Innocence is dangerous, says the Italian poet, it brings around the wolves

I'm reading Dante's The Inferno and it's hellishly good

I'm sure you've all read Dante, or at least leafed through the illustrated version once or twice looking for nudie pictures, but I haven't. I started reading Pinsky's translation when Robert Bringhurst sneered at me for choosing such a terrible version. He said I should read it in the Italian. Yeah, easy for you to say Mr. Polyglot, award winning poet and translator, and awesome intellect - but unlike you I'm fundamentally lazy and I use my modest intelligence for worrying about getting fat, about my cats, and pissing off my neighbours with too much laughter and Matisyahu on the wicked turntable (see earlier blog posting).

And so I set Dante aside until a couple of days ago when I told a friend, off the cuff, that I would be readng The Inferno and drinking wine on my patio while on vacation. Well, what a great read it's been.

It begins, 'about midway through our life's journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost'. As Dante descends into the Inferno he becomes completely dismantled. All that defines man suddenly is revealed to be an illusion; each level of hell is reserved for various illusions, self deceptions, and conceits.

As a person who is midway through our life's journey myself I will be checking under the bed for those ravenous wolves whose desires can never be sated and listen for the murmuring of those lost souls floating in a lake of shit.

And of course hanging out with ghosts and drinking cabernet by the litre.

Ciao!

MVL