From nauplion@charm.net Fri Jul 21 13:56:27 2000 Received: from mxu3.u.washington.edu (mxu3.u.washington.edu [140.142.33.7]) by lists.u.washington.edu (8.9.3+UW00.05/8.9.3+UW99.09) with ESMTP id NAA40296 for ; Fri, 21 Jul 2000 13:56:26 -0700 Received: from fellspt.charm.net (root@fellspt.charm.net [199.0.70.29]) by mxu3.u.washington.edu (8.9.3+UW00.02/8.9.3+UW99.09) with ESMTP id NAA31345 for ; Fri, 21 Jul 2000 13:56:25 -0700 Received: from charm.net (coretel-116-198.charm.net [209.143.116.198]) by fellspt.charm.net (8.9.3/8.9.3) with ESMTP id QAA00875 for ; Fri, 21 Jul 2000 16:56:21 -0400 (EDT) Message-ID: <3978B6E1.3C93D8F1@charm.net> Date: Fri, 21 Jul 2000 16:47:35 -0400 From: Diana Wright X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.7 [en]C-DIAL (Win95; U) X-Accept-Language: en,el,tr MIME-Version: 1.0 To: "classics@u.washington.edu" Subject: Odyssey Poetry Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="------------8870A8077BC6A656CF8CCA89" --------------8870A8077BC6A656CF8CCA89 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Louise Gluck, in Meadowlands, has a number of Odyssey-related poems. Here are a few. DW ITHAKA The beloved doesn't need to live. The beloved lives in the head. The loom is for the suitors, strung up like a harp with white shroud-thread. He was two people. He was the body and voice, the easy magnetism of a living man, and then the unfolding dream or image shaped by the woman working the loom sitting there in a hall filled with literal-minded men. As you pity the deceived sea that tried to take him away forever and took only the first, the actual husband, you must pity these men: they don't know what they're looking at; they don't know that when one loves this way the shroud becomes a wedding dress. TELEMACHUS' GUILT Patience of the sort my mother practices on my father (which in his self- absorption he mistook for tribute though it was in fact a species of rage--didn't he ever wonder why he was so blocked in expressing his native abandon?); it infected my childhood. Patiently she fed me; patiently she supervised the kindly slaves who attended me, regardless of my behavior, an assumption I tested with increasing violence. It seemed clear to me that from her perspective I didn't exist, since my actions had no power to disturb her: I was the envy of my playmates. In the decades that followed I was proud of my father for staying away even if he stayed away for the wrong reasons; I used to smile when my mother wept. I hope now she could forgive that cruelty; I hope she understood how like her own coldness it was, a means of remaining separate from what one loves deeply. ODYSSEUS' DECISION The great man turns his back on the island. Now he will not die in paradise nor hear again the lutes of paradise among the olive trees, by the clear pools under the cypresses. Time begins now, in which he hears again that pulse which is the narrative sea, at dawn when its pull is strongest. What has brought us here will lead us away; our ship sways in the tinted harbor water. Now the spell is ended. Give him back his life, sea that can only move forward. REUNION When Odysseus has returned at last unrecognizable to Ithaca and killed the suitors swarming the throne room, very delicately he signals Telemachus to depart: as she stood twenty years ago, he stands now before Penelope. On the palace floor, wide bands of sunlight turning from gold to red. He tells her nothing of those years, choosing to speak instead exclusively of small things, as would be the habit of a man and woman long together: once she sees who he is, she will know what he's done. And as he speaks, ah, tenderly he touches her forearm. CIRCE'S POWER I never turned anyone into a pig. Some people are pigs; I make them look like pigs. I'm sick of your world that lets the outside disguise the inside. Your men weren't bad men; undisciplined life did that to them. As pigs under the care of me and my ladies, they sweetened right up. Then I reversed the spell, showing you my goodness as well as my power. I saw we could be happy here, as men and women are when their needs are simple. In the same breath, I foresaw your departure, your men with my help braving the crying and pounding sea. You think a few tears upset me? My friend, every sorceress is a pragmatist at heart; nobody sees essence who can't face limitation. If I wanted only to hold you I could hold you prisoner. --------------8870A8077BC6A656CF8CCA89 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Louise Gluck, in Meadowlands, has a number of Odyssey-related poems.  Here are a few.

DW
 

 ITHAKA

The beloved doesn't
need to live.  The beloved
lives in the head.  The loom
is for the suitors, strung up
like a harp with white shroud-thread.

He was two people.
He was the body and voice, the easy
magnetism of a living man, and then
the unfolding dream or image
shaped by the woman working the loom
sitting there in a hall filled
with literal-minded men.

As you pity
the deceived sea that tried
to take him away forever
and took only the first,
the actual husband, you must
pity these men: they don't know
what they're looking at;
they don't know that when one loves this way
the shroud becomes a wedding dress.
 
 

TELEMACHUS' GUILT

Patience of the sort my mother
practices on my father
(which in his self-
absorption he mistook
for tribute though it was in fact
a species of rage--didn't he
ever wonder why he was
so blocked in expressing
his native abandon?); it infected
my childhood.  Patiently
she fed me; patiently
she supervised the kindly
slaves who attended me, regardless
of my behavior, an assumption
I tested with increasing
violence.  It seemed clear to me
that from her perspective
I didn't exist, since
my actions had
no power to disturb her: I was
the envy of my playmates.
In the decades that followed
I was proud of my father
for staying away
even if he stayed away for
the wrong reasons;
I used to smile
when my mother wept.
I hope now she could
forgive that cruelty; I hope
she understood how like
her own coldness it was,
a means of remaining
separate from what
one loves deeply.
 

ODYSSEUS' DECISION

The great man turns his back on the island.
Now he will not die in paradise
nor hear again
the lutes of paradise among the olive trees,
by the clear pools under the cypresses.  Time

begins now, in which he hears again
that pulse which is the narrative
sea, at dawn when its pull is strongest.
What has brought us here
will lead us away; our ship
sways in the tinted harbor water.

Now the spell is ended.
Give him back his life,
sea that can only move forward.
 

REUNION

When Odysseus has returned at last
unrecognizable to Ithaca and killed
the suitors swarming the throne room,
very delicately he signals Telemachus
to depart: as she stood twenty years ago,
he stands now before Penelope.
On the palace floor, wide bands of sunlight turning
from gold to red.  He tells her
nothing of those years, choosing to speak instead
exclusively of small things, as would be
the habit of a man and woman long together:
once she sees who he is, she will know what he's done.
And as he speaks, ah,
tenderly he touches her forearm.
 
 

CIRCE'S POWER

I never turned anyone into a pig.
Some people are pigs; I make them
look like pigs.

I'm sick of your world
that lets the outside disguise the inside.

Your men weren't bad men;
undisciplined life
did that to them.  As pigs

under the care of
me and my ladies, they
sweetened right up.

Then I reversed the spell,
showing you my goodness
as well as my power.  I saw

we could be happy here,
as men and women are
when their needs are simple.  In the same breath,

I foresaw your departure,
your men with my help braving
the crying and pounding sea.  You think

a few tears upset me?  My friend,
every sorceress is
a pragmatist at heart; nobody
sees essence who can't
face limitation.  If I wanted only to hold you

I could hold you prisoner.

  --------------8870A8077BC6A656CF8CCA89-- .