INFERNO, Episode 39. Dante Is The Poet Who Stands Between The Classical And Modern Worlds: Inferno, Canto VIII, Lines 7 - 30

We’ve come across a break in the poem. Or have we? I’d like to do several things in this episode. I’d like to present reasons why my notion—sort of—that there’s a break in the poem may not be right. I realize this might be a little confusing. Isn’t someone supposed to hold to the correctness of their own reading? I think not.

I’d also like a posit a question about our poet’s position in the history of Western thought. Maybe thinking of him as a medieval on the cusp of the Renaissance isn’t actually all that helpful.

Finally, I love this passage because on the shores of Styx, in the fifth circle of the wrathful, Dante-the-poet finally solves the question of the pilgrim’s corporeality—and I think settles (bodily?) into the poem that he’s writing.

Here’s my English translation of this passage from Inferno: Canto VIII, Lines 7 – 30 (well, actually, going back to line 1 and then continuing on):

[Continuing on, I say that well before

We got to the foot of that high tower,

Our eyes had already been directed toward its top,

Drawn by two flames that flickered up there,

And another that answered from so far away,

Our eyes could barely make it out.]

Turning to that sea of all that can be known,

I said, “What’s this one saying? And what does

That other flame respond? And who are the ones who made it?”

And he to me: “You can already see

Over the greasy waters what we are expecting,

If the miasma from the swamp doesn’t hide it from you.”

No bow ever shot an arrow

That flew through the air so fast

As the pipsqueak boat I saw coming toward us,

Skimming along on the water,

Under the hand of a single oarsman,

Who hollered, “Now I’ve got you, you foul soul!”

“Phlegyas, Phlegyas, you shout for no use,”

Said my leader, “in this instance—

You will have us no longer than the time it takes to cross over this swamp.”

Like one who learns he’s been taken in by a big scheme

And is eaten up with resentment,

So was Phleygas in his trapped rage.

My leader stepped down into the boat,

And he made me step in with him,

And only when I did, did the boat seem to be laden.

As soon as my leader and I were on board,

The ancient prow cut deeper in the water,

More than it did when it transported others.