ξέπλαθα

altan

Member
Hi friends,

... όλα ζύμη μαλακιά και την έπλαθα, την ξέπλαθα, όπως μου κανοναρχούσε το κέφι μου, ....

:confused: ξέπλαθα
 

daeman

Administrator
Staff member
...
According to word formation, the verb ξεπλάθω is the opposite of πλάθω (knead, in this case with dough):

ξε- :πρόθημα· συνήθ.: I. σε ρήματα και τα παράγωγά τους δηλώνει: 1. την αντίθετη ενέργεια από αυτή που εκφράζει η πρωτότυπη λέξη: ξεβολεύω, ξεδιψώ, ξεζαλίζω, ξεκλειδώνω, ξεκουρντίζω, ξεσφίγγω, ξεστρώνω, ξεφουσκώνω· ξεβόλεμα, ξεκλείδωμα· ξεκλείδωτος, ξεκούραστος.


Since we cannot actually *unknead or *deknead dough, though, I think its use here is influenced by the fact that we sometimes repeat a verb together with its opposite to show a constant or endless repetition of an action e.g. όλη νύχτα έγραφα κι έσβηνα, όλο πας κι έρχεσαι, συνέχεια μπαινοβγαίνεις, ράβε-ξήλωνε (δουλειά να μη σου λείπει):

 

daeman

Administrator
Staff member
...
Hold on, Altan. At first I thought it was literal, but the penny just dropped:

«Έγραφα και καμάρωνα, ήμουν θεός κι έκανα ό,τι ήθελα, μετουσίωνα την πραγματικότητα, την έπλαθα όπως θα ’θελα και θα ‘πρεπε να ‘ναι, έσμιγα αξεδιάλυτα αλήθειες και ψευτιές, δεν υπήρχαν πια αλήθειες και ψευτιές, όλα ζύμη μαλακιά και την έπλαθα, την ξέπλαθα, όπως μου κανοναρχούσε το κέφι μου, λεύτερα, χωρίς να πάρω κανενός την άδεια. Υπάρχει φαίνεται μια αβεβαιότητα πιο σίγουρη από τη βεβαιότητα· μα η μια από αυτές βρίσκεται ένα πάτωμα πιο ψηλά από το ισόγειο κατασκεύασμα του ανθρώπου που το λέμε αλήθεια.»


Since πλάθω is used figuratively here, I think it could be rendered with something like "... everything a soft dough, and I formed and deformed it as my whim dictated, freely, without asking permission from anyone."
 

nickel

Administrator
Staff member
I think its use here is influenced by the fact that we sometimes repeat a verb together with its opposite to show a constant or endless repetition of an action

This is, spot on, the meaning intended here. And this is how Peter Bien translated this paragraph:

I swaggered as I wrote. Was I not God, doing as I pleased, transubstantiating reality, fashioning it as I should have liked it to be—as it should have been? I was joining truth and falsehood indissolubly together. No, there were no longer any such things as truth and falsehood; everything was a soft dough which I kneaded and rolled freely, according to the dictates of whim, without securing permission from anyone. Evidently there is an uncertainty which is more certain than certitude itself. But one of these is to be found a full story higher than that ground-level construction of humanity’s which goes by the name of truth.
 
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