A poem about someone I’ve never met

Posted on May 12th, 2007 by GregPC.
Categories: Photography, Poems.

Tonight on Flickr
Following photos to comments to pools to new photos
I saw something wonderful:

DottieboBottie’s pictures
Hit me and amazed me; so clear and bright
And full of hope

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Robert Fagles translation of the Aeneid

Posted on April 2nd, 2007 by GregPC.
Categories: Reading, Poems, Books.

I’m reading Robert Fagles translation of the Aeneid and can’t help wanting to tell people how great it is.  Whenever I do though, people raise an eyebrow and nod politely.  “Yes,” they seem to say, “I’m sure it is - if you’re in school.”  This is too bad because it’s a really good story and Fagles makes it easy and exciting to read.

People seem to forget that the classics got to be classics because they’ve been read and enjoyed by people for hundreds - or in this case, thousands - of years.  Unfortunately, what we’re usually presented with are outdated translations that make the texts not only inaccessible but also, in some cases, laughable.

Here’s a passage - the opening of Book Two - from the Aeneid taken from MIT’s Internet Classics Archive, as translated by John Dryden:

All were attentive to the godlike man,

When from his lofty couch he thus began:

“Great queen, what you command me to relate

Renews the sad remembrance of our fate:

An empire from its old foundations rent,

And ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent;

A peopled city made a desart place;

All that I saw, and part of which I was:

Not ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear,

Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear.

And now the latter watch of wasting night,

And setting stars, to kindly rest invite;

But, since you take such int’rest in our woe,

And Troy’s disastrous end desire to know,

I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell

What in our last and fatal night befell.

The Internet Classics Archive | The Aeneid by Virgil

Now here’s the same passage from the Fagles translation:

Silence, All fell hushed, their eyes fixed on Aeneas now

as the founder of his people, high on a seat of honor,

set out on his story: “Sorrow, unspeakable sorrow,

my queen, you ask me to bring to life once more,

how the Greeks uprooted Troy in all her powers,

our kingdom mourned forever.  What horrors I saw,

a tragedy where I played a leading role myself.

Who could tell such things - not even a Myrmidon,

a Dolopian, or a comrade of iron-hearted Ulysses -

and still refrain from tears? And now, too

the dank night is sweeping down from the sky

and the setting stars incline our heads to sleep.

But if you long so deeply to know what we went through,

to hear, in brief, the last great agony of Troy,

much as I shudder at the memory of it all -

I shrank back in grief - I’ll try to tell it now . . .

The pace and prose of the Fagles version draws me in.  I’m constantly amazed by the story - its twists, its strength, its excitement.  What a pity it is that more people aren’t reading it.  Part of the problem, of course, is that sub par versions are forced on kids when they are young.  This can act as a vaccine, immunizing people against the wonder of these stories.

Do your self a favor and get a copy of this translation of the Aeneid.  At least sit in a bookstore and read Book Two (The Last Hours of Troy) and see if you don’t find yourself wanting to read more.

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A Poem about Shovels

Posted on March 20th, 2007 by GregPC.
Categories: Poems.

Shovels are simple tools
Too often overlooked

People that don’t use shovels
Don’t give them a second thought

To people that depend on shovels
A good one means a lot

If you take the time to think about shovels
You’ll appreciate them more

A handle that’s strong and provides good leverage
A shaft that’s thick enough to get your hands around
A head that’s the right size and shape for the job
A blade that cuts through the soil easily

In their racks, against the wall at Home Depot
Shovels are mute

In your garage or shed, they’re a reminder
Of work done and to be done

But pick one up and hold it in your hands
Look at it closely and remember:

Every garden that has grown
Every grave that has been dug

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Time Machine

Posted on March 13th, 2007 by GregPC.
Categories: Poems.

For more than 20 years
I’ve shared a bed with the woman I love
We were teenagers when we met
We’re parents now
And fast approaching mid-life

But in the deep of the night
In each others arms
We’re young lovers again
Holding onto each other
And the memories of our youth

Never letting go

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The Relationship was Strictly Platonic

Posted on March 13th, 2007 by GregPC.
Categories: Poems.

As someone who was a guest
In your home
I want you to know
That I enjoyed my stay
And did not overstep my bounds

Temptation was present
At every turn
But I want to assure you
That I resisted
And kept things pure

Nothing was sullied
By my presence
In your home
I did not stray
Down unwelcome paths

I did not masturbate
Not in your shower
Not in the bed you made up for me
Not in your sink or toilet
Not in a tissue or in a paper towel
Taken from your kitchen

I know that as a host
You would want to know
That my time in your home was restful
And that the relationship
Was strictly platonic

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