ΓΙΑ ΤΗ ΜΕΛΑΓΧΟΛΙΑ

 Ο ΜΕΛΑΓΧΟΛΙΚΟΣ

«Ορίζοντας έτσι θολά και πρόχειρα την έννοια, λέμε πως είναι μελαγχολικός καθένας που είναι άκεφος, θλιμμένος, ξινός, κατσούφης, κακοδιάθετος, μοναχικός, που νιώθει ταραχή ή δυσαρέσκεια για κάποιο λόγο. Και δεν υπάρχει, βέβαια, άνθρωπος που ζει και που δε δοκιμάζει αυτό το συναίσθημα, ούτε ο στωικός ούτε ο σοφός ούτε ο ευτυχισμένος ούτε ο υπομονετικός ή ο θαρραλέος ούτε ο ευσεβής και ο θεόπνευστος, δε σώζεται κανείς’ όσο κυριαρχημένος και να ΄ναι κάποιος, λίγο ή πολύ, αργά ή γρήγορα, θα νιώσει το λεπίδι της.»

Ρόμπερτ Μπέρτον, «Η ανατομία της μελαγχολίας». Εκδ. Ηριδανός.

        Albrecht Dürer Melencolia I 1514

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Κ. Π. Καβάφης

Μελαγχολία του Ιάσονος Κλεάνδρου· ποιητού εν Kομμαγηνή· 595 μ.X.               

Το γήρασμα του σώματος και της μορφής μου

είναι πληγή από φρικτό μαχαίρι.

Δεν έχω εγκαρτέρησι καμιά.

Εις σε προστρέχω Τέχνη της Ποιήσεως,

που κάπως ξέρεις από φάρμακα·

νάρκης του άλγους δοκιμές, εν Φαντασία και Λόγω.

Είναι πληγή από φρικτό μαχαίρι.—

Τα φάρμακά σου φέρε Τέχνη της Ποιήσεως,

που κάμνουνε —για λίγο— να μη νοιώθεται η πληγή.

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Edvard Munch, Melancholy. 1891

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 Ode on Melancholy

By John Keats

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist

       Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;

Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd

       By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;

               Make not your rosary of yew-berries,

       Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be

               Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl

A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;

       For shade to shade will come too drowsily,

               And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall

       Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,

That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,

       And hides the green hill in an April shroud;

Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,

       Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,

               Or on the wealth of globed peonies;

Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,

       Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,

               And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;

       And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

       Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:

Ay, in the very temple of Delight

       Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,

               Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue

       Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;

His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,

               And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

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Giorgio de Chirico. Mystery and Melancholy of a Street. 1914.

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Come to me my melancholy baby cuddle up and don't feel blue All your fears are foolish fancy maybe you know dear that I'm in love with you Every cloud must have a silver lining waited until that sun shines through Smile my honey dear while I kiss away each tear or else I shall be melancholy too Come sweetheart mine don't sit and pine Tell me of the cares that make you feel so blue What have I done answer me hon have I ever said an unkind word to you My love is true and just for you I'd do almost anything at anytime Dear when you sigh or when you cry something seems to grip this very heart of mine come to me my melancholy baby cuddle up and don't feel blue All your fears are foolish fancy maybe you know dear that I'm in love with you Every cloud must have a silver lining waited until that sun shines through Smile my honey dear while I kiss away each tear or else I shall be melancholy too.