From RickyT@drmworld.com Fri Dec 21 07:34:00 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 fBLFXxn63664 for ; Fri, 21 Dec 2001 07:33:59 -0800 Received: FROM mxu3.u.washington.edu BY mailscan4.cac.washington.edu ; Fri Dec 21 07:33:58 2001 -0800 Received: from saltlakeserver.drmworld.com (www.drmworld.com [63.226.96.21]) by mxu3.u.washington.edu (8.12.1+UW01.12/8.12.1+UW01.12) with ESMTP id fBLFXvm1023877 for ; Fri, 21 Dec 2001 07:33:58 -0800 content-class: urn:content-classes:message Subject: RE: Odysseus Old MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----_=_NextPart_001_01C18A34.F9098DC0" Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 08:34:26 -0700 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft Exchange V6.0.4712.0 Message-ID: <01FD4CF3A9E0D311839A0050DAB9D875040CEE@saltlakeserver.drmworld.com> X-MS-Has-Attach: X-MS-TNEF-Correlator: From: "Ricky Torrey" To: This is a multi-part message in MIME format. ------_=_NextPart_001_01C18A34.F9098DC0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Dear Diana, Thanks for posting this - I really enjoyed reading it! Regards, Ricky -----Original Message----- From: Diana Wright [mailto:dgw1@nyu.edu] Sent: Thursday, December 20, 2001 4:42 PM To: Classics Subject: Odysseus Old Odysseus Old =20 =20 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 =20 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 =20 fascination: long months mapping the pale shores of her skin, the smooth peninsulas, the inlets; then the road into her frailer =20 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 =20 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? =20 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? =20 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, =20 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. =20 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 =20 twitch and clutch, and with some inward sight she weaves and unweaves me, her days, this night. =20 =20 =20 by Geoffrey Brock, from the Autumn 1999 Hudson Review ------_=_NextPart_001_01C18A34.F9098DC0 Content-Type: text/html; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable

Dear=20 Diana,

Thanks=20 for posting this - I really enjoyed reading it!

Regards,

Ricky

-----Original Message-----
From: Diana Wright=20 [mailto:dgw1@nyu.edu]
Sent: Thursday, December 20, 2001 4:42 = PM
To: Classics
Subject: Odysseus = Old

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 = 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=20 how 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=20 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=20 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=20 sight

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

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

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