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katemyers222


Someday I hope to say something interesting about this book beyond “have read, story intersection at x”. But alas, today is not that day.


However, I found something that I haven’t heard discussed. So I’m putting it online before I dig around and skew my current view. I did check Wikipedia first.


When Odysseus washes up on the shore’s of Nausikaa’s far flung land, she is noted as the fairest of the princess running at the their sports.


“Now the princess threw the ball toward one handmaiden, and missed the girl, and the ball went into the swirling water, and they all cried out aloud, and noble Odysseus wakened and sat up”

He comes out of the water, “he appeared terrifying to them, all crusted with dry spray;”


And introduces himself before they make a plan to go up to the palace. She goes first, he follows, finding them at table, and he casts himself in the ashes of the hearth.


“Alkinoös, this is not the better way, nor is it fitting that the stranger should sit on the ground beside the hearth, in the ashes,. These others are holding back because they await your order. But come, raise the stranger up and seat him on a silver-studded chair, and tell your heralds to mix in more wine for us,”

The king criticizes his daughter,

“My friend, here is one proper thought that my daughter was not aware of, when she failed to bring you, with her attendants, here to our house. It was she to whom you first came as a suppliant.'”

Soon after he is sent home and wakes up on the shores of Ithaca where Athena meets him and enchants him, changing him for a tramp.


Then he meets Eumaios, the swine herd, who is still grieving his Odysseus’s loss, “For here I sit mourning and grieving away for a godlike master…”


Telemachus enters the next book and Eumaios greets him,

“ And as a father, with heart full of love, welcomes his only and grown son, for whose sake he has undergone many hardships when he comes back in the tenth year from a distant country, so now the noble swineherd, clinging fast to godlike Telemachos, kissed him even as if he had escaped dying, and in a burst of weeping he spoke to him in winged words: You have come, Telemachos, sweet light;”

Eventually Odysseus goes to his own house, tricks everyone, and lays a trap conquering the suitors and returning to his bride.

But it is only when she suggests the marriage bed be brought out that the final enchantment falls away and she believes the man in front of her is her husband and not a god trying to entrap her like Helen. Odysseus proves it by describing the bed he made for them.


It is all much like the Frog Prince or Iron Henry. A young princess looses her ball in a well and it is given back by a frog under the condition that she be his companion always. She says yes, but runs pack to the palace alone. The frog follows and her father, at table, insists she keep her word. The frog insists on sharing her dinner and then her bed, but in the Princess’s disgust she throws the frog against the wall breaking an enchantment on a very handsome prince.  They marry.


After the wedding they drive away, and hear the snapping of iron three times and each time the driver says it was a bar wrapped round his heart when he thought his master was lost forever.


I never understood the second half of the tale  Why was it there? But alongside the Odyssey it makes perfect sense with Eumaios (or even Laertes, and Dolios).


Anyway, connection spotted.


I used the Fagles translation read by Sir Ian McKellan which is a pure delight. You can hear the warmth of the record it was made on.


My hard copy was Lattimore’s translation and it seems more wordy, but that is an opinion, not fact. Fagles flows well.


-Further Up and Further In

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katemyers222

Finally, Lord who are God and not flesh and blood – even if human insight perceived less than truth, surely whatever you were intending to reveal to your later readers by those words could not be hidden from your good Spirit who lead me into the right land.

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katemyers222
The pleasure which moderns chiefly desire from printed poetry is ruled out anyway. You cannot ponder over single lines and let them dissolve on the mind like lozenges. - CSL. Preface to Paradise Lost

On this note, let’s consider the villanelle. A form that ponders over a single line until they dissolve into a kind of thudding in the chest.

I love them. And here is where I admit to being able to enjoy things as moderns do. The goal is onward. Words for another time.



The most famous is Thomas’s pounding Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, not the original, but possibly the peak.



"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night.


Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way

,Do not go gentle into that good night.


Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."



This is the dance of two lines - First meeting across a stanza and then taking in turn their promenade before meeting finally at the end. Usually in a turn that beats like coffin nails, the nell of death, a final tragedy.



A personal favorite, Elizabeth Bishop’s One Art. The pounding turns to pull and swirls in pulsing time towards that greater loss.


"The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.


Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.


Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.


I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.


I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.


—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster."



I hope that it will turn in time and speak of greater eternity, the greater hopes and dreams of the Christian heart.



My own: Obedience

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