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Another example of TIME’s true potential (see Culture Morte). Warning: not for the faint hearted!
My dad got me this book (*) on 16th century glass paintings (stained glass) and their 19th and 20th century copies. It focuses mainly on a large collection of painted glass panels residing in Leuven, Belgium. One of these glass paintings shows a scene of Petrarch’s Trionfi: the Triumph of Time.
It’s in fact a very accurate 19th century copy of the 16th century original by the Antwerp artist Pieter Coecke van Aalst. The original pen-drawing is kept at the École Supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris. A mid-16th century glass original is on display at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.
Time is depicted as an old man (look at his bald head, his long beard and his walking stick) with wings attached to his shoulders and feet (tempus fugit or “time flies”). He’s in the act of devouring a little child. This rather shocking scene refers to the myth of Cronos, the Greek god of time, who ate his siblings in an attempt to stop time, only to discover that it was all in vain. There’s simply no escape from generations succeeding one another. Time is both creator (in Roman mythology he’s called Saturn, god of harvest and agriculture) and destroyer. In his Metamorphoses Ovid (43 BC-17 AD) calls time “the devourer of all things”.
The glass painting shows just one scene of a series of six described by the 14th century Italian poet Petrarch. In his Trionfi he writes about man being conquered by Love, Love in its turn is conquered by Chastity, Chastity by Death, Death by Fame, Fame by Time (in the picture the defeat of Fame is represented by the famous hero Samson -with pilar and lion’s head- being trampled by deer) and finally Eternity triumphs over Time.
I particularly like the mix of unearthly, destructive and mythic powers being unleashed in the forefront, the peaceful Italian landscape with its round Renaissance temple in the middle and the typical skyline of any Flemisch village with its gothic church tower in the back. Simply divine!
(*) Maes, P.V. 1987. Leuvens brandglas. De productie tijdens de 16de eeuw en de nabootsing van oude brandglasmedaillons in de 19de en 20ste eeuw. Leuven: Arca Lovaniensis 13.
Archaeology has inspired some poets to go lyric on lithic (or any other period for that matter). Nobel Prize laureate Seamus Heaney (The Tollund Man, Viking Dublin…) is without doubt my personal favorite.
Here’s my attempt at writing some poetry on archaeology. I wrote this one poem (RV 98) about ten years ago, just after graduating university. Originally written in Dutch, I recently translated it. The poem focuses on an archaeological excavation (my first as a full-time paid archaeologist) on the premises of my former boarding school, situated in the village of Rotselaar, Belgium. We struck upon the ruins of the late medieval Cistercian abbey Vrouwenpark and its graveyard with the remains of some 200 nuns. I worked there for about six months in 1998 and 1999.
I had stayed at this Catholic boarding school for six years (12-18 years old), finishing secondary school. Although I met some really great teachers there and the atmosphere sometimes resembled that of Dead Poets Society (Touchstone Pictures, 1989), I generally felt misunderstood, very restricted, patronized and not being able to express myself. While excavating I saw something of a parallel between the life and death of these nuns and the feeling of constraint that I had experienced while staying at this boarding school. Fortunately I got away, but they never did.
Onverstoord graven naar maagden In het jaren verboden park. Undisturbed digging for virgins In the before forbidden park. Vastgeworteld in de oksels Van hun kerk, hun kerker, hun cel. Vastgeroest in de rosse grond Verloren zij hun vlees, hun vel. Deeply rooted in the armpits Of their chapel, their gaol, their cell. Rusted down in their ruddy turf They all lost both their flesh and fur. Vastgegroeide diamanten In hun knokige idee-fixe. Vastbesloten weer te keren Met in hun hand de crucifix. Diamonds lay encrusted Within their knuckly fixed idea. Firmly bent on coming back Clutching at their crucifix. Dieper dringt de zware spade In het verjaarde bottenpark. Deeper digs the heavy spade Through the former bone yard park. Wie had toen ooit kunnen denken Dat we jaren eenzelfde lot Deelden met hen die daar liggen Gevild, ontvleesd tot op het bot. Who would have ever thought Of us sharing the same fate With those who rest in peace All skinned and thoroughly boned. Na zes of zeshonderd jaren Bevrijd uit het bevroren park. After six or six hundred years Freed from the frozen park.
