Gilgamesh
There was a young king from Uruk
Whom Enkidu thought was a pillock
They fought a great war
And broke down a door
Then made mighty love on a hillock.
-- Cat Pegg
(Er, I think Catherine wrote it. She's certainly the person who told it to me...)
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8 comments:
*snigger*
I have The Epic of Gilgamesh as a book on tape and used to listen to it fairly often on my daily commute. Including this would have improved it.
Yes, you may blame me for it.
Who asked you to inflict poetry?
Special request by Mark My Latin Teacher
It's not exactly Byron, Shakespeare, or Lucan but it will do. G and E are always sweet to think on. Ave, Katherina, poeta!
I've written some really pretty stuff in my time. Does she quote that?
They always remember the smut.
Gratias, magister.
She did send me another of your poems that was a very nice thing indeed--- you used most effectively questions about the nature of the subjuctive as an image to portray difficulties that we can have in communication with one another. (I think! I wish I could lay my hands on it now to check! Hey, post it here?)
"I've written some really pretty stuff in my time. Does she quote that?"
I'm a bit wary of posting your later poems because a) you might not want me to and b) you keep rewriting them => you don't consider them finished.
Hey, post it here?
Eh, I'm not so fond of it these days. Try this one:
Psyche to Eros
Do you think of me then, waiting on the rock?
It was cold – the wind bellied my red mantle, embroidered
with suns and wheels and dandelions. Their
warmth was only pictures; my bare feet bled
on the ragged stones. From the dark hills cold glints
of trumpets bid farewell: they were leaving me, though
my mother had clung like lichen clings, had wept
like water gushing from blank granite.
A beautiful sacrifice, I.
In this dark place – all softness, as a scrap
of thistle-down, as the fluff
of a wild-cat nursing kits – my eyes
are shut with your kisses, your murmuring
willow-voice all I hear. I drink you,
as night drinks blindness from a bowl.
Ah, love,
I dreamed that I married a falcon,
and slept in his feather-soft nest in the cliff
but I looked in his eyes,
sun-yellow,
and knowing me, he fled.
I might travel the hills to find that bird,
and cut my feet on the rocks,
and wear the wind for a mantle.
Until I see you,
you will never know.
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