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musefool, porque después del pasado jueves esto es perfección.
Rara vez posteo ya poesía, pero vamos, esto ... *squee*
Achilles
Gripping the body of Patroclus
Naked and dead against his own,
While Thetis spoke:
"Son . . ."
His soldiers looking on;
Looking away from it; remembering their own;
"Grieving will not amend what Heaven has done.
Suppose you throw your hate after Patroclus' soul.
Who besides Troy will gain?
See what I've brought . . ."
And as she laid the moonlit armour on the sand
It chimed;
And the sound that came from it
Followed the light that came from it
Like sighing
Saying:
Made in Heaven.
And those who had the neck to watch Achilles weep
Could not look now.
Nobody looked. They were afraid.
Except Achilles: looked,
Lifted a piece of it between his hands;
Turned it; tested the weight of it; and then
Spun the holy tungsten like a star between his knees,
Slitting his eyes against the flare, some said,
But others thought the hatred shuttered by his lids
Made him protect the metal.
His eyes like furnace doors ajar.
When he had got its weight
And let its industry console his grief a bit:
"I'll fight,"
He said. Simple as that. "I'll fight."
And so Troy fell.
~War Music, Christopher Logue, p. 201-202
The Triumph Of Achilles
In the story of Patroclus
no one survives, not even Achilles
who was nearly a god.
Patroclus resembled him; they wore
the same armor.
Always in these friendships
one serves the other, one is less than the other:
the hierarchy
is always apparent, though the legends
cannot be trusted--
their source is the survivor,
the one who has been abandoned.
What were the Greek ships on fire
compared to this loss?
In his tent, Achilles
grieved with his whole being
and the gods saw
he was a man already dead, a victim
of the part that loved,
the part that was mortal.
~Louise Gluck
musefool, porque después del pasado jueves esto es perfección. Rara vez posteo ya poesía, pero vamos, esto ... *squee*
Achilles
Gripping the body of Patroclus
Naked and dead against his own,
While Thetis spoke:
"Son . . ."
His soldiers looking on;
Looking away from it; remembering their own;
"Grieving will not amend what Heaven has done.
Suppose you throw your hate after Patroclus' soul.
Who besides Troy will gain?
See what I've brought . . ."
And as she laid the moonlit armour on the sand
It chimed;
And the sound that came from it
Followed the light that came from it
Like sighing
Saying:
Made in Heaven.
And those who had the neck to watch Achilles weep
Could not look now.
Nobody looked. They were afraid.
Except Achilles: looked,
Lifted a piece of it between his hands;
Turned it; tested the weight of it; and then
Spun the holy tungsten like a star between his knees,
Slitting his eyes against the flare, some said,
But others thought the hatred shuttered by his lids
Made him protect the metal.
His eyes like furnace doors ajar.
When he had got its weight
And let its industry console his grief a bit:
"I'll fight,"
He said. Simple as that. "I'll fight."
And so Troy fell.
~War Music, Christopher Logue, p. 201-202
The Triumph Of Achilles
In the story of Patroclus
no one survives, not even Achilles
who was nearly a god.
Patroclus resembled him; they wore
the same armor.
Always in these friendships
one serves the other, one is less than the other:
the hierarchy
is always apparent, though the legends
cannot be trusted--
their source is the survivor,
the one who has been abandoned.
What were the Greek ships on fire
compared to this loss?
In his tent, Achilles
grieved with his whole being
and the gods saw
he was a man already dead, a victim
of the part that loved,
the part that was mortal.
~Louise Gluck
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-15 07:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-15 01:00 pm (UTC)Help for downloading for free
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