“Lasciate Ogne Speranza, Voi Ch’Intrate,” a level from Bungie’s 1993 video game Pathways into Darkness.
“Inferno is the third episode in Doom/The Ultimate Doom. All of the levels in this episode are credited to Sandy Petersen, though Tom Hall originally began two of them.
This episode is set in Hell, possibly the inner region of Hell. The episode is apparently named after Inferno, part of Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy. “Inferno” also means “hell” in several languages. Most of these levels have a main, center room that can be easily identified, usually circular or square in shape.” –“Inferno,” Doom Wiki, August 9, 2019
Learn more about Doom, id Software’s 1993 first-person shooter video game, here.
A reference in LucasArts’ 1993 graphic adventure video game Day of the Tentacle: when playing as Bernard, the dialogue with the cigar salesman cycles through mentions of a few famous figures, including the poet.
The Simpsons’ “Treehouse of Horror IV” (S05E05): after losing his soul to the devil in a bargain over a donut, Homer is subjected to punishments in Hell’s “Ironic Punishments Division,” where the demon in charge of force-feeding him donuts is astonished at his capacity.
See a clip from the episode on YouTube.
See also the action figure released by MacFarlane Toys (pictured below).
Ohio-born poet William Matthews’s “Grief” (from the 1995 collection Time and Money) originally appeared in the November 29, 1993, issue of the New Yorker, with the title “Poem Ending With a Line From Dante” (accessible in the New Yorker archives, sign in required). In both versions, the poem ends with a translation of Inferno 24.151. Below is the version from Time and Money, with an image of the original publication in the New Yorker.
E detto l’ho perché doler ti debbia!
Inferno, xxiv, 151
Snow coming in parallel to the street,
a cab spinning its tires (a rising whine
like a domestic argument, and then
the words get said that never get forgot),
slush and backed-up runoff waters at each
corner, clogged buses smelling of wet wool . . .
The acrid anger of the homeless swells
like wet rice. This slop is where I live, bitch,
a sogged panhandler shrieks to whom it may
concern. But none of us slows down for scorn;
there’s someone’s misery in all we earn.
But like a bur in a dog’s coat his rage
has borrowed legs. We bring it home. It lives
like kin among the angers of the house,
and leaves the same sharp zinc taste in the mouth:
And I have told you this to make you grieve.