turning pro:
I am Idaea, named for a mountain down from which a river flows. I am bound by name to believe, therefore, that what I name after this river will also flow through me, become a current within me, I who was named after a mountain. I am a wife, I was once a mother, but I will always be this mountain. I will stand my ground. I will remain.
My parents live at the top of the mountain, and my mother named me Idaea in homage to where the air was freshest, where their sheep flourished, where the water was coldest and clearest. I live with my husband further down the river, almost near the foot of the mountain, with our little garden and the empty cot. He is almost never home, especially now that we are in a time of war. Especially after the loss of Simoeisius.
It was spring when I returned from my parents' home at the top of Mount Ida. My husband, Anthemion, had business in Troy for the winter, and I could not bear to see my garden ravaged by the cold. Winter after winter I leave it be, bearing its fruits to my father for his flock, and spring after spring I return to start it anew. My little garden, once my only comfort. It was spring, the buds of the trees were heavy and ripe, and I too was about to bloom. My mother offered to accompany me home, worried about my pregnant state, but my father, never having given birth himself, asked that she remain home instead. I set off for home, sure that Anthemion would meet me halfway.
The river that winds from my parents' house to mine is named Simois. It is the current flowing through Mount Ida, and Simoeisius was the blood that ran through my veins. I bore him, he of the bright hair, on the very banks of this river, one spring day.
What do I remember other than the blinding pain, the weight of the world between my bones? I remember the delighted gurgle of the river beside me, the clear water that I wiped across my face. I remember the prayers I sent every which way, to heaven, to Juno, down to Hades please may I stay above ground, and to the river itself as it laughed joyfully beside me, bursting with spring water from the melting snow. Help me, I pleaded to my own face, ever-shifting with the water's merry turbulence.
It felt as if there within me arose the greatest of trees, some wise poplar, powerfully extending its branches, pressing against my skin, my bones.
The light that split me in two, the cry of a child. His bright hair, his mouth gasping for air as I held him close. Oh I held the world in my arms that spring morning.
I remember washing the blood from between my thighs with river water, cold and clean. I remember the bright spots at the edge of my vision, the vegetables that lay where they fell when I first fell, stricken with pain, surprised by my own sudden water. I remember washing my child, warming the water in my mouth before letting it touch his skin, and swaddling him in the cleanest part of my robes. I remember his blue eyes, the fair down covering his head.
The river was noisier than the child by now, laughing as if to celebrate, and I promised its clear waters my child, and I named him Simoeisius. As the river Simois nourishes the mountain Ida, so Simoeisius would nourish me as I raised him. Oh I held the world in my arms that spring morning.
The river flowed steadily on, and I followed it home, cradling the world. Anthemion was overjoyed when he himself returned to find a son that would carry his household's honor, though he balked at my choice of a name. How was I to explain the comforting presence of the river, that I would name my child after the midwife but not the father? Simoeisius my child was named, and so he will be until the day of his death, until the day he is to be slain by a Greek warrior, Ajax, and his blue eyes would dim forever. I cannot bear to think of his fair hair matted with blood; even if that is how I brought him into this world, I cannot imagine him exiting it that way.
Oh Simoeisius, you are the river that flowed through my days. Where are you now, having joined the dark river of the Styx, crossed the Lethe; have you forgotten me, your mother who embraced you as the earth cradles all her water? Simoeisius, I am your mother, the mountain. I stand my ground. While your river flows steadily on, I remain.
Forthwith Ajax, son of Telamon, slew the fair youth
Simoeisius, son of Anthemion, whom his mother bore by
the banks of the Simois, as she was coming down from
Mt. Ida, where she had been with her parents to see their
flocks. Therefore he was named Simoeisius, but he did not
live to pay his parents for his rearing, for he was cut off
untimely by the spear of mighty Ajax, who struck him in
the breast by the right nipple as he was coming on among
the foremost fighters; the spear went right through his
shoulder, and he fell as a poplar that has grown straight
and tall in a meadow by some mere, and its top is thick
with branches. Then the wheelwright lays his axe to its
roots that he may fashion a felloe for the wheel of some
goodly chariot, and it lies seasoning by the waterside. In
such wise did Ajax fell to earth Simoeisius, son of
Anthemion.
- The Iliad, Book IV; Samuel Butler translation
i dislike the samuel butler translation but we make do with what we have.
homework for lit 126.1 was to "zoom in" on a particular detail within the iliad
yes the entire iliad
like maybe hector's sandals, or agamemnon's horse, & to tell its tale,
but i chose a soldier fallen in battle, because there are so many of them,
& so few tales told.
My parents live at the top of the mountain, and my mother named me Idaea in homage to where the air was freshest, where their sheep flourished, where the water was coldest and clearest. I live with my husband further down the river, almost near the foot of the mountain, with our little garden and the empty cot. He is almost never home, especially now that we are in a time of war. Especially after the loss of Simoeisius.
It was spring when I returned from my parents' home at the top of Mount Ida. My husband, Anthemion, had business in Troy for the winter, and I could not bear to see my garden ravaged by the cold. Winter after winter I leave it be, bearing its fruits to my father for his flock, and spring after spring I return to start it anew. My little garden, once my only comfort. It was spring, the buds of the trees were heavy and ripe, and I too was about to bloom. My mother offered to accompany me home, worried about my pregnant state, but my father, never having given birth himself, asked that she remain home instead. I set off for home, sure that Anthemion would meet me halfway.
The river that winds from my parents' house to mine is named Simois. It is the current flowing through Mount Ida, and Simoeisius was the blood that ran through my veins. I bore him, he of the bright hair, on the very banks of this river, one spring day.
What do I remember other than the blinding pain, the weight of the world between my bones? I remember the delighted gurgle of the river beside me, the clear water that I wiped across my face. I remember the prayers I sent every which way, to heaven, to Juno, down to Hades please may I stay above ground, and to the river itself as it laughed joyfully beside me, bursting with spring water from the melting snow. Help me, I pleaded to my own face, ever-shifting with the water's merry turbulence.
It felt as if there within me arose the greatest of trees, some wise poplar, powerfully extending its branches, pressing against my skin, my bones.
The light that split me in two, the cry of a child. His bright hair, his mouth gasping for air as I held him close. Oh I held the world in my arms that spring morning.
I remember washing the blood from between my thighs with river water, cold and clean. I remember the bright spots at the edge of my vision, the vegetables that lay where they fell when I first fell, stricken with pain, surprised by my own sudden water. I remember washing my child, warming the water in my mouth before letting it touch his skin, and swaddling him in the cleanest part of my robes. I remember his blue eyes, the fair down covering his head.
The river was noisier than the child by now, laughing as if to celebrate, and I promised its clear waters my child, and I named him Simoeisius. As the river Simois nourishes the mountain Ida, so Simoeisius would nourish me as I raised him. Oh I held the world in my arms that spring morning.
The river flowed steadily on, and I followed it home, cradling the world. Anthemion was overjoyed when he himself returned to find a son that would carry his household's honor, though he balked at my choice of a name. How was I to explain the comforting presence of the river, that I would name my child after the midwife but not the father? Simoeisius my child was named, and so he will be until the day of his death, until the day he is to be slain by a Greek warrior, Ajax, and his blue eyes would dim forever. I cannot bear to think of his fair hair matted with blood; even if that is how I brought him into this world, I cannot imagine him exiting it that way.
Oh Simoeisius, you are the river that flowed through my days. Where are you now, having joined the dark river of the Styx, crossed the Lethe; have you forgotten me, your mother who embraced you as the earth cradles all her water? Simoeisius, I am your mother, the mountain. I stand my ground. While your river flows steadily on, I remain.
Forthwith Ajax, son of Telamon, slew the fair youth
Simoeisius, son of Anthemion, whom his mother bore by
the banks of the Simois, as she was coming down from
Mt. Ida, where she had been with her parents to see their
flocks. Therefore he was named Simoeisius, but he did not
live to pay his parents for his rearing, for he was cut off
untimely by the spear of mighty Ajax, who struck him in
the breast by the right nipple as he was coming on among
the foremost fighters; the spear went right through his
shoulder, and he fell as a poplar that has grown straight
and tall in a meadow by some mere, and its top is thick
with branches. Then the wheelwright lays his axe to its
roots that he may fashion a felloe for the wheel of some
goodly chariot, and it lies seasoning by the waterside. In
such wise did Ajax fell to earth Simoeisius, son of
Anthemion.
- The Iliad, Book IV; Samuel Butler translation
i dislike the samuel butler translation but we make do with what we have.
homework for lit 126.1 was to "zoom in" on a particular detail within the iliad
yes the entire iliad
like maybe hector's sandals, or agamemnon's horse, & to tell its tale,
but i chose a soldier fallen in battle, because there are so many of them,
& so few tales told.