Word: ibsen
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Boyg. Playwright Henrik Ibsen is to the Norse what Playwright William Shakespeare is to the British. In his play Peer Gynt, Ibsen's hero, a rustic, wastrel Hamlet, tussles furiously but unsuccessfully with an unseen presence called the Boyg, which may be construed as Peer Gynt's conscience, his better self. The Boyg is also construed as a dominant power in the Norse soul, an ingrained instinct for decency and conservatism against which immorality or forces for change cannot prevail. On many lips last week as the Falkenhorst talons closed on lower Norway was the question whether...
...00The War This Week--Henry Oyen. 8:15 Gilbert and Sullivan's "Mikado." 9:00 Excerpts from Ibsen's "Peer Gynt." Produced by the 41 Workshop. 9:15 Play It Again.--Popular Music. 9:45 Masters of Music--Sibelius' En Saga, 5th Symphony in E Flat Major, Opus 82 and three songs by Marian Anderson. 10:45 Crimson News, Sports, Interview...
...capacity audience crowded Emerson D last night to hear John Mason Brown '23, dramatic critic of the New York "Evening Post" and lecturer at the Summer School, speak on Hendrik Ibsen, the revolutionary Nineteenth century dramatist...
...middle names are Augustine Aloysius; he used to sign himself Jas. A. Joyce. During his first visit to Paris, when he was 20, he often had no food for 40 hours at a stretch, was speechless with toothache when he did eat. At around 19, under the influence of Ibsen, he wrote a five-act play-lost-which he dedicated to his own soul. (His father, reading that in bed one night, bawled "Holy Paul!") Passing the Arc de Triomphe, Valery Larbaud asked him how long he thought the Eternal Flame would burn. "Until the Unknown Soldier gets...
...Joyce's own writing the book contains, among other things: several of his letters to English Publisher Grant Richards over Dubliners-as shriveling a statement of the artist-publisher situation as has ever seen print; an extraordinarily beautiful letter he wrote to Ibsen when he was 19; two invective poems which suggest Swift's and are quite as good. One of them, addressed to the Dublin littérateurs he held in such contempt, ends with these proud lines...