its successor is already upon us, or maybe not until much, much later. In some cases, our recognition of the meanings conveyed by a musical text takes a lifetime to emerge. How about you?

T here is a kind of Gradgrindian mentality at work [when researchers report that listening to Mozart improves academic performance, etc], which must find a utility in every innocent pleasure, pleasure itself not being enough—perhaps a waste of time; worse still, harmful in some way or, at least the product of mere ‘amusement’, which Aristotle described as a form of rest, necessary ‘because we are not able to go on… and therefore not an end, since we take it as a means to further activity.”
— Peter Kivy.

U nfinished Music’ draws its inspiration from the riddling aphorism by Walter Benjamin: ‘The work is the death mask of its conception.’ The work in its finished, perfected state conceals the enlivening process engaged in its creation… We need to rescue the experience of absolute music from the clutches of that damning word ‘pleasure’.”
— Richard Kramer.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Lera Auerbach: Non cetera desunt (The ‘Rest’ of the Story is Not Missing)

E ach of the piece’s eight short movements also carries a Latin title, taken from Ovid, Horace and others, but the relevance of those is neither obvious nor especially important. (According to her program notes, Auerbach is reluctant on principle to say anything concrete about the music or its subject matter, although she’s perfectly happy to spend many, many paragraphs telling listeners [stories] about her reticence.)”
— Joshua Kosman, San Francisco Chronicle, 21-MAR-2009.

A ll theorizing is a form of world-creation and, as such, is ineluctably ‘fictive’. But this does not mean that all modes of imagining tend toward ‘creative possibility’... Fictive forms of thought that efface, negate, and forget their [possibilistic] power in favor of authoritative and, thus, ‘legislative’ and programmatic power.”
— Susan McManus, p. 19.

S ometimes what you want most to hear is a story, well-told. If that is the chamber music craving you are having, you could not do better than to listen to, or play, a piece by Lera Auerbach. The imagery of pianist-poet-composer Lera Auerbach is varied, pluralistic—possessed of multiple ‘facets’ or points of view and simultaneously supportive of two or more of them at a time.

[50-sec clip, Ksenia Nosikova, Lera Auerbach, Images No. 5, ‘Old Photograph from the Grandparent’s Childhood’, 1.6MB MP3]

B ut that doesn’t mean that Auerbach is a ‘relativist’: some facets or perspectives are more valued or legitimate or commendable than others, and Auerbach provides numerous reasons and musical ‘arguments’ setting forth her own feelings and evolving interpretations.

H er music affords the listener or performer considerable ‘latitude’. But she persuades her performers/audience to her point of view by creating a series of imaginative, fictional roles that she invites us to inhabit. Her composing in some ways resembles the storytelling of highly political authors … an Austen; a Dickens; or a Chekhov or a Dostoevsky, say.

I n that connection, political art is, I believe, most efficacious, not when it advances abstract principles, but when it instead alters listeners’ understanding of their own past and future. Is this a feature of Auerbach’s writing? I think so. The composer creates an account of History or of Time itself—ideally, the ‘center’ of (and not merely an ‘ornament’ of) an account of human nature and politics. We hear it—or play it—and recognize the broad, generalized validity and depth of what has been said. ‘Images from Childhood’, for example—or ‘24 Preludes’—are miniatures, but they are not ‘bon bons’.

S o Lera Auerbach’s politics permeate her compositions and performances, seeking not so much to reform our ethics as to reshape our memories. Lera’s work positions narrative in politics, or narrative as a way of doing politics. It insists on a broad connection between political identity and narrative. I do not know whether major figures in the history of political thought—Locke, Hegel, Marx—have a bearing on Lera’s methods or motivations. But Lera argues that each composition rewrites the past in an explicit attempt to direct the future. It is a ‘redemptive’ approach to the past, insofar as it places responsibility on human freedom and action in the present. How do I retrieve my childhood memories of the scary family photo albums, with the ancient sepia-tint monochrome images of early 20th-Century Evanstas and Østensos and Andersons and Thiedes?

S he confronts the epistemological dilemma of what things we can know and how we can know them. Auerbach closely regulates her musical ‘stories’—defining, expanding, reiterating, delineating them, bar-by-bar, phrase-by-phrase. She grants permission to us performers and listeners, but her cues are so numerous as to make the remit kind of superfluous. Her demonstrativeness and transparent intelligibility are something like ... Prokofiev’s?

A nd what about ‘Cetera desunt’ [Latin: ‘the rest is missing’]? This title is maybe an ironic joke? This string quartet is not in any respect ‘incomplete’, nor is the sense it conveys tremendously open-ended.

T here are characters, plots, themes, etc.—and Lera’s ‘vocabulary of affect’ is positively ‘narratorly’ and fastidious throughout. The pacing in this, as in other of her compositions, is characteristically narrative. No, the ‘rest’ is not missing. It is all here—right in your mind; right where Lera put it.

Petersen Quartett, Lera Auerbach, ‘Cetera desunt’

W onderful music to immerse yourself in! Be sure to hear her ‘Cetera desunt’ performed by RTÉ Vanbrugh Quartet on Wednesday 01-JUL at the West Cork Chamber Music Festival and Lera’s account of Mussorgsky’s ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’, if you are able to attend.

Saucius ille tamen ‘fer opem. matertera dixit	Wounded, he cries out
‘Autonoe! moveant animos Actaeonis umbrae!’	‘Help, Aunt Autonoe! Save your kin, Actaeon!’
Illa, quis Actaeon, nescit dextramque precantis	But who is this Actaeon? How would she know?
abstulit, Inoo lacerata est altera raptu.	She tears off his right arm, and Ino, enraptured, savages the left.
Non habet infelix, quae matri bracchia tendat,	He has no arms to reach out to his mother, poor sod,
trunca sed ostendens deiectis vulnera membris	but shows her his torso with its missing limbs and cries out
‘Adspice, mater!’	‘Mom, look!’

—Ovid, Metamorphoses Bk 3

Deucalion lacrimis ita Pyrrham adfatur obortis...	Deucalion tearfully perceived the emptiness and desolation...
‘Si sine me tatis erepta fuisses, nunc animus, miseranda foret?’	‘How would you feel had Fate taken you away without me?’
‘Quo sola timorem ferre modo posses?’	‘How would you bear this terror all alone?’

—Ovid, Metamorphoses Bk 1