From dgw1@nyu.edu Thu Dec 20 15:42:04 2001 Received: from mailscan4.cac.washington.edu (mailscan4.cac.washington.edu [140.142.33.15]) by lists.u.washington.edu (8.11.6+UW01.08/8.11.6+UW01.10) with SMTP id fBKNg3n41900 for ; Thu, 20 Dec 2001 15:42:03 -0800 Received: FROM mxu3.u.washington.edu BY mailscan4.cac.washington.edu ; Thu Dec 20 15:42:02 2001 -0800 Received: from e1g1.home.nyu.edu (E1G0.HOME.NYU.EDU [128.122.108.150]) by mxu3.u.washington.edu (8.12.1+UW01.12/8.12.1+UW01.12) with ESMTP id fBKNg1m1009066 for ; Thu, 20 Dec 2001 15:42:02 -0800 Received: from computer (localhost [127.0.0.1]) by e1g1.home.nyu.edu (8.10.1/8.10.1) with SMTP id fBKNfx202408 for ; Thu, 20 Dec 2001 18:41:59 -0500 (EST) Message-ID: <001201c189b0$29dd4160$5005a5d8@computer> From: "Diana Wright" To: "Classics" Subject: Odysseus Old Date: Thu, 20 Dec 2001 18:41:32 -0500 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----=_NextPart_000_000F_01C18985.F1EECFA0" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-Mailer: Microsoft Outlook Express 5.00.2615.200 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2615.200 This is a multi-part message in MIME format. ------=_NextPart_000_000F_01C18985.F1EECFA0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Odysseus Old In darker hours, I try recalling why I eft her. Gazing into wine, perhaps,=20 or at a girl, I'll call back that lost island of permanent sun, that woman immune to the passage of all that passes. Memory's a ragged sail, and years have faded to a wash of gasping fascination: long months mapping the pale shores of her skin, the smooth peninsulas, the inlets; then the road into her frailer interior. Calypso frail? She was. When told she had ot let me go, such tears! But loss couldn't mean for her what it does for us, I'd thought. How vain!. And how sincere my vanity! I was bored, and blessed or cursed to know Penelope still waited here. Such faithfulness: ambrosia-sweet at first, maddening later on. Wasn't she human? Didn't lack of water make her thirsty? And am I so weak, who float through this dry room nightly, dreaming water? If offered again-- but just what was I offered? And by whom? No matter. This one offers all a mortal can and more, and still this glooming. For how should I, who once was envied by every Ithacan, who have known with naked ears the song of sirens, and who now am neither sung to by beauty nor envied, be glad? I chose this, chose to slowly die. And chose the woman sleeping by that window, her grey hair silvering in the moon's weak light. Her eyes flicker beneath their lids. Her fingers twitch and clutch, and with some inward sight she weaves and unweaves me, her days, this night. by Geoffrey Brock, from the Autumn 1999 Hudson Review ------=_NextPart_000_000F_01C18985.F1EECFA0 Content-Type: text/html; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable

Odysseus Old

In darker hours, I try recalling = why

I eft her. Gazing into wine, = perhaps,=20

or at a girl, I'll call back that lost=20 island

of permanent sun, that woman immune to = the=20 passage

of all that passes. Memory's a ragged=20 sail,

and years have faded to a wash of=20 gasping

fascination: long months mapping the=20 pale

shores of her skin, the smooth=20 peninsulas,

the inlets; then the road into her=20 frailer

interior. Calypso frail? = She=20 was.

When told she had ot let me go, such=20 tears!

But loss couldn't mean for her what it=20 does

for us, I'd thought. How = vain!. And how=20 sincere

my vanity! I was bored, and = blessed or=20 cursed

to know Penelope still waited = here.

Such faithfulness: ambrosia-sweet = at=20 first,

maddening later on. Wasn't she=20 human?

Didn't lack of water make her = thirsty?

And am I so weak, who float through = this dry=20 room

nightly, dreaming water? If = offered=20 again--

but just what was I offered? And = by=20 whom?

No matter. This one offers all a = mortal=20 can

and more, and still this = glooming. For how=20 should I,

who once was envied by every = Ithacan,

who have known with naked ears the song = of=20 sirens,

and who now am neither sung to by = beauty nor=20 envied,

be glad? I chose this, chose to = slowly=20 die.

And chose the woman sleeping by that=20 window,

her grey hair silvering in the moon's = weak=20 light.

Her eyes flicker beneath their = lids. Her=20 fingers

twitch and clutch, and with some inward = sight

she weaves and unweaves me, her days, = this=20 night.

by Geoffrey Brock, from the Autumn 1999 = Hudson=20 Review

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