Spring Call

in Just-
spring    when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles    far    and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far    and    wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's spring
and the goat-footed
balloonMan    whistles
far
and
wee

e.e. cummings

 You've Gotta Have Heart, by ellemoss

Helen, Alternative

In Greek mytholody Helen was the daughter of Zeus and Leda, daughter of King Tyndareus, wife of Menelaus, and sister of Castor, Polydeuces and Clytemnestra. Her abduction by Paris brought about the Trojan War. As Christopher Marlowe puts it in Doctor Faustus, this is 'the face that launched a thousand ships'.

 

Helen, by cocoricooo

But why did Paris take Helen?  It all started at a wedding. When Peleus and Thetis (the parents of Achilles) got married, Zeus held a banquet. However, Eris, the goddess of discord, was not invited. So she arrived at the celebration, but threw a golden apple, the Apple of Discord, among the guests, upon which was the inscription 'for the fairest one'. Three goddesses claimed the apple: Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. They asked Zeus to judge which of them was fairest, and eventually Zeus, reluctant to make a choice himself, declared that Paris, a Trojan mortal, would judge who the most beautiful goddess was. Aphrodite promised Paris the most beautiful woman in the world if he would name her as fairest, and thus he gave the golden apple to the goddess of love, which really angered Zeus's wife, Hera, as well as Athena. And this is the way Paris abducted Helen from Sparta, according to the Homeric version of the myth.

There is a different version of the myth, however, which Euripides used to build his play Helen on. According to this other version, Hera, angry from the judgement of Paris, created a fake Helen, a sort of phantom which Paris actually took with him to Troy thinking it was the real Helen, and then she ordered Hermes to take the real Helen to Egypt, and have her be a guest at the palace of Proteus. According to this myth, the whole Trojan War took place for nothing. Essentially, Euripides's Helen talks about the futility of war.

 

  

Helen Chain Shoe Harness, by dearbearcat  

 

George Seferis (1900-1971), the Greek Nobel prize winning poet, wrote a poem about Helen.  To read the poem in Greek, click here. This is the English text, as Philip Sherard and Edmund Keeley translated it:

 

George Seferis, Helen

Teucer: . . . in sea-girt Cyprus, where it was decreed
by Apollow that I should live, giving the city
the name of Salamis in memory of my island home.
. . . . . . . . . .
Helen: I never went to Troy; it was a phantom.
. . . . . . . . . .
Servant: What? You mean it was only for a cloud
that we struggled so much?

— Euripides, Helen

 

‘The nightingales won’t let you sleep in Platres.’

Shy nightingale, in the breathing of the leaves,

you who bestow the forest’s musical coolness

on the sundered bodies, on the souls

of those who know they will not return.

Blind voice, you who grope in the darkness of memory

for footsteps and gestures — I wouldn’t dare say kisses —

and the bitter raving of the frenzied slave-woman.

‘The nightingales won’t let you sleep in Platres.’

Platres: where is Platres? And this island: who knows it?

I’ve lived my life hearing names I’ve never heard before:

new countries, new idiocies of men

or of the gods;

                      my fate, which wavers

between the last sword of some Ajax

and another Salamis,

brought me here, to this shore.

                                              The moon

rose from the sea like Aphrodite,

covered the Archer’s stars, now moves to find

the heart of Scorpio, and alters everything.

Truth, where’s the truth?

I too was an archer in the war;

my fate: that of a man who missed his target.

Targets Journal, by julzbooks

Lyric nightingale,

on a night like this, by the shore of Proteus,

the Spartan slave-girls heard you and began their lament,

and among them — who would have believed it? — Helen!

She whom we hunted so many years by the banks of the Scamander.

She was there, at the desert’s lip; I touched her; she spoke to me:

‘It isn’t true, it isn’t true,’ she cried.

‘I didn’t board the blue bowed ship.

I never went to valiant Troy.’

Helen of Troy Headpiece, by SchickiMickis

Breasts girded high, the sun in her hair, and that stature

shadows and smiles everywhere,

on shoulders, thighs and knees;

the skin alive, and her eyes

with the large eyelids,

she was there, on the banks of a Delta.

                                                         And at Troy?

At Troy, nothing: just a phantom image.

That’s how the gods wanted it.

And Paris, Paris lay with a shadow as though it were a solid being;

and for ten whole years we slaughtered ourselves for Helen.

Great suffering had desolated Greece.

So many bodies thrown

into the jaws of the sea, the jaws of the earth

so many souls

fed to the millstones like grain.

And the rivers swelling, blood in their silt,

all for a linen undulation, a filmy cloud,

a butterfly’s flicker, a wisp of swan’s down,

an empty tunic — all for a Helen.

And my brother?

                         Nightingale nightingale nightingale,

what is a god? What is not a god? And what is there in between them?

‘The nightingales won’t let you sleep in Platres.’

Seeing Red, bullet earrings, by alizarine

Tearful bird,

                  on sea-kissed Cyprus

consecrated to remind me of my country,

I moored alone with this fable,

if it’s true that it is a fable,

if it’s true that mortals will not again take up

the old deceit of the gods;

                                       if it’s true

that in future years some other Teucer,

or some Ajax or Priam or Hecuba,

or someone unknown and nameless who nevertheless saw

a Scamander overflow with corpses,

isn’t fated to hear

messengers coming to tell him

that so much suffering, so much life,

went into the abyss

all for an empty tunic, all for a Helen.

Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

Peace dove cushion, by NickyBeeShop

What do you think of that poem? Do you like the alternative version of the story of Helen?

Erotokritos and Aretousa: the Happy Ending

Erotokritos is a Greek romance epic, written in verse and in the popular dialect of the time, in early 17th century Crete by Vikentios Kornaros (1553-1613), an exact contemporary of Shakespeare. You can read more about it here.

Apart from the poet's version, Erotokritos also survives in the form of songs, which are very popular in contemporary Greece too, especially after some very important Greek singers interpreted them. I was listening to one such performance, when I was inspired to put together the following collection, trying to visualize the happy ending to Erokritos and Aretousa's romance.

I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did!

It's a Nice Day for a White Wedding upcycled linen crochet lace and tulle wedding dress, by TranscendentBird

Quartet, ring - by Evrydiki

Lace Dress, by Kimmi

Cognac Diamond Twig Solitaire in Recycled 14k Gold and Sterling Silver, by kristincoffin

folklore - natural vine crown, by whichgoose

sterling silver wedding rings - set of 2 - made to order, by preciousjd

A Country Wedding..deconstructed vintage silk wedding dress, by bayousalvage

Set of 4 Natural Linen Napkins. Classic style, by JBworld

Kastro Klemoutsi (2) by MariaMadonna

GP Plantable Tags HEART (10- Rice/Overcast), by GreenPost

Rough Cognac Diamond Engagement Ring - 22k Gold and Sterling, by JanishJewels

Wedding Handmade Crochet cuffs, by twoknit

Για τούτο, οπού'ναι φρόνιμος, μηδέ χαθεί στα Πάθη,
το ρόδον κι όμορφος αθός γεννάται μες στ' αγκάθι.
Ετούτ' η Αγάπη η μπιστική με τη χαρά ετελειώθη,
και πλερωμή στα βάσανα μεγάλη τώς εδόθη.
Και κάθε είς που εδιάβασεν, εδά κι ας το κατέχει, 1515
μη χάνεται στα κίντυνα, μα πάντα ολπίδα ας έχει.

Which means,

'So, those who are wise don't lose themselves in Passions,
for the rose and the pretty bloom are born among thorns.
This secret Love was happily consummated,
as the lovers were compensated for all their suffering.
Thus, everyone, who read, bear this one thing in mind,
do not in dangers lose yourself, but always save your hope.'

(My translation)

Don't you just love poetry?

For Light and Poetry lovers only

In the northern hemisphere, the spring equinox marks the beginning of longer days, the time when the light prevails and the dark diminishes. March 21 is also the day when Poetry is celebrated worldwide. Not accidentally, I believe...

So, for those of you who enjoy poetry, here's one of my favorite poems: Gary Snyder's How Poetry Comes To Me

It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light


Eco friendly Spring scarf - Poetry of fibers OOAK from Vilte



And now let's read an extract from To A Butterfly, by William Wordsworth:

I've watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! -not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!


Paper Butterflies - Romanticism by peacocky




From The Sense Of The Sleight-Of-Hand Man by Wallace Stevens:

To think of a dove with an eye of grenadine
And pines that are cornets, so it occurs,
And a little island full of geese and stars:
It may be the ignorant man, alone,
Has any chance to mate his life with life
That is the sensual, pearly spuse, the life
That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.


GRENADINE bolero wrap by lamarquisedesanges



Edgar Allan Poe, from The Raven

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore:
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Nevermore Edgar Allan Poe Mug from PoesProse



Next is one of my favorites - Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnet 43:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints!---I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!---and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Vintage Book - Sonnets From The Portuguese And Other Love Poems By Elizabeth Barrett Browning -found at shavingkitsupplies



You will love the next extract! It's from Irene by James Russell Lowell:

Hers is a spirit deep and crystal-clear;
Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies,
Free without boldness, meek without a fear,
Quicker to look than speak its sympathies;
Far down into her large and patient eyes
I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite,
As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night,
I look into the fathomless blue skies.

Irene - art doll from Anastasiasdolls



Here's Kisses, by Edmund Vance Cooke:

Kisses kept are wasted;
Love is to be tasted.
There are some you love, I know;
Be not loathe to tell them so.
Lips go dry and eyes grow wet
Waiting to be warmly met.
Keep them not in waiting yet;
Kisses kept are wasted.

Lippy Lady Six Pack - 6 tubes of Lit Balm from lippylady



Another favorite of mine is, of course, Cavafy's Ithaka. Here it is, all of it (translated by Edmund Keeley / Philip Sherrard):

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

The Poet's Armband, a bracelet-cuff by LaTouchables




Don't you just love Dante? Imagine what the world would be like if love was really making the world go round, instead of money...

Dante's God from onelifejewelry




I hope you enjoyed this article then! And don't forget to read poetry!!!

SEVEN Week40 2009 My Little Poet from irisschwarz