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Pērs Gints
Peer is a dreamer, liar, excellent storyteller and an irresponsible person who avoids all problems. He uses and discards women and looks towards the grandiose, the unattainable. Despite of this, one can't help but like and feel sorry for Peer, as it is easy to recognize something of yourself in him.
Peer Gynt is the most well known Norwegian play throughout history and is based loosely on the folklore about Per Gynt. It is a dramatic poem in five acts, and has been aptly described as the story of a life based on procrastination and avoidance. The play is said to be a confrontation with the flock mentality Ibsen meant to recognize the typical Norwegian. ( Summary by Kristingj)
Peer Gynt is the most well known Norwegian play throughout history and is based loosely on the folklore about Per Gynt. It is a dramatic poem in five acts, and has been aptly described as the story of a life based on procrastination and avoidance. The play is said to be a confrontation with the flock mentality Ibsen meant to recognize the typical Norwegian. ( Summary by Kristingj)
199 pages, Hardcover
First published November 14, 1867
294 people are currently reading
8087 people want to read
About the author
Henrik Ibsen
2,233 books2,106 followersHenrik Johan Ibsen was a major Norwegian playwright largely responsible for the rise of modern realistic drama. He is often referred to as the "father of modern drama." Ibsen is held to be the greatest of Norwegian authors and one of the most important playwrights of all time, celebrated as a national symbol by Norwegians.
His plays were considered scandalous to many of his era, when Victorian values of family life and propriety largely held sway in Europe and any challenge to them was considered immoral and outrageous. Ibsen's work examined the realities that lay behind many facades, possessing a revelatory nature that was disquieting to many contemporaries.
Ibsen largely founded the modern stage by introducing a critical eye and free inquiry into the conditions of life and issues of morality. Victorian-era plays were expected to be moral dramas with noble protagonists pitted against darker forces; every drama was expected to result in a morally appropriate conclusion, meaning that goodness was to bring happiness, and immorality pain. Ibsen challenged this notion and the beliefs of his times and shattered the illusions of his audiences.
His plays were considered scandalous to many of his era, when Victorian values of family life and propriety largely held sway in Europe and any challenge to them was considered immoral and outrageous. Ibsen's work examined the realities that lay behind many facades, possessing a revelatory nature that was disquieting to many contemporaries.
Ibsen largely founded the modern stage by introducing a critical eye and free inquiry into the conditions of life and issues of morality. Victorian-era plays were expected to be moral dramas with noble protagonists pitted against darker forces; every drama was expected to result in a morally appropriate conclusion, meaning that goodness was to bring happiness, and immorality pain. Ibsen challenged this notion and the beliefs of his times and shattered the illusions of his audiences.
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April 29, 2018
If theatre is at its best when it makes you feel pity and terror in the Aristotelian sense of catharsis, Peer Gynt is undoubtedly one of the great plays in the history of stage art.
I can't say it felt particularly cathartic, though, reading it in its thorny Norwegian, and then watching it on stage in a furiously angry Swedish. Trolltider... we live in an era of trolls, and Peer Gynt is strangely close to our egomaniac times, in which the Nietzschean Übermensch takes what he can get with no regrets. Maybe because I recognise too much of the confusing story in real life, I felt terror but no relief. I felt pity, but no compassion.
Peer Gynt is the Norwegian Faust, a man so convinced of his own entitlement that he doesn't hesitate to betray both his mother Åse and his lover Solveig to embark on a wild adventure in search for his own fulfilment. He dares to strike a devil's deal with the trolls of the forest and then to blatantly deny any knowledge of his own actions, lying whenever it is convenient, taking no responsibility at all for anything he says or does or promises. Even the trolls are dumped at his convenience.
Peer Gynt, the man in charge of a grandiosity monopoly, is capable of charming his way back into the hearts of those who were abused and mistreated by him over and over. Whenever he decides to change, the world bows to his whims. Terror? Plenty! Pity? For those who get into close contact with him, trolls included.
Redemption? Undeserved, and not granted by me. Solveig! Do what Nora did! You are not Peer's doll, and you deserve better than a tyrant playing with you at his leisure in a prison called A Doll's House.
Catharsis? No! As long as the Peer Gynts of the world get away with behaving like monsters without any punishment, there can be no catharsis for me, not even in a brilliant theatre.
I can't say it felt particularly cathartic, though, reading it in its thorny Norwegian, and then watching it on stage in a furiously angry Swedish. Trolltider... we live in an era of trolls, and Peer Gynt is strangely close to our egomaniac times, in which the Nietzschean Übermensch takes what he can get with no regrets. Maybe because I recognise too much of the confusing story in real life, I felt terror but no relief. I felt pity, but no compassion.
Peer Gynt is the Norwegian Faust, a man so convinced of his own entitlement that he doesn't hesitate to betray both his mother Åse and his lover Solveig to embark on a wild adventure in search for his own fulfilment. He dares to strike a devil's deal with the trolls of the forest and then to blatantly deny any knowledge of his own actions, lying whenever it is convenient, taking no responsibility at all for anything he says or does or promises. Even the trolls are dumped at his convenience.
Peer Gynt, the man in charge of a grandiosity monopoly, is capable of charming his way back into the hearts of those who were abused and mistreated by him over and over. Whenever he decides to change, the world bows to his whims. Terror? Plenty! Pity? For those who get into close contact with him, trolls included.
Redemption? Undeserved, and not granted by me. Solveig! Do what Nora did! You are not Peer's doll, and you deserve better than a tyrant playing with you at his leisure in a prison called A Doll's House.
Catharsis? No! As long as the Peer Gynts of the world get away with behaving like monsters without any punishment, there can be no catharsis for me, not even in a brilliant theatre.
September 1, 2017
This week I finally got round to checking out Peer Gynt
A celebrated rhymed drama by Henrik Ibsen, inn't?
To get the full effect, you need to read it in Norwegian
Or possibly translated to other languages of that region
Earlier epics in verse, I can think the author built on
But I'd be willing to bet a krona that none of them was Milton
(As a neighboring country might perhaps say, fy fan,
A work that's a good deal closer is Byron's Don Juan.)
Gynt is a liar, a blackguard, a general cad
Somehow we're left feeling that he's really not so bad
When he treats women like dirt, he always does it with a smile
Like Flashman, we forgive him, since he has a sense of style
Is it existentialist philosophy? We're led a merry dance
Some parts are, you'll have gathered, unsuitable for maiden aunts
Others may be based on ancient tales of troll and elf
All the same it resembles nothing quite so much as itself
Does it sound like this review? No, honestly, not at at all!
Since I can't write like Ibsen, I've copied McGonagall
Well perhaps a tiny bit. He can't resist a terrible rhyme
And like the Scot, he'll be remembered for a very long time.
A celebrated rhymed drama by Henrik Ibsen, inn't?
To get the full effect, you need to read it in Norwegian
Or possibly translated to other languages of that region
Earlier epics in verse, I can think the author built on
But I'd be willing to bet a krona that none of them was Milton
(As a neighboring country might perhaps say, fy fan,
A work that's a good deal closer is Byron's Don Juan.)
Gynt is a liar, a blackguard, a general cad
Somehow we're left feeling that he's really not so bad
When he treats women like dirt, he always does it with a smile
Like Flashman, we forgive him, since he has a sense of style
Is it existentialist philosophy? We're led a merry dance
Some parts are, you'll have gathered, unsuitable for maiden aunts
Others may be based on ancient tales of troll and elf
All the same it resembles nothing quite so much as itself
Does it sound like this review? No, honestly, not at at all!
Since I can't write like Ibsen, I've copied McGonagall
Well perhaps a tiny bit. He can't resist a terrible rhyme
And like the Scot, he'll be remembered for a very long time.
November 3, 2019
"True enough; in that and in more we're alike.
Yet morning is morning, and even is even,
and there is a difference all the same.-
Now let me tell you wherein it lies:
Out yonder, under the shining vault,
among men the saying goes: "Man, be thyself!"
At home here with us, 'mid the tribe of the trolls,
the saying goes: "Troll, to thyself be-enough!"
Peer Gynt
by Henrik Ibsen, translated by Robert Farquharson Sharp
Την ιστορία του Πέερ Γκυντ την άκουσα για πρώτη φορά στο Θέατρο της Κυριακής. Ήταν από μια παλιότερη ηχογράφηση του Θεάτρου της Τετάρτης. Πρωταγωνιστής ήταν ο Δημήτρης Παπαμιχαήλ. Το ραδιοφωνικό θέατρο, έχει μια ιδιαίτερη γοητεία. Ας πούμε θυμάμαι μια συγκεκριμένη ιστορία (την υπόθεση, αλλά όχι τον θεατρικό τίτλο) που την ψάχνω χρόνια χωρίς να μπορέσω να τη ξαναβρώ, μια ιστορία για έναν βάτραχο που αγάπησε μια μύγα, που την έλεγαν Μανόν. Ήμουν παιδί, όταν άκουγα αυτές τις ιστορίες, και δεν μπορούσα πάντα να επεξεργαστώ τα έργα, χωρίς την ωριμότητα ενός ενήλικα. Κάποτε τρόμαζα πολύ, κάποτε γελούσα τόσο δυνατά που ξυπνούσα την αδερφή μου, από το διπλανό κρεβάτι και μου φώναζε για να κάνω πιο σιγά.
Το ραδιοφωνικό θέατρο και τα βιβλία ήταν ωστόσο, έστω κι έτσι, αφιλτράριστα, κόσμοι μαγικοί, ζωές διαφορετικές, ταξίδια, εμπειρίες που διαφορετικά δεν θα είχα την ευκαιρία να βιώσω. Την ηχογράφηση του Πέερ Γκυντ την ξαναβρήκα, είναι του 1961, με την παλιά μετάφραση του Όμηρου Μπεκέ. Η νέα μετάφραση, του Θεοδόση Παπαδημητρόπουλου, που κυκλοφόρησε πρόσφατα, είναι εξίσου υπέροχη με την παλιά. Επιπλέον έχει εκτενή σχόλια, καλύτερη εισαγωγή, χρονολόγιο της ζωής του Ίψεν, παράρτημα με δυο κείμενα της Νορβηγικής λαογραφίας και βιβλιογραφικές αναφορές. Αλλά και τις δυο τις αγάπησα και στις δυο θα επιστρέφω, όποτε νιώθω πως το έχω ανάγκη.
Ο Πεερ Γκυντ ήταν ένας ήρωας των Νορβηγικών παραμυθιών. Η ιψενική εκδοχή του είναι κάτι άλλο. Είναι ονειροπαρμένος και κατεργάρης, η προσωποποίηση του εγωκεντρισμού και της αναισθησίας, ωστόσο είναι αξιαγάπητος, γιατί μέσα του έχει και όλες τις αντίθετες ποιότητες, είναι ευγενικός και τρυφερός, είναι αγαθιάρης τόσο, όσο και τετραπέρατος, ενσαρκώνει το τέλειο πνεύμα της ανυπακοής και της κυκλοθυμίας. Ο Πεερ Γκυντ πάνω από όλα είναι ο εαυτός του. Υπάρχει ένας γρίφος στο έργο, μια ερώτηση που ο βασιλιάς του Ντόβρε απευθύνει στον Πέερ, σε τί διαφέρει ένας άνθρωπος από ένα τρόλλ, κι η απάντηση είναι :
“Άκουσε λοιπόν, έξω στου ήλιου το φως
λεν οι άνθρωποι: “ο εαυτός σου νά ’σαι”
ενώ οι φυλές των τρολλ:
“νά ’σαι αρκετός για τον εαυτό σου”.
Έτσι αποδίδεται στη νεότερη μετάφραση η απάντηση στον γρίφο, ωστόσο θα παραθέσω και τον τρόπο που την αποδίδει η παλαιότερη, είναι ακόμα πιο διαφωτιστική:
“Άκου να σου το πω σε τί διαφέρουν.
Εκεί, στο φως της μέρας λένε:
“Άνθρωπε να ’σαι ο εαυτός σου!”
Εδώ κάτω από αυτούς τους θόλους λένε:
“Να ’σαι ο εαυτός σου ξωτικό, μα να ’σαι αυτάρκης!”.
Αυτό είναι το βασικό φιλοσοφικό μοτίβο που επαναλαμβάνεται σε διάφορες παραλλαγές μέσα στο έργο. Μέσα από τις περιπέτειες του ήρωα εκεί όπου το όνειρο είναι μπλεγμένο αξεδιάλυτα με την πραγματικότητα. Κάπου εκεί γίνεται το πέρασμα από τον λαϊκό πολιτισμό στην εκσυγχρονισμένη εκδοχή εκείνου που σήμερα αντιπροσωπεύει η δυτική κουλτούρα. Και μέσα σε όλα αυτά υπάρχουν εκείνα τα πράγματα που δεν τα καταστρέφει ο χρόνος και που δεν μπορεί να τα νικήσει ο θάνατος.
Δεν θα πω περισσότερα. Αν κάποιος θελήσει να διαβάσει το έργο, καλύτερα να ξέρει όσο γίνεται πιο λίγα. Κι αν κάποιος δεν αγαπά να διαβάζει θέατρο ας ψάξει στο Youtube το τίτλο “Ερρίκου Ίψεν - Πέερ Γκυντ”, για να ακούσει την ηχογραφημένη εκδοχή του. Είναι και η μουσική που έγραψε ο Edvard Grieg για το θεατρικό ανέβασμα του έργου, έπειτα από παραγγελία του ίδιου του συγγραφέα, που αξίζει μνείας. Το “ I Dovregubbens hall” είναι από τα ορχηστρικά κομμάτια που όλοι γνωρίζουμε, που όλοι κάποια στιγμή έχουμε ακούσει (ακόμα κι αν δεν ξέρουμε περί τίνος πρόκειται, ακόμα κι αν το θυμόμαστε αμυδρά ως μουσικό χαλί σε κάποια τηλεοπτική διαφήμιση). Αλλά είναι η κραυγή των ξωτικών:
Slagt ham! Slagt ham!
Yet morning is morning, and even is even,
and there is a difference all the same.-
Now let me tell you wherein it lies:
Out yonder, under the shining vault,
among men the saying goes: "Man, be thyself!"
At home here with us, 'mid the tribe of the trolls,
the saying goes: "Troll, to thyself be-enough!"
Peer Gynt
by Henrik Ibsen, translated by Robert Farquharson Sharp
Την ιστορία του Πέερ Γκυντ την άκουσα για πρώτη φορά στο Θέατρο της Κυριακής. Ήταν από μια παλιότερη ηχογράφηση του Θεάτρου της Τετάρτης. Πρωταγωνιστής ήταν ο Δημήτρης Παπαμιχαήλ. Το ραδιοφωνικό θέατρο, έχει μια ιδιαίτερη γοητεία. Ας πούμε θυμάμαι μια συγκεκριμένη ιστορία (την υπόθεση, αλλά όχι τον θεατρικό τίτλο) που την ψάχνω χρόνια χωρίς να μπορέσω να τη ξαναβρώ, μια ιστορία για έναν βάτραχο που αγάπησε μια μύγα, που την έλεγαν Μανόν. Ήμουν παιδί, όταν άκουγα αυτές τις ιστορίες, και δεν μπορούσα πάντα να επεξεργαστώ τα έργα, χωρίς την ωριμότητα ενός ενήλικα. Κάποτε τρόμαζα πολύ, κάποτε γελούσα τόσο δυνατά που ξυπνούσα την αδερφή μου, από το διπλανό κρεβάτι και μου φώναζε για να κάνω πιο σιγά.
Το ραδιοφωνικό θέατρο και τα βιβλία ήταν ωστόσο, έστω κι έτσι, αφιλτράριστα, κόσμοι μαγικοί, ζωές διαφορετικές, ταξίδια, εμπειρίες που διαφορετικά δεν θα είχα την ευκαιρία να βιώσω. Την ηχογράφηση του Πέερ Γκυντ την ξαναβρήκα, είναι του 1961, με την παλιά μετάφραση του Όμηρου Μπεκέ. Η νέα μετάφραση, του Θεοδόση Παπαδημητρόπουλου, που κυκλοφόρησε πρόσφατα, είναι εξίσου υπέροχη με την παλιά. Επιπλέον έχει εκτενή σχόλια, καλύτερη εισαγωγή, χρονολόγιο της ζωής του Ίψεν, παράρτημα με δυο κείμενα της Νορβηγικής λαογραφίας και βιβλιογραφικές αναφορές. Αλλά και τις δυο τις αγάπησα και στις δυο θα επιστρέφω, όποτε νιώθω πως το έχω ανάγκη.
Ο Πεερ Γκυντ ήταν ένας ήρωας των Νορβηγικών παραμυθιών. Η ιψενική εκδοχή του είναι κάτι άλλο. Είναι ονειροπαρμένος και κατεργάρης, η προσωποποίηση του εγωκεντρισμού και της αναισθησίας, ωστόσο είναι αξιαγάπητος, γιατί μέσα του έχει και όλες τις αντίθετες ποιότητες, είναι ευγενικός και τρυφερός, είναι αγαθιάρης τόσο, όσο και τετραπέρατος, ενσαρκώνει το τέλειο πνεύμα της ανυπακοής και της κυκλοθυμίας. Ο Πεερ Γκυντ πάνω από όλα είναι ο εαυτός του. Υπάρχει ένας γρίφος στο έργο, μια ερώτηση που ο βασιλιάς του Ντόβρε απευθύνει στον Πέερ, σε τί διαφέρει ένας άνθρωπος από ένα τρόλλ, κι η απάντηση είναι :
“Άκουσε λοιπόν, έξω στου ήλιου το φως
λεν οι άνθρωποι: “ο εαυτός σου νά ’σαι”
ενώ οι φυλές των τρολλ:
“νά ’σαι αρκετός για τον εαυτό σου”.
Έτσι αποδίδεται στη νεότερη μετάφραση η απάντηση στον γρίφο, ωστόσο θα παραθέσω και τον τρόπο που την αποδίδει η παλαιότερη, είναι ακόμα πιο διαφωτιστική:
“Άκου να σου το πω σε τί διαφέρουν.
Εκεί, στο φως της μέρας λένε:
“Άνθρωπε να ’σαι ο εαυτός σου!”
Εδώ κάτω από αυτούς τους θόλους λένε:
“Να ’σαι ο εαυτός σου ξωτικό, μα να ’σαι αυτάρκης!”.
Αυτό είναι το βασικό φιλοσοφικό μοτίβο που επαναλαμβάνεται σε διάφορες παραλλαγές μέσα στο έργο. Μέσα από τις περιπέτειες του ήρωα εκεί όπου το όνειρο είναι μπλεγμένο αξεδιάλυτα με την πραγματικότητα. Κάπου εκεί γίνεται το πέρασμα από τον λαϊκό πολιτισμό στην εκσυγχρονισμένη εκδοχή εκείνου που σήμερα αντιπροσωπεύει η δυτική κουλτούρα. Και μέσα σε όλα αυτά υπάρχουν εκείνα τα πράγματα που δεν τα καταστρέφει ο χρόνος και που δεν μπορεί να τα νικήσει ο θάνατος.
Δεν θα πω περισσότερα. Αν κάποιος θελήσει να διαβάσει το έργο, καλύτερα να ξέρει όσο γίνεται πιο λίγα. Κι αν κάποιος δεν αγαπά να διαβάζει θέατρο ας ψάξει στο Youtube το τίτλο “Ερρίκου Ίψεν - Πέερ Γκυντ”, για να ακούσει την ηχογραφημένη εκδοχή του. Είναι και η μουσική που έγραψε ο Edvard Grieg για το θεατρικό ανέβασμα του έργου, έπειτα από παραγγελία του ίδιου του συγγραφέα, που αξίζει μνείας. Το “ I Dovregubbens hall” είναι από τα ορχηστρικά κομμάτια που όλοι γνωρίζουμε, που όλοι κάποια στιγμή έχουμε ακούσει (ακόμα κι αν δεν ξέρουμε περί τίνος πρόκειται, ακόμα κι αν το θυμόμαστε αμυδρά ως μουσικό χαλί σε κάποια τηλεοπτική διαφήμιση). Αλλά είναι η κραυγή των ξωτικών:
Slagt ham! Slagt ham!
April 12, 2025
نمایشنامه «پـر گینت» (Peer Gynt) از هنریک ایبسن، نمایشنامهنویس نروژی قرن نوزدهمه. این اثر ۱۸۶۷ نوشته شده و ترکیبی از رئالیسم، فانتزی، اسطوره و طنز تلخه، و منتقدان اونو پیچیدهترین و شخصیترین اثر ایبسن میدونن.
خلاصهی داستان اینجوریه که:
پر گینت، یه مرد خیالپردازه، و در روستایی در نروژ زندگی میکنه. اون همیشه از واقعیت فرار میکنه، دنبال رویاها و فانتزیهای خودش میره. کلا آدمیه که مدام از مسئولیتپذیری فرار میکنه، به قول معروف، همیشه راه آسون رو انتخاب میکنه و هیچوقت واقعا با خودش و زندگیاش نمیخواد روبهرو شه. توی داستان، اون از نروژ بیرون میره، وارد ماجراهای عجیب و غریبی میشه (مثل ملاقات با غولها و پادشاه ترولها، سفر به آفریقا و...) اما در نهایت، پیر و تنها برمیگرده به زادگاهش و آغوش عشق اولش.
این اثر کلاسیک، با زبانی شاعرانه و ساختار غیرخطیش، تصویری عمیق از انسان مدرن ترسیم میکنه، انسانی که میخواد «کسی» باشه، اما همیشه از حقیقت فرار میکنه و اراده نداره.
طنز، خیال، فلسفه، و اسطوره توی این نمایشنامه در هم تنیده شده تا یه اثر خیرهکننده خلق کنن.
پر گینت یهجور ضدقهرمانه چون در حالیکه نمایشنامههای اون دوره (قرن نوزدهم) پر بودن از قهرمانهایی با هدف و اخلاق، پر گینت بیهدف، ترسو و دروغگوعه. ایبسن آگاهانه از کلیشه سفر قهرمان فاصله میگیره و یه "هیچکسِ درونگرا" میسازه.
جالبه که این اثر برخلاف خیلی از نمایشنامههای ایبسن، بیشتر به نظم نزدیکه تا نثر. ایبسن اون رو در قالب شعر منظوم نوشت و اصلاً اولش قرار نبود روی صحنه بره، بلکه بیشتر یه اثر ادبی بود. ولی بعدها با موسیقی مشهور ادوارد گریگ (Edward Grieg)، که براش یه سری قطعه سمفونیک نوشت (مثل «در تالار پادشاه کوهستان»)، روی صحنه هم اومد، تبدیل به یکی از اولین نمونه های تاترموزیکال و حسابی مشهور شد.
قطعه «در تالار پادشاه کوهستان» الان توی کارتونها، تبلیغات و حتی فیلمهای ترسناک استفاده میشه که یه جور موسیقی تعقیب دیوونه کنندهست.
.........
هفتمین نمایشنامه چالش همخوانی هفتروزهفتنمایشنامه
خلاصهی داستان اینجوریه که:
پر گینت، یه مرد خیالپردازه، و در روستایی در نروژ زندگی میکنه. اون همیشه از واقعیت فرار میکنه، دنبال رویاها و فانتزیهای خودش میره. کلا آدمیه که مدام از مسئولیتپذیری فرار میکنه، به قول معروف، همیشه راه آسون رو انتخاب میکنه و هیچوقت واقعا با خودش و زندگیاش نمیخواد روبهرو شه. توی داستان، اون از نروژ بیرون میره، وارد ماجراهای عجیب و غریبی میشه (مثل ملاقات با غولها و پادشاه ترولها، سفر به آفریقا و...) اما در نهایت، پیر و تنها برمیگرده به زادگاهش و آغوش عشق اولش.
این اثر کلاسیک، با زبانی شاعرانه و ساختار غیرخطیش، تصویری عمیق از انسان مدرن ترسیم میکنه، انسانی که میخواد «کسی» باشه، اما همیشه از حقیقت فرار میکنه و اراده نداره.
طنز، خیال، فلسفه، و اسطوره توی این نمایشنامه در هم تنیده شده تا یه اثر خیرهکننده خلق کنن.
پر گینت یهجور ضدقهرمانه چون در حالیکه نمایشنامههای اون دوره (قرن نوزدهم) پر بودن از قهرمانهایی با هدف و اخلاق، پر گینت بیهدف، ترسو و دروغگوعه. ایبسن آگاهانه از کلیشه سفر قهرمان فاصله میگیره و یه "هیچکسِ درونگرا" میسازه.
جالبه که این اثر برخلاف خیلی از نمایشنامههای ایبسن، بیشتر به نظم نزدیکه تا نثر. ایبسن اون رو در قالب شعر منظوم نوشت و اصلاً اولش قرار نبود روی صحنه بره، بلکه بیشتر یه اثر ادبی بود. ولی بعدها با موسیقی مشهور ادوارد گریگ (Edward Grieg)، که براش یه سری قطعه سمفونیک نوشت (مثل «در تالار پادشاه کوهستان»)، روی صحنه هم اومد، تبدیل به یکی از اولین نمونه های تاترموزیکال و حسابی مشهور شد.
قطعه «در تالار پادشاه کوهستان» الان توی کارتونها، تبلیغات و حتی فیلمهای ترسناک استفاده میشه که یه جور موسیقی تعقیب دیوونه کنندهست.
.........
هفتمین نمایشنامه چالش همخوانی هفتروزهفتنمایشنامه
March 9, 2016
In the late fall of 1987, an awkward lad of 17, I fell in love with a married woman . OK, she was a character in an Ibsen play, but Hedda Gabler was the first fictional heroine that I really fell for. My highschool Literature class read Ibsen's Hedda Gabler, then A Doll's House as part of our fall course reading; hooked, I purchased all of the Penguin Classics of Ibsen at the local Waldenbooks (remember that place in the age pre-Internet, Barnes & Noble?).
I've spent the last few days in Oslo, my first visit to this city. On our second day here, my wife and I booked a guide on Tours By Locals (I can't speak highly enough of this service) and as our guide walked us through a part of town, she pointed to the Grand Cafe that Ibsen visited daily. I asked if we could go into the restaurant to visit it. She was amazed that an American had heard of Ibsen (sad) and even more excited that they would want to stop to visit the cafe (sadder). They had a charming little table in the center of the restaurant dedicated to him.
I had completely forgotten of my childhood crush on Ibsen and all of the societal kick-to-the-crotch works of his. Peer Gynt was the only major play of his I knew I hadn't read; excited by the proximity to his home city, I came back to the hotel last night to give the play a read.
This work is challenging - I couldn't wrap my imagination around how it would be presented on stage. Peer's character satirizes Norwegian societal norms (Norway's ego, provincialism, narrow-thinking); the action moves between a passel of locales - both real and fantastical - with a host of characters that orbit Peer's larger than life persona. I'm working off of 25 years of memory (having not returned to any of Ibsen's plays other than HG, ADH and the fabulous Ghosts), but this was my least favorite of his works. If a brilliant stage director could put these 40 different scenes together, it would be a magical event to witness in person. Reading it? Not so much.
The sun sets very late in Oslo this time of year. Coming home from dinner last night I stopped to take this picture. For several blocks along Oslo's main square there are some of the most famous lines of Ibsen's plays imbedded in the concrete. The late sun hits the words perfectly, lighting them up like gold. A befitting tribute to a master dramatist.
I've spent the last few days in Oslo, my first visit to this city. On our second day here, my wife and I booked a guide on Tours By Locals (I can't speak highly enough of this service) and as our guide walked us through a part of town, she pointed to the Grand Cafe that Ibsen visited daily. I asked if we could go into the restaurant to visit it. She was amazed that an American had heard of Ibsen (sad) and even more excited that they would want to stop to visit the cafe (sadder). They had a charming little table in the center of the restaurant dedicated to him.
I had completely forgotten of my childhood crush on Ibsen and all of the societal kick-to-the-crotch works of his. Peer Gynt was the only major play of his I knew I hadn't read; excited by the proximity to his home city, I came back to the hotel last night to give the play a read.
This work is challenging - I couldn't wrap my imagination around how it would be presented on stage. Peer's character satirizes Norwegian societal norms (Norway's ego, provincialism, narrow-thinking); the action moves between a passel of locales - both real and fantastical - with a host of characters that orbit Peer's larger than life persona. I'm working off of 25 years of memory (having not returned to any of Ibsen's plays other than HG, ADH and the fabulous Ghosts), but this was my least favorite of his works. If a brilliant stage director could put these 40 different scenes together, it would be a magical event to witness in person. Reading it? Not so much.
The sun sets very late in Oslo this time of year. Coming home from dinner last night I stopped to take this picture. For several blocks along Oslo's main square there are some of the most famous lines of Ibsen's plays imbedded in the concrete. The late sun hits the words perfectly, lighting them up like gold. A befitting tribute to a master dramatist.
November 1, 2025
I've loved him for so long that I can't even remember where it started. Yes, I'll remember, of course. It began with Paustovsky's story "A Basket with Fir Cones," which he read at the age of fourteen. Before that, Paustovsky was for me one of the boring programmatic descriptions of the beauties of native nature, which it is enough to scroll through, if possible without lingering. Not as terrible as Turgenev or Tolstoy or Chekhov (yes, yes, that's exactly what I thought after trying to read The Steppe at the age of eleven), something easier, like Prishvin or Bianchi, but still nonsense is rare. Yes, I happened to get sick, but there was nothing interesting to read. Let me flip through Paustovsky's two-volume book, he also wrote funny things about dogs (or is it Prishvin?).
But when I took it, I couldn't tear myself away. And his dogs became mine for the rest of my life, no matter how much I spent time with the children afterwards: my nephews, in practice at schools, and when I was raising my own, I read to everyone. Because it's good, but also because it's an opportunity to once again touch the delightful prose. But I was fourteen then, a time of great romance, of course, "Shining Clouds" I don't remember the plot at all, I remember - there was some kind of impossible love and adventure and treasure (?), ah, I can't remember anything, and then I didn't reread it. And I read the Golden Rose then. Paustovsky was like a flash, like an unexpected wonderful gift. How to enter an unremarkable boring door under the sign of a Soviet institution, and find yourself under Scarlet Sails in tropical seas. And islands, and palm trees, and lagoons, and "Piastres!"
And Konstantin Georgievich never had a chance to turn to him again. That's how it didn't work out, for some reason, I heard about this story with Marlene Dietrich, who knelt in front of him. Then I attributed it to the eccentricity of the overseas diva, today I read a piece from her memories of this incident and cried. Truth. It's so beautiful and touching, the kinship of souls. And I didn't know that Sholokhov was supposed to be awarded the Nobel Prize on the 65th, but then it went to him with complicated political tricks. But I'm not surprised, I've never loved Sholokhov. But I said that I did not return to the writer's work except for dog stories, this is not entirely true.
I kept rereading one."A basket of fir cones." At first, at the age of seventeen, when they were studying the Music of Grieg and his Solveig. Wait, wait, I said to myself, it was at Paustovsky's, an old composer and a little girl and an instrumental piece dedicated to her. An interesting thing is that Solveig's romance (just like Conchita, I just noticed) was interrupted by that girly impression: the most beautiful thing can enter your life unexpectedly and without any merit of yours, slip into it tangentially and go on its trajectory. And then explode into a supernova and turn your whole soul upside down and light up the world for many years afterwards, and show you what a treasure you are. And you will never be as unhappy and lonely as if it hadn't happened.
And a year later, when Ibsen's Peer Gynt itself fell into his hands. The book was large and richly illustrated. It's nice to hold in your hands, the smoothness of the coated paper, the bizarre passions-the faces of the scenes in Ronda, the youthful freshness of Solveig, who came running on skis, the calculating sultry beauty Anitra, the Button Man, who looks like Hoffmann's Sandman, as she imagined him. And almost imperceptibly, I am myself.. There was nothing in me from this irresponsible guy, an empty dreamer and visionary who left ruins everywhere he passed.
Or was it? Deeply hidden from oneself, carefully suppressed by upbringing and moral standards. It's too quick to cool down to something that came easy. Always look for new experiences everywhere and in everything. I don't know how to imagine myself as a king in a velvet caftan on a dashing snow-white steed and in a small scarlet cap with a pheasant feather, and the world at my feet. And to believe that the end justifies the means, and the winners are not judged. And to assume that since you're so wonderfully smart, sensitive, and blah, blah, blah, you'll be forgiven for any meanness in the end (no, not really allowing yourself, but allowing yourself the opportunity).
He's bad, of course, well, he's negative. But for some reason, I can't get angry and despise and condemn unconditionally. And the strange prospect of being melted down into a button: not heaven, not hell, and not purgatory, you've been renouncing the human in yourself all your life, you've become a troll. and trolls belong in buttons. Who, him? There's so much life and humanity in him that there's enough for a company. The fool, of course, never grew up, he never gained responsibility, but I love him, even if you cut him, even if you eat him. And she loves him, Solveig. Probably because you found something worth loving in this man?
I reread the "Basket" again during the time of my fascination with the Block, all side by side: 14-17-18-19 years old.
Solveig! You came skiing to me, Smiled at the coming spring!
I lived in my poor and dark hut for many days, between rocks, without lights.
But your cheerful, green eye flashed at me..
And once again, listening to Grieg, whom the Internet has brought closer to arm's length. And once again yesterday, rereading Ibsen's clumsy poems, listening to music that is all by ear, all has long been stolen for quotations.
Wait, what is this? What is this wonderful melody murmuring like a mountain stream? And you fall in love to death with the Finale of Peer Gynt, and you finally find out in detail what Grieg was like, about whom you read one story intermittently all your life. You comprehend the great essence of the mordens and forschlags that have charmed you before in the folk music of Scottish, Irish, Scandinavian. And you realize that there is more of you in the world, or the world has entered into you with some other part of it. And all thanks to the irresponsible fantasist Peru. You don't need to put it in a button. There is one.
Я его так давно люблю, что уже и не вспомню, откуда началось. Да вспомню, конечно. Началось с рассказа Паустовского "Корзина с еловыми шишками", прочитанного лет в четырнадцать. До того Паустовский был для меня одним из занудных программных описателей красот родной природы, которых достаточно пролистать, по возможности не задерживаясь. Не такой ужас, как Тургенев или Толстой, или Чехов (да-да-да, именно так думала после попытки читать "Степь" лет в одиннадцать), что-то полегче, вроде Пришвина или Бианки, но все равно ерунднистика редкая. Да случилось заболеть, а читать ничего интересного не было. Дай, думаю, перелистаю двухтомник Паустовского, он вроде о собаках еще писал смешно (или то Пришвин?).
А взяв, уж не могла оторваться. И собаки его на всю жизнь моими стали, сколько не возилась после с детьми: племянники, в школах на практике, своих когда растила - всем читала. Потому что это хорошо, но и потому что возможность еще раз прикоснуться к восхитительной прозе. Но мне ж четырнадцать тогда было, время большой романтики, конечно "Блистающие облака" Совсем не помню сюжета, помню - была невозможная какая-то любовь и приключения, и клад (?), ах, ничего не могу вспомнить, а после не перечитывала. И "Золотую розу" тогда прочла. Паустовский был как вспышка, как неожиданный прекрасный дар. Как войти в ничем не примечательную скучную дверь под вывеской советского учреждения, а оказаться под Алыми Парусами в тропических морях. И острова, и пальмы, и лагуны и "Пиастр-ры!"
И больше к Константину Георгиевичу не довелось обратиться. Вот так не сложилось, отчего-то, слышала об этой истории с Марлен Дитрих, что встала перед ним на колени. Тогда списала на эксцентричность заморской дивы, сегодня прочла кусочек из ее воспоминаний об этом случае и заплакала. Правда. Так красиво и трогательно, родство душ. А о том, что нобелевскую премию 65-го ему должны были дать, да потом сложносочиненными политическими многоходовками досталась она Шолохову, о том не знала. Но не удивлена, Шолохова никогда не любила. Но я сказала, что не возвращалась к творчеству писателя за исключением собачьих рассказов, это не совсем так.
Один то и дело перечитывала."Корзину с еловыми шишками". Сначала лет в семнадцать, когда проходили по Музыке Грига и его Сольвейг. Постой-постой - себе сказала, - было же это у Паустовского, старый композитор и маленькая девочка и посвященная ей инструментальная пьеса. Занятная штука, романтику Сольвейг (совсем как Кончитта - только отметила) перебило то девчачье впечатление: самое прекрасное может войти в твою жизнь неожиданно и без всякой твоей заслуги, скользнуть в ней по касательной и уйти по своей траектории. А после взорваться сверхновой и всю душу перевернуть и мир озарить на долгие годы потом, и показать тебе, какое ты сокровище. И никогда уже не будешь так несчастлива и одинока, как если бы этого не случилось.
И еще годом позже, когда сам "Пер Гюнт" Ибсена попал таки в руки. Книга была большая и богато иллюстрированная. Приятно держать в руках, гладкость мелованной бумаги, причудливые страсти-мордасти сцен в Ронде, юная свежесть Сольвейг, прибежавшей на лыжах, расчетливая знойная красотка Анитра, Пуговичник, похожий на Гофманова Песочного Человека, каким его себе представляла. И Пер - неуловимо я сама.. Ни-че-гошеньки не было во мне от этого безответственного парня, пустого мечтателя и фантазера, оставлявшего руины везде, где проходил.
Или было? Глубоко, от самой себя спрятанного, тщательно подавляемого воспитанием и моральными цензами. Слишком быстро охладевать к тому, что досталось легко. Искать новых впечатлений всегда везде и во всем. Воображать себя незнамо-каким королевичем в бархатном кафтане на лихом белоснежном скакуне и в маленькой алой шапочке с фазаньим пером, а мир у своих ног. И полагать что цель оправдывает средства, а победителей не судят. И считать, что раз ты такая замечательно умная, тонко чувствующая и бла-бла-бла, тебе проститься любая подлость по итогу (нет, не позволять себе реально, но допускать возможность).
Он плохой, конечно, ну, то есть отрицательный. Но почему-то не могу злиться и презирать, и осуждать безоговорочно. И странная перспектива быть переплавленным в пуговицу: не рай, не ад и не чистилище, ты всю жизнь отрекался от человеческого в себе, стал троллем. а троллям самое место в пуговицах. Кого, его? Да в нем жизни и человеческого столько, что на роту хватит. Дуралей, конечно, так и не повзрослел, ответственности так и не набрался, но я люблю его, хоть режьте, хоть ешьте. И она его любит, Сольвейг. Наверное потому что нашла в этом человеке стоящее любви?
Еще раз перечитала "Корзину" в пору увлечения Блоком, все рядышком: 14-17-18-19 лет.
Сольвейг! Ты прибежала на лыжах ко мне, Улыбнулась пришедшей весне!
Жил я в бедной и тёмной избушке моей Много дней, меж камней, без огней.
Но весёлый, зелёный твой глаз мне блеснул..
И еще раз, слушая Грига, которого интернет приблизил на расстояние вытянутой руки. И еще раз вчера, перечитывая неуклюжие ибсеновы стихи, слушая музыку, которая вся на слуху, вся давно на цитаты растащена.
Постойте, а это что такое? Что за дивная журчащая горным ручьем мелодия? И влюбляешься насмерть в Финал "Пер Гюнта", и узнаешь, наконец подробно, каким был Григ, о котором всю жизнь с перерывами читаешь один рассказ. Постигаешь великую суть морденов и форшлагов, и прежде чаровавших тебя в музыке народной шотландской, ирландской, скандинавской. И понимаешь - тебя стало больше в мире или мир вошел в тебя еще какой-то своей частью. И все благодаря безответственному фантазеру Перу. Не нужно его в пуговицу. Он есть.
But when I took it, I couldn't tear myself away. And his dogs became mine for the rest of my life, no matter how much I spent time with the children afterwards: my nephews, in practice at schools, and when I was raising my own, I read to everyone. Because it's good, but also because it's an opportunity to once again touch the delightful prose. But I was fourteen then, a time of great romance, of course, "Shining Clouds" I don't remember the plot at all, I remember - there was some kind of impossible love and adventure and treasure (?), ah, I can't remember anything, and then I didn't reread it. And I read the Golden Rose then. Paustovsky was like a flash, like an unexpected wonderful gift. How to enter an unremarkable boring door under the sign of a Soviet institution, and find yourself under Scarlet Sails in tropical seas. And islands, and palm trees, and lagoons, and "Piastres!"
And Konstantin Georgievich never had a chance to turn to him again. That's how it didn't work out, for some reason, I heard about this story with Marlene Dietrich, who knelt in front of him. Then I attributed it to the eccentricity of the overseas diva, today I read a piece from her memories of this incident and cried. Truth. It's so beautiful and touching, the kinship of souls. And I didn't know that Sholokhov was supposed to be awarded the Nobel Prize on the 65th, but then it went to him with complicated political tricks. But I'm not surprised, I've never loved Sholokhov. But I said that I did not return to the writer's work except for dog stories, this is not entirely true.
I kept rereading one."A basket of fir cones." At first, at the age of seventeen, when they were studying the Music of Grieg and his Solveig. Wait, wait, I said to myself, it was at Paustovsky's, an old composer and a little girl and an instrumental piece dedicated to her. An interesting thing is that Solveig's romance (just like Conchita, I just noticed) was interrupted by that girly impression: the most beautiful thing can enter your life unexpectedly and without any merit of yours, slip into it tangentially and go on its trajectory. And then explode into a supernova and turn your whole soul upside down and light up the world for many years afterwards, and show you what a treasure you are. And you will never be as unhappy and lonely as if it hadn't happened.
And a year later, when Ibsen's Peer Gynt itself fell into his hands. The book was large and richly illustrated. It's nice to hold in your hands, the smoothness of the coated paper, the bizarre passions-the faces of the scenes in Ronda, the youthful freshness of Solveig, who came running on skis, the calculating sultry beauty Anitra, the Button Man, who looks like Hoffmann's Sandman, as she imagined him. And almost imperceptibly, I am myself.. There was nothing in me from this irresponsible guy, an empty dreamer and visionary who left ruins everywhere he passed.
Or was it? Deeply hidden from oneself, carefully suppressed by upbringing and moral standards. It's too quick to cool down to something that came easy. Always look for new experiences everywhere and in everything. I don't know how to imagine myself as a king in a velvet caftan on a dashing snow-white steed and in a small scarlet cap with a pheasant feather, and the world at my feet. And to believe that the end justifies the means, and the winners are not judged. And to assume that since you're so wonderfully smart, sensitive, and blah, blah, blah, you'll be forgiven for any meanness in the end (no, not really allowing yourself, but allowing yourself the opportunity).
He's bad, of course, well, he's negative. But for some reason, I can't get angry and despise and condemn unconditionally. And the strange prospect of being melted down into a button: not heaven, not hell, and not purgatory, you've been renouncing the human in yourself all your life, you've become a troll. and trolls belong in buttons. Who, him? There's so much life and humanity in him that there's enough for a company. The fool, of course, never grew up, he never gained responsibility, but I love him, even if you cut him, even if you eat him. And she loves him, Solveig. Probably because you found something worth loving in this man?
I reread the "Basket" again during the time of my fascination with the Block, all side by side: 14-17-18-19 years old.
Solveig! You came skiing to me, Smiled at the coming spring!
I lived in my poor and dark hut for many days, between rocks, without lights.
But your cheerful, green eye flashed at me..
And once again, listening to Grieg, whom the Internet has brought closer to arm's length. And once again yesterday, rereading Ibsen's clumsy poems, listening to music that is all by ear, all has long been stolen for quotations.
Wait, what is this? What is this wonderful melody murmuring like a mountain stream? And you fall in love to death with the Finale of Peer Gynt, and you finally find out in detail what Grieg was like, about whom you read one story intermittently all your life. You comprehend the great essence of the mordens and forschlags that have charmed you before in the folk music of Scottish, Irish, Scandinavian. And you realize that there is more of you in the world, or the world has entered into you with some other part of it. And all thanks to the irresponsible fantasist Peru. You don't need to put it in a button. There is one.
Я его так давно люблю, что уже и не вспомню, откуда началось. Да вспомню, конечно. Началось с рассказа Паустовского "Корзина с еловыми шишками", прочитанного лет в четырнадцать. До того Паустовский был для меня одним из занудных программных описателей красот родной природы, которых достаточно пролистать, по возможности не задерживаясь. Не такой ужас, как Тургенев или Толстой, или Чехов (да-да-да, именно так думала после попытки читать "Степь" лет в одиннадцать), что-то полегче, вроде Пришвина или Бианки, но все равно ерунднистика редкая. Да случилось заболеть, а читать ничего интересного не было. Дай, думаю, перелистаю двухтомник Паустовского, он вроде о собаках еще писал смешно (или то Пришвин?).
А взяв, уж не могла оторваться. И собаки его на всю жизнь моими стали, сколько не возилась после с детьми: племянники, в школах на практике, своих когда растила - всем читала. Потому что это хорошо, но и потому что возможность еще раз прикоснуться к восхитительной прозе. Но мне ж четырнадцать тогда было, время большой романтики, конечно "Блистающие облака" Совсем не помню сюжета, помню - была невозможная какая-то любовь и приключения, и клад (?), ах, ничего не могу вспомнить, а после не перечитывала. И "Золотую розу" тогда прочла. Паустовский был как вспышка, как неожиданный прекрасный дар. Как войти в ничем не примечательную скучную дверь под вывеской советского учреждения, а оказаться под Алыми Парусами в тропических морях. И острова, и пальмы, и лагуны и "Пиастр-ры!"
И больше к Константину Георгиевичу не довелось обратиться. Вот так не сложилось, отчего-то, слышала об этой истории с Марлен Дитрих, что встала перед ним на колени. Тогда списала на эксцентричность заморской дивы, сегодня прочла кусочек из ее воспоминаний об этом случае и заплакала. Правда. Так красиво и трогательно, родство душ. А о том, что нобелевскую премию 65-го ему должны были дать, да потом сложносочиненными политическими многоходовками досталась она Шолохову, о том не знала. Но не удивлена, Шолохова никогда не любила. Но я сказала, что не возвращалась к творчеству писателя за исключением собачьих рассказов, это не совсем так.
Один то и дело перечитывала."Корзину с еловыми шишками". Сначала лет в семнадцать, когда проходили по Музыке Грига и его Сольвейг. Постой-постой - себе сказала, - было же это у Паустовского, старый композитор и маленькая девочка и посвященная ей инструментальная пьеса. Занятная штука, романтику Сольвейг (совсем как Кончитта - только отметила) перебило то девчачье впечатление: самое прекрасное может войти в твою жизнь неожиданно и без всякой твоей заслуги, скользнуть в ней по касательной и уйти по своей траектории. А после взорваться сверхновой и всю душу перевернуть и мир озарить на долгие годы потом, и показать тебе, какое ты сокровище. И никогда уже не будешь так несчастлива и одинока, как если бы этого не случилось.
И еще годом позже, когда сам "Пер Гюнт" Ибсена попал таки в руки. Книга была большая и богато иллюстрированная. Приятно держать в руках, гладкость мелованной бумаги, причудливые страсти-мордасти сцен в Ронде, юная свежесть Сольвейг, прибежавшей на лыжах, расчетливая знойная красотка Анитра, Пуговичник, похожий на Гофманова Песочного Человека, каким его себе представляла. И Пер - неуловимо я сама.. Ни-че-гошеньки не было во мне от этого безответственного парня, пустого мечтателя и фантазера, оставлявшего руины везде, где проходил.
Или было? Глубоко, от самой себя спрятанного, тщательно подавляемого воспитанием и моральными цензами. Слишком быстро охладевать к тому, что досталось легко. Искать новых впечатлений всегда везде и во всем. Воображать себя незнамо-каким королевичем в бархатном кафтане на лихом белоснежном скакуне и в маленькой алой шапочке с фазаньим пером, а мир у своих ног. И полагать что цель оправдывает средства, а победителей не судят. И считать, что раз ты такая замечательно умная, тонко чувствующая и бла-бла-бла, тебе проститься любая подлость по итогу (нет, не позволять себе реально, но допускать возможность).
Он плохой, конечно, ну, то есть отрицательный. Но почему-то не могу злиться и презирать, и осуждать безоговорочно. И странная перспектива быть переплавленным в пуговицу: не рай, не ад и не чистилище, ты всю жизнь отрекался от человеческого в себе, стал троллем. а троллям самое место в пуговицах. Кого, его? Да в нем жизни и человеческого столько, что на роту хватит. Дуралей, конечно, так и не повзрослел, ответственности так и не набрался, но я люблю его, хоть режьте, хоть ешьте. И она его любит, Сольвейг. Наверное потому что нашла в этом человеке стоящее любви?
Еще раз перечитала "Корзину" в пору увлечения Блоком, все рядышком: 14-17-18-19 лет.
Сольвейг! Ты прибежала на лыжах ко мне, Улыбнулась пришедшей весне!
Жил я в бедной и тёмной избушке моей Много дней, меж камней, без огней.
Но весёлый, зелёный твой глаз мне блеснул..
И еще раз, слушая Грига, которого интернет приблизил на расстояние вытянутой руки. И еще раз вчера, перечитывая неуклюжие ибсеновы стихи, слушая музыку, которая вся на слуху, вся давно на цитаты растащена.
Постойте, а это что такое? Что за дивная журчащая горным ручьем мелодия? И влюбляешься насмерть в Финал "Пер Гюнта", и узнаешь, наконец подробно, каким был Григ, о котором всю жизнь с перерывами читаешь один рассказ. Постигаешь великую суть морденов и форшлагов, и прежде чаровавших тебя в музыке народной шотландской, ирландской, скандинавской. И понимаешь - тебя стало больше в мире или мир вошел в тебя еще какой-то своей частью. И все благодаря безответственному фантазеру Перу. Не нужно его в пуговицу. Он есть.
September 18, 2015
The Tragedy of the Selfish Life
2 July 2013
It was interesting that as I was finishing this play it just happened that a Norweigan was sitting opposite me on the train and made a comment about how he didn't think that anybody actually read Ibsen outside of Norway, though he also mentioned that Ibsen is among the four greatest playwrights of Norway (and considering I don't know who the other three are, and that I have heard of Isben, and Peer Gynt, since I read the Secret Diary of Adrian Mole). Obviously to the Norweigans there are probably playwrights that are more popular than Ibsen, but outside of Norway I would have to say that he is the most well known (if not only) playwright. As for Peer Gynt, it is probably his most well known play, even if most people actually don't know what it is about.
Well, the question then arises as to what it is about? Well, it is about a selfish man that lives a selfish life, and ends up dying, not so much alone, but in the arms of a woman that had been waiting for him all of her life, but was never able to live with, or love him. In a way there is a lot of Peer Gynt in many (if not all) of us, and I must say that I suspect there is some Peer Gynt in me as well. The reason that I say this is because Peer Gynt is about selfishness and about how our selfishness ends up blinding ourselves to the world around us. In fact, our desire for ourselves and for our own self satisfaction cuts us off from what the world really can offer us and the enjoyment that we can really experience.
Now, simply because I have read Peer Gynt does not mean that I am going to run back to Adelaide. I don't think that is what I have got out of this play, but what I have realised, as I look back on my life, is how I have missed out on a lot of things (as Peer Gynt did) because I pursued my own selfish desires and got caught up on what I wanted, and cried about what I didn't have, rather than actually taking hold of the joy of what I do have. I am not the only person who has been through this, many of us have, but the difference is that many of us do not look back on our past to really see the mistakes that we have made, and the selfish decisions that have cut us off from really enjoying life. For instance, I bemoaned the fact that I would never have the money to shop in the really fashionable district in Naples yet was blind to the fact that I was actually in Naples. Would it not have been better to have enjoyed the fact that I was in Naples rather than crying about what I do not have. Similarly, I bemoan the fact that I will probably never be able to own a BMW or a Mercedes, yet ignore the fact that in reality I probably don't actually want a BMW or a Mercedes. Okay, I many not be able to afford a 2012 Porshce Boxster, but I bet (and I have done this) if I look on carsales.com I could find a 1978 Porsche 944 that is actually in a reasonable condition.
The imagery of the troll plays prominently in Peer Gynt, and it is suggested that the troll is reflective of our bestial nature. Peer Gynt, in many cases, is a beast, and he succumbs to his bestial side. His dream is to rule the world, and to lead an army of five thousand men, and in a way he reaches that dream, but that dream, in the end, only exists within his imagination in a mental asylum. Certainly he is worshipped as an emperor, but he is only the emperor in his own mind. In fact, there are numerous scenes where Gynt exists only on his own, and while he does not really bemoan anything, he is caught up in that essence of self without actually seeing the world around him.
There are some interesting scenes, such as when he takes the bride and flees into the mountains, only to let go of her and send her back. Certainly, he wants the bride, but when he has her he realises that he does not want her, despite the fact that she wants him. Once again, Peer Gynt only sees his own world and his own desires and is oblivious to the world around him. Similarly it is with the woman who loves him, but while at first he does want her, he decides that he is not worthy for her (for he says that he smells of troll – a realisation that he has succumbed to his bestial nature, his desire for self-fulfilment as opposed to a holistic social fulfilment) and flees. Maybe it is that the bestial nature is what holds him back from truly being able to fulfil his own life.
The Norweigan on the train said that Ibsen was critical of society, but I do not think it is society that he is being critical of in this play. As I have said, our society is not actually a society at all, but a fractured collection on individuals who move amongst each other with a desire to better there own fortunes and their own nests. Marriages today have pretty much become a sham, which is probably why gay marriage is such a hot topic. Many Christians campaign against gay marriage because they believe that it will destroy the institution of marriage when in reality the institution of marriage has already been destroyed. It is no longer the biblical concept of two becoming one, but rather two partnering together to use each other to fulfil their own desires, and once those desires have been fulfilled, or are no longer being fulfilled, then the partnership breaks apart. In the end, we no not exist as a community, but rather we exist as a collection of individuals who each live in our own individual reality and fail to see the true reality that exists around us.
2 July 2013
It was interesting that as I was finishing this play it just happened that a Norweigan was sitting opposite me on the train and made a comment about how he didn't think that anybody actually read Ibsen outside of Norway, though he also mentioned that Ibsen is among the four greatest playwrights of Norway (and considering I don't know who the other three are, and that I have heard of Isben, and Peer Gynt, since I read the Secret Diary of Adrian Mole). Obviously to the Norweigans there are probably playwrights that are more popular than Ibsen, but outside of Norway I would have to say that he is the most well known (if not only) playwright. As for Peer Gynt, it is probably his most well known play, even if most people actually don't know what it is about.
Well, the question then arises as to what it is about? Well, it is about a selfish man that lives a selfish life, and ends up dying, not so much alone, but in the arms of a woman that had been waiting for him all of her life, but was never able to live with, or love him. In a way there is a lot of Peer Gynt in many (if not all) of us, and I must say that I suspect there is some Peer Gynt in me as well. The reason that I say this is because Peer Gynt is about selfishness and about how our selfishness ends up blinding ourselves to the world around us. In fact, our desire for ourselves and for our own self satisfaction cuts us off from what the world really can offer us and the enjoyment that we can really experience.
Now, simply because I have read Peer Gynt does not mean that I am going to run back to Adelaide. I don't think that is what I have got out of this play, but what I have realised, as I look back on my life, is how I have missed out on a lot of things (as Peer Gynt did) because I pursued my own selfish desires and got caught up on what I wanted, and cried about what I didn't have, rather than actually taking hold of the joy of what I do have. I am not the only person who has been through this, many of us have, but the difference is that many of us do not look back on our past to really see the mistakes that we have made, and the selfish decisions that have cut us off from really enjoying life. For instance, I bemoaned the fact that I would never have the money to shop in the really fashionable district in Naples yet was blind to the fact that I was actually in Naples. Would it not have been better to have enjoyed the fact that I was in Naples rather than crying about what I do not have. Similarly, I bemoan the fact that I will probably never be able to own a BMW or a Mercedes, yet ignore the fact that in reality I probably don't actually want a BMW or a Mercedes. Okay, I many not be able to afford a 2012 Porshce Boxster, but I bet (and I have done this) if I look on carsales.com I could find a 1978 Porsche 944 that is actually in a reasonable condition.
The imagery of the troll plays prominently in Peer Gynt, and it is suggested that the troll is reflective of our bestial nature. Peer Gynt, in many cases, is a beast, and he succumbs to his bestial side. His dream is to rule the world, and to lead an army of five thousand men, and in a way he reaches that dream, but that dream, in the end, only exists within his imagination in a mental asylum. Certainly he is worshipped as an emperor, but he is only the emperor in his own mind. In fact, there are numerous scenes where Gynt exists only on his own, and while he does not really bemoan anything, he is caught up in that essence of self without actually seeing the world around him.
There are some interesting scenes, such as when he takes the bride and flees into the mountains, only to let go of her and send her back. Certainly, he wants the bride, but when he has her he realises that he does not want her, despite the fact that she wants him. Once again, Peer Gynt only sees his own world and his own desires and is oblivious to the world around him. Similarly it is with the woman who loves him, but while at first he does want her, he decides that he is not worthy for her (for he says that he smells of troll – a realisation that he has succumbed to his bestial nature, his desire for self-fulfilment as opposed to a holistic social fulfilment) and flees. Maybe it is that the bestial nature is what holds him back from truly being able to fulfil his own life.
The Norweigan on the train said that Ibsen was critical of society, but I do not think it is society that he is being critical of in this play. As I have said, our society is not actually a society at all, but a fractured collection on individuals who move amongst each other with a desire to better there own fortunes and their own nests. Marriages today have pretty much become a sham, which is probably why gay marriage is such a hot topic. Many Christians campaign against gay marriage because they believe that it will destroy the institution of marriage when in reality the institution of marriage has already been destroyed. It is no longer the biblical concept of two becoming one, but rather two partnering together to use each other to fulfil their own desires, and once those desires have been fulfilled, or are no longer being fulfilled, then the partnership breaks apart. In the end, we no not exist as a community, but rather we exist as a collection of individuals who each live in our own individual reality and fail to see the true reality that exists around us.
December 21, 2018
دوستانِ گرانقدر، نمایشنامهٔ "پیِر گونت" به نوعی داستانِ شخصی بی تفاوت است که نمیخواهد بر رویِ هیچ موضوعی درنگ و اندیشه کند و از کنارِ همه چیز با بی تفاوتی گذر میکند و سر بر دشت و بیابان میگذارد تا به اصطلاح، به خودشناسی دست یابد... شاید نویسندهٔ این کتاب، یعنی <ایبسن> هدفش نقد کردنِ زندگی و رفتارِ مردمِ نروژ باشد.. البته نمیتوان با اطمینان به این موضوع رسید
در زیر چکیده ای از این نمایشنامه را برایتان مینویسم
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شخصیتِ اصلیِ این نمایشنامه، پسری روستایی به نامِ <پیر گونت> است، که عنصرِ اصلیِ زندگی و شخصیتش، دروغ و دروغ پردازی میباشد.. دروغهایی که سبب میشود تا او همیشه از راستی و حقیقت، گرزان باشد.. دروغ برایِ پیر گونت راهیست آسان برایِ رسیدن به خواسته هایِ درونی... او آنقدر غرق در دروغهایِ زندگی اش شده که حتی نمیخواهد بپذیرد پدرش <جون گونت> به سببِ مصرفِ بیش از اندازهٔ الکل و نبودِ مدیریت در زندگی، خانه و ثروتش را از دست داده است... پیر گونت خویش را "پادشاهِ خود" میداند و این عنوان را بر سردرِ خانه اش نیز نوشته است... او یک جوانِ بیکار و بیعار میباشد و جالب است که این بیکاری و بیهوده زندگی کردن را نوعی قهرمانی به شمار می آورد و بچه ننه و نازپرورده ای است که مادرش از اشتباهاتِ او پشتیبانی میکند
بخشی از این نمایشنامه مربوط به توهماتِ این جوان و ورود به دنیایِ "ترول ها" و فرشتگان میباشد و عشق و عاشقی هایِ موهوم، که نوشتش در ریویو، حوصله میخواهد
با گذشتِ سی سال، پیر گونت به وسیلهٔ برده فروشی و تجارتهایِ دیگر، ثروتی به هم زده و در مراکش زندگی میکند... شریکِ او، کِشتی و ثروتی را که پیر گونت در آمریکا اندوخته است را دزدیده و پیر گونت فقیر و بیچاره میشود.. از این رو، به خداپرستی روی آورده و در یک قبیلهٔ عرب، ادعایِ پیامبری نموده و خود را مهدیِ موعود (مهدی موهوم) میخواند.. تا آنکه عاشقِ زنی رقاصه به نامِ <آنتیرا> میشود و پیامبری را رها کرده و آنتیرا را میدزدد.. پیر گونت آنتیرا را به بیابانی برده و در آنجا تنها رها میکند و خودش پس از مدتی سرگردانی، سر از مصر در می آورد... پیر گونت در مصر با مردی آلمانی آشنا میشود و او پیر گونت را با خود به گروهی که از اندیشمندانِ قاهره میباشند بُرده و وی را به آنها معرفی میکند... پرگونت پس از مدتها، درمیابد که آن باشگاه و گروه، در حقیقت تیمارستانی میباشد که دیوانه ها آن را اداره میکنند و نگهبانها را به بند کشیده اند.... در این تیمارستان، پیر گونت سرانجام "پادشاهِ خود" میشود و دیوانگان بر سرِ او تاجِ پادشاهی میگذارند
عزیزانم، بهتر است خودتان این نمایشنامه را خوانده و از سرانجامِ آن آگاه شوید
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امیدوارم این ریویو در جهتِ آشنایی با این کتاب، کافی و مفید بوده باشه
<پیروز باشید و ایرانی>
در زیر چکیده ای از این نمایشنامه را برایتان مینویسم
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شخصیتِ اصلیِ این نمایشنامه، پسری روستایی به نامِ <پیر گونت> است، که عنصرِ اصلیِ زندگی و شخصیتش، دروغ و دروغ پردازی میباشد.. دروغهایی که سبب میشود تا او همیشه از راستی و حقیقت، گرزان باشد.. دروغ برایِ پیر گونت راهیست آسان برایِ رسیدن به خواسته هایِ درونی... او آنقدر غرق در دروغهایِ زندگی اش شده که حتی نمیخواهد بپذیرد پدرش <جون گونت> به سببِ مصرفِ بیش از اندازهٔ الکل و نبودِ مدیریت در زندگی، خانه و ثروتش را از دست داده است... پیر گونت خویش را "پادشاهِ خود" میداند و این عنوان را بر سردرِ خانه اش نیز نوشته است... او یک جوانِ بیکار و بیعار میباشد و جالب است که این بیکاری و بیهوده زندگی کردن را نوعی قهرمانی به شمار می آورد و بچه ننه و نازپرورده ای است که مادرش از اشتباهاتِ او پشتیبانی میکند
بخشی از این نمایشنامه مربوط به توهماتِ این جوان و ورود به دنیایِ "ترول ها" و فرشتگان میباشد و عشق و عاشقی هایِ موهوم، که نوشتش در ریویو، حوصله میخواهد
با گذشتِ سی سال، پیر گونت به وسیلهٔ برده فروشی و تجارتهایِ دیگر، ثروتی به هم زده و در مراکش زندگی میکند... شریکِ او، کِشتی و ثروتی را که پیر گونت در آمریکا اندوخته است را دزدیده و پیر گونت فقیر و بیچاره میشود.. از این رو، به خداپرستی روی آورده و در یک قبیلهٔ عرب، ادعایِ پیامبری نموده و خود را مهدیِ موعود (مهدی موهوم) میخواند.. تا آنکه عاشقِ زنی رقاصه به نامِ <آنتیرا> میشود و پیامبری را رها کرده و آنتیرا را میدزدد.. پیر گونت آنتیرا را به بیابانی برده و در آنجا تنها رها میکند و خودش پس از مدتی سرگردانی، سر از مصر در می آورد... پیر گونت در مصر با مردی آلمانی آشنا میشود و او پیر گونت را با خود به گروهی که از اندیشمندانِ قاهره میباشند بُرده و وی را به آنها معرفی میکند... پرگونت پس از مدتها، درمیابد که آن باشگاه و گروه، در حقیقت تیمارستانی میباشد که دیوانه ها آن را اداره میکنند و نگهبانها را به بند کشیده اند.... در این تیمارستان، پیر گونت سرانجام "پادشاهِ خود" میشود و دیوانگان بر سرِ او تاجِ پادشاهی میگذارند
عزیزانم، بهتر است خودتان این نمایشنامه را خوانده و از سرانجامِ آن آگاه شوید
---------------------------------------------
امیدوارم این ریویو در جهتِ آشنایی با این کتاب، کافی و مفید بوده باشه
<پیروز باشید و ایرانی>
January 18, 2016
Introduction
Select Bibliography
A Chronology of Henrik Ibsen
--Peer Gynt
Select Bibliography
A Chronology of Henrik Ibsen
--Peer Gynt
November 25, 2024
طولانیترین نمایشنامهای بود که خوندم و البته متفاوتترین اثری که از ایبسن خوندم!
من این نمایشنامه رو از نشر بیدگل خوندم و باید بگم که اگه مترجم اینقدر حرفهای و باسواد نبود و اینقدر دقیق نمایشنامه رو تحلیل نمیکرد و توی پاورقی توضیح نمیداد، محال بود بتونم درکش کنم و متوجه اصل موضوع بشم. واقعا ترجمه فوقالعاده بود.
برای من یه مقدار سنگین بود چون اشاره و نماد زیاد داشت و بهنظرم باید با تمرکز زیاد خونده بشه.
آثار ایبسن رو همیشه دوست دارم ولی این اثر پیچیدگی خاص خودش رو داشت که از باقی نمایشنامههای ایبسن متفاوتش میکرد.
یه طنز ظریف و در عین حال کوبندهای داشت که قابل تحسینه.
اینکه ایبسن صرفا روی یک موضوع مانور نمیده و همزمان جنبههای مختلفی رو به نمایش میذاره رو هم واقعا دوست دارم.
من این نمایشنامه رو از نشر بیدگل خوندم و باید بگم که اگه مترجم اینقدر حرفهای و باسواد نبود و اینقدر دقیق نمایشنامه رو تحلیل نمیکرد و توی پاورقی توضیح نمیداد، محال بود بتونم درکش کنم و متوجه اصل موضوع بشم. واقعا ترجمه فوقالعاده بود.
برای من یه مقدار سنگین بود چون اشاره و نماد زیاد داشت و بهنظرم باید با تمرکز زیاد خونده بشه.
آثار ایبسن رو همیشه دوست دارم ولی این اثر پیچیدگی خاص خودش رو داشت که از باقی نمایشنامههای ایبسن متفاوتش میکرد.
یه طنز ظریف و در عین حال کوبندهای داشت که قابل تحسینه.
اینکه ایبسن صرفا روی یک موضوع مانور نمیده و همزمان جنبههای مختلفی رو به نمایش میذاره رو هم واقعا دوست دارم.
September 7, 2022
Ottantacinque
There was a young person called Peer
A liar from from his boots to his hair
If ever I catch him
To a post I'll attach him
And give him a sound kick you know where
A sinistra... / A destra...
.
There was a young person called Peer
A liar from from his boots to his hair
If ever I catch him
To a post I'll attach him
And give him a sound kick you know where
A sinistra... / A destra...
.
August 20, 2016
This is my favorite of all of Ibsen's works. Few plays have moved me as did Peer Gynt.
July 5, 2022
Not one of the greater plays I've read but definitely one of the top of the Henrik Ibsen plays I've been reading. Was about to give up trying to read all the plays on my book app but think I'll get going. There some good ones hiding. Plays is very hit and miss for me
January 26, 2024
پِر: (بلند میشود، ساکت است و رنگش چون مردگان.)
به کسی که یادش بود...و کسی که فراموش کرد..
کسی که چیزی رو که دیگری گم کرده بود حفظش کرد.
و بازیای که دو بار نمیشه بازیش کرد.
_ رو کن به اون.
اون خودش میدونه من از جام زهر چقدرشو میتونم
سر بکشم.
به کسی که یادش بود...و کسی که فراموش کرد..
کسی که چیزی رو که دیگری گم کرده بود حفظش کرد.
و بازیای که دو بار نمیشه بازیش کرد.
_ رو کن به اون.
اون خودش میدونه من از جام زهر چقدرشو میتونم
سر بکشم.
September 5, 2016
I have to confess; I only read this for the trolls.
But I enjoyed it for the social satire and the dissection of selfhood.
But I enjoyed it for the social satire and the dissection of selfhood.
March 14, 2025
Das hat mir erstaunlich gut gefallen und ich freue mich jetzt richtig auf die Umsetzung auf der Bühne.
Eigentlich fast 5 Sterne wert
Eigentlich fast 5 Sterne wert
March 25, 2022
Βασισμενο σε εναν διασημο λαικο ηρωα της μυθολογιας της Νορβηγιας, αυτο το θεατρικο εργο σε 5 πραξεις μας δινει τον απο εδω και στο εξης πολυαγαπημενο μου, Πεερ Γκυντ. Αυτο το εργο πραγματικα με καθηλωσε. Ξεκινα ως ενα αστειο παραμυθι που εντυπωσιαζει καθως ο Πεερ ειναι ενας κουτοπονηρος, αλαφροϊσκιωτος νεαρος που η φαντασια του καλπαζει!! Ετσι στην πρωτη σκηνη διηγειται την παλη του με εναν ταρανδο και πως τελικα καβαλοντας τη ραχη του, εφτασε νικητης πισω στην πολη του. Ο, τι να ναι δηλαδη. Το ψεμα, η φαντασια και η αληθεια μπλεκονται σε σημειο πιυ δυσκολα τα ξεχωριζεις ενω αν προσθεσεις κ τα τρολς, ξωτικα, περιεργες μορφες και βασιλιαδες τοτε απλα καθεσαι και απολαμβανεις αυτο που πιστευεις οτι θα σου θυμισει τα παιδικα σου χρονια. Ολα αυτα μεχρι τα μισα περιπου του εργου, οπου το υφος αλλαζει τελειως και ως προς τη διαθεση που γινεται πιο σκοτεινη, αλλα πλεον φευγουμε και απο τον απλο μυθο/παραμυθι και περναμε σε ενα εκπληκτικο ψυχογραφημα του Πεερ Γκυντ που μαζι του διανυουμε καμια 50αρια χρονια και απο εναν αλαφροΐσκιωτο, βλέπουμε εναν ανδρα που ξεκινα τα ταξιδια(υστερα απο τη διασημη ατακα του εργου, παυλα προτροπη απο τον εαυτο του "κανε το γυρο, Πεερ"), τη δικη του Οδυσσεια μεσα απο πολλους προορισμους για να κανει πλουτη και δοξα και να γυρισει ως ηλικιωμενος πισω στην πατριδα του, ηττημενος κατα ενα τροπο, αφου σε μια εκπληκτικη σκηνη βλεπει να εχουν βγει στο σφυρι ολα τα υπαρχοντα της ζωης που τελικα δεν εζησε. Εκει ενημερωνεται οτι πρεπει να τελειώσει η ζωη του με τον καημό ότι εκανε ενα απο τα μεγαλυτερα σφαλματα :εζησε μια ζωη χωρις ποτε να βρει τον πραγματικο εαυτο του. Και φυσικα καπου εκει ερχεται ενα μεγαλειωδες φιναλε συγκινησης, ρομαντισμου, αληθειας και καθαρσης.
Ειλικρινα δεν εχω λογια για το τι "ζημια" μου εκανε αυτο το εργο, για το ποσο με "ξεγελασε" ως προς την πλοκη του, ποσο αρτια δοσμενη και δεμενη ειναι η ιστορια, μα πανω απολα τι φανταστικος χαρακτηρας ειναι ο Πεερ Γκυντ. Δε νομιζω να εχω συμπαθησει, με ολη την έννοια της λεξης, χαρακτηρα τοσο πολυ και τοσο γρηγορα. Δε νομιζω να εχω δει πιο αληθοφανη αναπαρασταση της ψυχολογιας και εξελιξης ενος ανθρωπου καθολη τη διαρκεια της ζωης του. Ενας κριτικος θεατρου γραφει συγκεκριμενα οτι ο Πεερ Γκυντ ειναι ο μεγαλυτερος απο τους μεγαλυτερους λογοτεχνικους ηρωες της Αναγεννησης, πιο πολυ κι απο τον Φαουστ του Γκαιτε. Οτι ακομη και χαρακτηρες γραμμενοι απο τον Ντικενς, τον Σταντααλ, τον Τολστοι, τον Ουγκο, ακομη και τον Μπαλζακ, δεν ειναι το ιδιο, προκλητικοι, πληθωρικοι και βιταλιστικοι οσο ο Πεερ Γκυντ. Νομιζω πως τα παραπανω λογια λενε πολλα...
Δεν μπορω να περιγραψω ποσο με ενθουσιασε, με συγκινησε, με ταρακουνησε αυτο το εργο. Φυσικα και το προτεινω χωρις δευτερη σκεψη και μαλιστα σε αυτη την εκδοση με εξαιρετικα ενδιαφεροντα σχολια και επιπλεον υλικο.
🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟/5 αστερια
Ειναι αδυνατο να πεθανω! Ονειρο! "Επιμενω, ονειρο! Εφιαλτης! Μα δυστυχως πραγματικος! Οι ασπονδοι μου φιλοι!.. Κυριε, εισακουσον μου.. Εισαι σωστος, σοφος! Τιμωρησε τους! Εγω ειμαι, ο πετερ γκυντ! Μη με εκδιωκης, φροντισε για μενα, κυριε! Μη με αφησεις να χαθω! Καντους να σταματησουνε.. Εισακουσον μου, ασε λιγο τους υπόλοιπους! Λιγακι μπορει και μοναχος του ο κοσμος.. Κουφος, ως συνηθως! Δεν ακουει! Ωραια! Ενας θεος χρεωκοπημενος! "
Ειλικρινα δεν εχω λογια για το τι "ζημια" μου εκανε αυτο το εργο, για το ποσο με "ξεγελασε" ως προς την πλοκη του, ποσο αρτια δοσμενη και δεμενη ειναι η ιστορια, μα πανω απολα τι φανταστικος χαρακτηρας ειναι ο Πεερ Γκυντ. Δε νομιζω να εχω συμπαθησει, με ολη την έννοια της λεξης, χαρακτηρα τοσο πολυ και τοσο γρηγορα. Δε νομιζω να εχω δει πιο αληθοφανη αναπαρασταση της ψυχολογιας και εξελιξης ενος ανθρωπου καθολη τη διαρκεια της ζωης του. Ενας κριτικος θεατρου γραφει συγκεκριμενα οτι ο Πεερ Γκυντ ειναι ο μεγαλυτερος απο τους μεγαλυτερους λογοτεχνικους ηρωες της Αναγεννησης, πιο πολυ κι απο τον Φαουστ του Γκαιτε. Οτι ακομη και χαρακτηρες γραμμενοι απο τον Ντικενς, τον Σταντααλ, τον Τολστοι, τον Ουγκο, ακομη και τον Μπαλζακ, δεν ειναι το ιδιο, προκλητικοι, πληθωρικοι και βιταλιστικοι οσο ο Πεερ Γκυντ. Νομιζω πως τα παραπανω λογια λενε πολλα...
Δεν μπορω να περιγραψω ποσο με ενθουσιασε, με συγκινησε, με ταρακουνησε αυτο το εργο. Φυσικα και το προτεινω χωρις δευτερη σκεψη και μαλιστα σε αυτη την εκδοση με εξαιρετικα ενδιαφεροντα σχολια και επιπλεον υλικο.
🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟/5 αστερια
Ειναι αδυνατο να πεθανω! Ονειρο! "Επιμενω, ονειρο! Εφιαλτης! Μα δυστυχως πραγματικος! Οι ασπονδοι μου φιλοι!.. Κυριε, εισακουσον μου.. Εισαι σωστος, σοφος! Τιμωρησε τους! Εγω ειμαι, ο πετερ γκυντ! Μη με εκδιωκης, φροντισε για μενα, κυριε! Μη με αφησεις να χαθω! Καντους να σταματησουνε.. Εισακουσον μου, ασε λιγο τους υπόλοιπους! Λιγακι μπορει και μοναχος του ο κοσμος.. Κουφος, ως συνηθως! Δεν ακουει! Ωραια! Ενας θεος χρεωκοπημενος! "
July 15, 2019
I tried reading this years ago but grew bored and abandoned it halfway through. My second attempt at reading it has proved to be much more successful. I thoroughly enjoyed this story of a compulsive liar and romancer who nonetheless has amazing adventures and never quite succumbs to the temptation to lose his egotism! There are trolls and witches and monsters aplenty to keep him on his toes.
Peer Gynt is a play but it reads almost like a novel in verse. It must be a difficult play to stage because there are so many changes of scene and some of the locations are rather complicated for set designers to produce! Now I want to watch it performed on a stage with Grieg's music in the background.
Act 4 is my favourite part of the play, a strange and funny romp through the deserts of Morocco and thence to a madhouse in Egypt where Peer finally achieves his dream of becoming an 'emperor'. But my favourite line in the play occurs in Act 5 when Peer is on the verge of drowning and is comforted by the 'mysterious stranger' who tells him not to worry because "nobody dies right in the middle of Act 5." A nice metafictional touch...
*****************
It is now February 2015 and I have just re-read this play, in a different edition (Oxford University Press) with a different translator, and I thoroughly enjoyed it again. It is possibly my favourite play; and once again, Act 4 impressed me the most. So much happens in the play that it's very difficult to pick out highlights -- the entire play is one big highlight -- but I would like to mention Peer's proposed scheme for flooding the Sahara and turning it green as an idea far ahead of its time.
*****************
It is now July 2019 and I have just re-read the play for the third time. It's very unusual for me to read a book three times. Peer Gynt
Peer Gynt is a play but it reads almost like a novel in verse. It must be a difficult play to stage because there are so many changes of scene and some of the locations are rather complicated for set designers to produce! Now I want to watch it performed on a stage with Grieg's music in the background.
Act 4 is my favourite part of the play, a strange and funny romp through the deserts of Morocco and thence to a madhouse in Egypt where Peer finally achieves his dream of becoming an 'emperor'. But my favourite line in the play occurs in Act 5 when Peer is on the verge of drowning and is comforted by the 'mysterious stranger' who tells him not to worry because "nobody dies right in the middle of Act 5." A nice metafictional touch...
*****************
It is now February 2015 and I have just re-read this play, in a different edition (Oxford University Press) with a different translator, and I thoroughly enjoyed it again. It is possibly my favourite play; and once again, Act 4 impressed me the most. So much happens in the play that it's very difficult to pick out highlights -- the entire play is one big highlight -- but I would like to mention Peer's proposed scheme for flooding the Sahara and turning it green as an idea far ahead of its time.
*****************
It is now July 2019 and I have just re-read the play for the third time. It's very unusual for me to read a book three times. Peer Gynt
December 5, 2021
Rather chaotic organized story of the young Peer Gynt who gets into trouble by his arrogance, his wandering around. But through all kinds of adventures he finally regains his destination, namely himself. Mix of picaresque novel, elements from Voltaire's stories and the Faust by Goethe.
Not quite successful, and anyway for the theatre no longer feasible.
Not quite successful, and anyway for the theatre no longer feasible.
April 29, 2024
سلام آقای ایبسن امیدوارم بابت هرچی وقتی کلاس دهم بودم بهخاطر خانهی عروسک بهت نسبت دادم، من رو ببخشی. هنوزم حرفم همونه
July 22, 2023
زندگی پر گنت است از بیست سالگی به بعد و به قصهی با مزهای میماند که طنز تلخ و دراماتیکی دارد. اسطورهها و افسانههای نروزی در آن تنیده است. نمیدانم چطور میشود صحنههای متعدد و گسترده این نمایشنامه را ساخت و به اجرا درآورد. برای من شاید خوشخوانترین نمایشنامه ایبسن بود و شاید بیرون از قالب دیگر نمایشنامههایش. البته گویا نروژیاش به شعر است که در ترجمه درنمیآید.
ترجمه عالی است.
ترجمه عالی است.
April 6, 2013
I write this review with more than a little trepidation as one of my best friends is on his way to being, if he isn't already, an Ibsen scholar. So while writing this I imagine him here with me, just waiting to unleash his Olympian store of knowledge against my piddling review. But, you know, I'm nothing if not a challenge seeker, so here we are.
I read a collection of Ibsen's about two years ago, specifically The Wild Duck, Ghosts, Doll's House, and an Enemy of the People. I enjoyed them all immensely and very much appreciated the near complete lack of whimsy in his plays. Having theatrical experience only with the likes of Shakespeare and a taste of Marlowe (with an occasional sampling of Arthur Miller in high school) I was unprepared for just how unsympathetic a playwright could depict his world. Shakespeare and Marlowe were so grandiose, it didn't matter if it was romance, tragedy, comedy, everything was built to the skies. All of the characters felt important, like gods in a pantheon, putting on a divine show for barely comprehending mortals.
But Ibsen is strikingly different. His characters feel much more human, almost approachable. Society is flawed (and how) in the eyes of Ibsen and is that way because of the people who comprise it. No where is this more evident than in Ibsen's most well known (often called THE Norwegian Play) work, Peer Gynt.
Based on the fairy tale Per Gynt, Ibsen gives us the titular character who, very unlike any protagonist of a Shakespeare play, is just, well, low. He seems like the kind of character that, maybe, gets one possibly funny line in a Shakespeare play before being mocked, jeered or just killed before the main character can continue on his epic way. Gynt is, at times, base, shiftless, a vagrant, and, one would think, completely unworthy of an entire work based around his story. But two factors work to his favor. One, ninety-nine percent of the people, no, the world around him, are just as bad as he, worse because at least Gynt seems perfectly cognizant of his shortcomings and the lies he attempts to make his life consist of. Curiously in fact as there's more than enough evidence to justify the reading that every character is as full of con, as my father would say, as Gynt. The only difference being that, like so many of Ibsen's other works, that the many of society have judged the one individual as the target of their scorn, the altar where they lay their shortcomings, their sin, to burn and be forgotten. Peer Gynt the scapegoat without the title.
And the other reason as to why Gynt is worthy of his story, there are echoes of Goethe's Faust. Now, that alone doesn't make him worthy. It's the contradiction inherent there that makes the story. Goethe's Faust was about as elite a character as one can find. A brilliant doctor dabbling the black arts for the simple fact that the rest of the world bores him. Gynt is a character who pathologically avoids the rest of the world, only culling what he can whilst avoiding the real issues dogging his soul. Gynt isn't Faust, he's the anti-Faust. And that's the grandness of it as, to me, Gynt and Faust occupy the exact same world.
That having been said there were more than a few moments where I honestly believed Gynt on his way to redemption would encounter Faust on his way to damnation, both, the former stumbling and running the latter marching and proud, wending their way through a world where the divine (better:supernatural) is just below the surface of the world waiting to bless or condemn a man, often one then the other. The equal but opposite of the society that Ibsen routinely lambasted. The cynic in me says Ibsen was painting something like a Sartre 'No Exit' scenario, that there is no hope, or anything like it.
But the final scene, with the button moulder, with Gynt in the arms of Solveig, gives us something akin to hope, but not quite. I imagined the sun rising as the birds chirped their songs, Solveig herself at peace while Gynt, near his end whatever that will entail, driven to exhaustion, to death, with the agent of this fate, the button moulder just there, just waiting. Simply gorgeous. So not hope but, it seems, Ibsen doesn't answer the question of Gynt's fate with that, but with an ellipses trailing off. Namely, what we're left with is not a refuge in hope, but a refuge in ambiguity. Gynt could be judged to oblivion or given salvation, and the madness of it is that Ibsen leaves us right at the precipice where we either grow wings and fly or fall to something nice and Tarturus adjacent below.
It's brilliant, unwieldy, and something awesome, truly. Read it.
I read a collection of Ibsen's about two years ago, specifically The Wild Duck, Ghosts, Doll's House, and an Enemy of the People. I enjoyed them all immensely and very much appreciated the near complete lack of whimsy in his plays. Having theatrical experience only with the likes of Shakespeare and a taste of Marlowe (with an occasional sampling of Arthur Miller in high school) I was unprepared for just how unsympathetic a playwright could depict his world. Shakespeare and Marlowe were so grandiose, it didn't matter if it was romance, tragedy, comedy, everything was built to the skies. All of the characters felt important, like gods in a pantheon, putting on a divine show for barely comprehending mortals.
But Ibsen is strikingly different. His characters feel much more human, almost approachable. Society is flawed (and how) in the eyes of Ibsen and is that way because of the people who comprise it. No where is this more evident than in Ibsen's most well known (often called THE Norwegian Play) work, Peer Gynt.
Based on the fairy tale Per Gynt, Ibsen gives us the titular character who, very unlike any protagonist of a Shakespeare play, is just, well, low. He seems like the kind of character that, maybe, gets one possibly funny line in a Shakespeare play before being mocked, jeered or just killed before the main character can continue on his epic way. Gynt is, at times, base, shiftless, a vagrant, and, one would think, completely unworthy of an entire work based around his story. But two factors work to his favor. One, ninety-nine percent of the people, no, the world around him, are just as bad as he, worse because at least Gynt seems perfectly cognizant of his shortcomings and the lies he attempts to make his life consist of. Curiously in fact as there's more than enough evidence to justify the reading that every character is as full of con, as my father would say, as Gynt. The only difference being that, like so many of Ibsen's other works, that the many of society have judged the one individual as the target of their scorn, the altar where they lay their shortcomings, their sin, to burn and be forgotten. Peer Gynt the scapegoat without the title.
And the other reason as to why Gynt is worthy of his story, there are echoes of Goethe's Faust. Now, that alone doesn't make him worthy. It's the contradiction inherent there that makes the story. Goethe's Faust was about as elite a character as one can find. A brilliant doctor dabbling the black arts for the simple fact that the rest of the world bores him. Gynt is a character who pathologically avoids the rest of the world, only culling what he can whilst avoiding the real issues dogging his soul. Gynt isn't Faust, he's the anti-Faust. And that's the grandness of it as, to me, Gynt and Faust occupy the exact same world.
That having been said there were more than a few moments where I honestly believed Gynt on his way to redemption would encounter Faust on his way to damnation, both, the former stumbling and running the latter marching and proud, wending their way through a world where the divine (better:supernatural) is just below the surface of the world waiting to bless or condemn a man, often one then the other. The equal but opposite of the society that Ibsen routinely lambasted. The cynic in me says Ibsen was painting something like a Sartre 'No Exit' scenario, that there is no hope, or anything like it.
But the final scene, with the button moulder, with Gynt in the arms of Solveig, gives us something akin to hope, but not quite. I imagined the sun rising as the birds chirped their songs, Solveig herself at peace while Gynt, near his end whatever that will entail, driven to exhaustion, to death, with the agent of this fate, the button moulder just there, just waiting. Simply gorgeous. So not hope but, it seems, Ibsen doesn't answer the question of Gynt's fate with that, but with an ellipses trailing off. Namely, what we're left with is not a refuge in hope, but a refuge in ambiguity. Gynt could be judged to oblivion or given salvation, and the madness of it is that Ibsen leaves us right at the precipice where we either grow wings and fly or fall to something nice and Tarturus adjacent below.
It's brilliant, unwieldy, and something awesome, truly. Read it.
November 23, 2020
Čista egzistencijalistička fenomenalština u formi dramskog epa iz pera norveškog pisca s kraja XIX veka. Peer (Peter) Gynt je arhetipski anti-heroj, i podosta od onoga što je i sam pisac bio, kako veli njegova biografija na kraju knjige. Vrlo mi je nalik Kulervu iz Kalevale, Ariostovom Besnom Orlandu, Tolkinovom Turinu Turambaru i potpuni je antipod Geteovom Faustu. Nakon što je rano ostao bez oca, koji je njega i majku ostavio u dugovima, Peer odrasta u, uslovno rečeno, mladog huligana koji ne brine ni o kome, osim da sebi udovolji. Što vrlo sekira njegovu majku, čime počinje prvi čin (od ukupno pet) ovog speva. Čitav je ep prožet deontološkim pitanjima, introspekcijom i egotizmom kroz koje prolazi anti-junak na svom životnom putu. Ibsen to gradi kroz jedan metaforično-fantazijski sled događaja unutar narednih činova: nakon zaludne otmice tuđe devojke na dan njenog venčanja, bega u odmetništvo negde u norveškim planinama, spoznaje da oni nisu jedno za drugo i proterivanja ukradene neveste od sebe, Peer doživljava metaforičan susret sa planinskim trolovima prerušenim u tri lepe devojke, koje ga opijaju, nakon čega on u udara glavom o stenu i ostaje da leži u nesvesti. Dok to stanje traje, Peer u snoviđenju odlazi u dvor planinskog trol-kralja, prateći devojku odevenu u zeleni ogrtač (kraljevu ćerku), zamamne spoljašnosti i oblina. Tamo doživljava prvi prelom na svom putu ka samospoznaji – nude mu da postane jedan od njih (trol), te da se odrekne spoljašnje lepote i odbaci sujetu bilo koje vrste, kako bi na kraju postao materijalno bogat. Peer odbija kompromis bilo koje vrste i time se snoviđenje ruši, dvori planinskog trol-kralja nestaju i on ostaje u tami svoje nesvesti i dalje. U tom mraku, susreće se sa stvorenjem Bøygen iz norveških legendi (pogrbljeni stvor, nalik na gnoma ili čvornovato drvo) sa kojim vodi vrlo interesantan dijalog, i koje, zapravo, predstavlja jedno od ključnih pojava u čitavom spevu, budući da u toj njihovoj raspravi, koja se svodi na nadmetanje u vidu Peerovog konstantnog insistiranja da mu Bøygen objasni ko je on, ustvari, a ovaj mu sve vreme odgovara – JA SÂM – I am what I am (potpuno identična fraza kao u sceni u Tolkinovom „Gospodaru prstena“ kada Frodo pita Goldberry, ženu Toma Bombadila ko je Tom, zapravo, a Goldberry odgovara – „He is what he is“), Peer na kraju dobija od Bøygena savet u formi jedne jedine reči: „zaobiđi“. I to će mu postati, maltene, životni moto: prokrastinacija kad god je to moguće. Na putu ka samospoznaji, Peer će proputovati, bezmalo, čitav svet, idući tragovima biblijskih hodočasnika, i proživljavajući različita iskušenja na tom putu („ne smočiti noge u rijeci vremena i ostati u cjelosti svoj“). Da bi se na kraju vratio, nakon mnogo decenija, bogat, ali star, u svoj rodni, siromašni, norveški kraj. No, ni tu se ne završava Peerov egotistički momenat, i brzo će mu biti jasno kako još uvek nije spoznao ko je on, zapravo. Simbolično, nakon što je posle brodoloma, stupio na tle svoje rodne kuće, zatiče tamo ljude okupljene oko pogreba nekog čoveka koga ne poznaje, i istovremeno aukcije svih stvari koje je on nekada posedovao. Međutim, Ibsen tu ponovo poseže za metaforom, i upliće Peera u igru sa sopstvenom savešću, koja ga, slično kao Fausta, iskušava božjiim izaslanikom (otelotvorenom u liku dugmara koji ima da Peerovu dušu pretopi i izlije u neko novo dugme, jer „ovo njegovo nema rupica kojima bi se pričvrstilo za nečiji kaput“) ali i đavolom (koji mu se prikazuje kao mršavi isposnik, koga jedino dugi crni nokti i koziji papci odaju), gde u tom magnovenju i unutrašnjem sukobu, Peer shvata da sopstveni usud ne može da zaobiđe (kao sve čemu je u životu izvrdao, vodeći se Bøygenovim savetom) i, upravo, susret sa ženom koju je odbacio u ranoj mladosti, a koja ga je čekala sve to vreme (kao Morwen Hurina kod Tolkina) predstavlja njegov spas, jer je u jurnjavi za spoznajom sopstvenog ega odbacio ljubav kao jedan od činilaca kojim se ta spoznaja može okončati. Spev se simbolično završava rečenicom koju izgovara božiji izaslanik: „srešćemo se, Peere, na poslednjem raskršću, a onda ćemo videti da li ćeš i tada...“ Jako kompleksna drama koja tera na razmišljanje i prerazmišljavanje, i koja se može sagledati iz nekoliko uglova – kao vid fantastične predstave inspirisane norveškim folklorom (ako se odbace sve ove metafore i alegorije) ili kao vid egzistencijalističke filozofije koja konstantno postavlja ono jedno pitanje na koje se ne može, možda, nikada odgovoriti – „ko sam ja?“
December 24, 2017
"Our age reminds one of the dissolution of the Greek city-state: Everything goes on as usual and yet there is no longer anyone who believes in it. The invisible spiritual bond which gives it validity, no longer exists, and so the whole age is at once comic and tragic--tragic because it is perishing, comic because it goes on." - Søren Kierkegaard
This was written before Ibsen decided to shift toward the genre he would pioneer--realism. This is one of the last of the major 19th century romantic works and it is also a verse play a la Richard II (the only other verse play I can think of off the top of my head). I am not big on that genre outside of Keats and Poe, and not even existentialism can change that (this seems to be one of the first fictional works to actually be influenced by an existentialist philosopher). This is the third work of Ibsen I have read and definitely the earliest. It is not a bad play, but my expectations of of Ibsen are much higher than they would have been if I had read this play as my introduction to him.
Peer Gynt, the Norwegian folk legend, is turned into a Kierkegaardian "aesthetic-man" that goes on a near nihilistic binder because he cannot answer the simple fact of what he is or what his purpose is. He does whatever he wants to whoever he wants whenever he wants for years, never truly being punished or fully-rewarded. Gynt is a strangely deranged, but extremely crafty man, bordering on sociopathic. The play starts in Norway, but touches much of society around the world and comments a lot on Scandinavian politics of the time. Ironically, it was written while Ibsen was living in the newly-minted country of Italy, before he moved back to Norway.
This was written before Ibsen decided to shift toward the genre he would pioneer--realism. This is one of the last of the major 19th century romantic works and it is also a verse play a la Richard II (the only other verse play I can think of off the top of my head). I am not big on that genre outside of Keats and Poe, and not even existentialism can change that (this seems to be one of the first fictional works to actually be influenced by an existentialist philosopher). This is the third work of Ibsen I have read and definitely the earliest. It is not a bad play, but my expectations of of Ibsen are much higher than they would have been if I had read this play as my introduction to him.
Peer Gynt, the Norwegian folk legend, is turned into a Kierkegaardian "aesthetic-man" that goes on a near nihilistic binder because he cannot answer the simple fact of what he is or what his purpose is. He does whatever he wants to whoever he wants whenever he wants for years, never truly being punished or fully-rewarded. Gynt is a strangely deranged, but extremely crafty man, bordering on sociopathic. The play starts in Norway, but touches much of society around the world and comments a lot on Scandinavian politics of the time. Ironically, it was written while Ibsen was living in the newly-minted country of Italy, before he moved back to Norway.
April 7, 2021
... o meu gosto pelas aventuras marinhas, a capacidade de adaptação e de improviso, e o prazer de estar orgulhosamente só, devo tudo isso a Portugal.
March 8, 2025
الهام برانگيز، پر از نماد و نشونه و تاثیرگذار. یک دنیا با دوتا نمایشنامه قبلی که از ایبسن خوندم تفاوت داشت، انگار که عروسک خانه و خانه اشباحش داستان کوتاه باشن و پرگنت یک رمان بلند. هر جملش برام یک الهامه برای کشیدن یه نقاشی جدید، هر روز روز تو مترو برگشت تیکه تیکه خوندمش، براهمین به مرور used شد، گوشه هاش ور اومد، بعضی جاها برخلاف رویه همیشگیم گوشه کاغذاشو تا کردم تا بعضی صفحه هاش یادم بمونه و هرجا هایلایتر دم دستم بود وسط تکونای شدید مترو روی بعضی دیالوگ ها خط میکشیدم. برای همین حس میکنم باهاش یک عمر خاطره دارم... آخرش مثل پرگنت پیر و پشیمون، خسته و فرسوده شدم، دنبال معجزه گشتم و پیداش کردم.
۵ ستاره ای که حس میکنم باید بارها دوباره خوانی شه
۵ ستاره ای که حس میکنم باید بارها دوباره خوانی شه
October 8, 2014
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 30, 2022
Αχ... Ο παραμυθάς ο Peer Gynt, ο πολυμήχανος, ασυμβίβαστος κατεργάρης που ανακάτεψε ανθρώπους και ξωτικά, χωρικούς και βασιλιάδες, περιπλανήθηκε, ερωτεύτηκε, αμάρτησε. Ψεύτης ή ονειροπόλος, Οδυσσέας ή Μυνχάουζεν; Πόσοι άραγε τον κουβαλάμε μέσα μας ή -ακόμα χειρότερα- πόσοι θα θέλαμε να του μοιάσουμε;
Το εμβληματικό αυτό επικό ποίημα που ξεχειλίζει Νορβηγία από κάθε στίχο και κάθε νότα (επιβεβλημένη η μουσική συνοδεία από το ομώνυμο έργο του Edvard Grieg) είναι μια ωδή στο ανθρώπινο πάθος, την αναζήτηση των ονείρων και την κατάρρευσή τους.
5/5 φυσικά.
Το εμβληματικό αυτό επικό ποίημα που ξεχειλίζει Νορβηγία από κάθε στίχο και κάθε νότα (επιβεβλημένη η μουσική συνοδεία από το ομώνυμο έργο του Edvard Grieg) είναι μια ωδή στο ανθρώπινο πάθος, την αναζήτηση των ονείρων και την κατάρρευσή τους.
5/5 φυσικά.
December 9, 2021
Okay this one is a little too big a size for Ibsen's plays. It moves to and fro between reality, fantasy and dream worlds crazily. The question of identity seems an important theme. If you are a human; and being considerate of other humans is a neccesary characterstic of humanity; can you be yourself when you follow your instincts without having that consideration? Peer Gynt can lie, use women and then abandon them without any remorse, cheat people, tell tall tails etc while claiming that he is being himself - only to learn he never was himself in the end. He seems a bit like the main character of Mikhail Lermontov's A Hero of Our Times' in that the author (in this case the dramtist) endows him with vices he finds most common to his times coupling them with romantically attractive qualities (good looks, ideals like going around or being oneself etc in this case) that are of little value to anyone else but the titular character himself.
November 19, 2021
یکی از عجیبترین کارهای ایبسن بود که شباهتی به هیچکدوم از کارهای دیگهش نداشت! تنها چیزی که ذهن من رو خیلی مشغول کرده بود، اینه که مثل نمایشنامهی «پرندهی آبی»، این نمایشنامه چطور روی صحنه اجرا خواهد شد! صحنههای پرشمار، دکورهای متنوع و عناصر فانتزی دخیل، مثل صحبت کردن برگ و شبنم و... یا نقش داشتن یک گربه! برخی نمایشنامهها برای خواندن نوشته میشن و میشه عدم توانایی اجراشون رو درک کرد، اما این نمایشنامه برای اجرای صحنهای نوشته شده و بارها نیز اجرا داشته!
در کنار همهی اینها، از ترجمهی استاد بهزاد قادری هم نباید گذشت... من نسخهی سابق پرگنت رو خوندم که انتشارات قطره چاپ کرده بود، و نه نسخهی جدیدتری که با همین ترجمه انتشارات بیدگل چاپ کرده، اما شاید اگر تحقیقات و کنجکاوی آقای قادری نبود، فهم این نمایشنامه برای یه خوانندهی ایرانی ناممکن میشد.
در کنار همهی اینها، از ترجمهی استاد بهزاد قادری هم نباید گذشت... من نسخهی سابق پرگنت رو خوندم که انتشارات قطره چاپ کرده بود، و نه نسخهی جدیدتری که با همین ترجمه انتشارات بیدگل چاپ کرده، اما شاید اگر تحقیقات و کنجکاوی آقای قادری نبود، فهم این نمایشنامه برای یه خوانندهی ایرانی ناممکن میشد.
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