Chapter 9 Crack of Two Forces - 1

Liberated from this colossal work, Michelangelo is glorious, fragmented.Drawing Sistine's zenith with his head up for many years, "he damaged his eyes so much that after a long time, when he read a letter or saw a thing, he had to put them on the top of his head to see clearly."Vasari records. He used his own morbidity as material for jokes: "...my beard is turned toward the sky, my head is bent toward my shoulders, and my chest is like that of an owl. The color dripping from the brush, Forms a rich pattern on my face. tucked in toward the abdomen, The buttocks become scales, maintaining the balance of my whole body weight.

I can't see anymore, Walking also fumbled a few steps in vain. My flesh, elongated in front, shortened in the back, Like a Syrian bow. . . . "Volume IX of the Collection of Poems. This poem, written in a playful mood, was composed in July, 1510. We should not be deceived by this jesting tone.Michelangelo suffered deeply for being so ugly.For a man like him, who loves physical beauty more than anyone else, ugliness is a shame.Henry Sauder made this point in his "Michelangelo and the End of the Renaissance" (1902, Berlin), taking Michelle's character very accurately.In some of his love songs, we see his guilt. "...Since our Lord commits the body of man after death to the soul for everlasting peace or torment, I beseech him to keep my body, ugly though it be, in heaven and earth, by your side; Because a loving heart is at least as valuable as a beautiful face..." (Vol. 109, No. 93) His misery is all the more profound because he has been tormented by love all his life; and it seems he has never been reciprocated.So he reflected on himself and vented his warmth and pain in poetry.

He has composed poetry since childhood, it was his ardent need.His sketches, letters, and loose pages are covered with traces of his thought over and over again.Unfortunately, in 1518, he burned most of the poems of his youth; some were destroyed during his lifetime.But the few poems he left are enough to arouse people's conception of his enthusiasm.The first printing of Michelangelo's complete collection of poems was published in 1623 by his grand-nephew in Florence.This version is very wrong.In 1863, Cesare Guasti published the first almost correct edition in Ferrand.But the only completely scientific version is the one published in Berlin in 1897 by Dr. Carl Frye.This book shall prevail for references cited in this book.

The earliest poem seems to have been written at Ferencée around 1504: a battle of man and horse on the same page. "How happy I live, love, as long as I can successfully resist your madness! Now I am pitiful! I am in tears, I feel your strength..." Volume 2 of the collection of poems. From 1504 to 1511, or that is, two love poems written to the same woman, what a sad confession: "Who forced me to throw myself at you... 噫! 噫! 噫!..." Poetry Volume Fives. "How can I not be mine anymore? Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" Poems Vol. On the back of a letter from Bologna in December 1507 is the following sonnet, in which a sensual confession recalls the image of Botticelli: How happy is it upon her golden hair! Who could be the first to kiss her, as flowers caress her brow? Lucky is the gown that ties her bosom all day long. The golden hair never tires Rushing over her cheeks and neck. The sash of gold silk gently presses her breasts, and its luck is even more precious. The sash seems to say: 'I will gird her forever...' Ah!

In a long, intimate poem of a confessional nature, dated 1531-1532, according to Frey, but I think earlier - hard to quote here fully -Michelangelo recounted the misery of his love in particularly indulgent words: "I don't see you for a day, and I can't find peace everywhere. When I see you, it's like a hungry person meets food... When you Smile at me, or salute me in the street... I burn like gunpowder... You talk to me, I blush, my voice loses its shape, my desire dies suddenly..." Poetry Volume 36 . Then came a cry of pain: "Ah! infinite pain, my heart breaks when I think of how much I love who never loves me! How to live? . . . " Poems, vol. thirteen.Another famous love poem, set to music by the composer Bartolomeo Tromboncino before 1518, also from the same period: "My dear, if I cannot ask Your aid, how could I have the courage to live without you? Moaning, weeping, sighing. My poor heart follows you, madam, and shows you the death I soon face, and my sufferings. But parting can never make me forget my devotion to you, and I keep my heart with you: my heart is no longer mine." (Vol. XI) Well, he wrote next to the Madonna painting in the Medici family temple: "The sun shines on the world, and I suffer alone in the dark. Everyone is happy, and I, down on the ground, soaked in In pain, moaning, howling." Anthology of Poems Volume 22.