Perhaps (just perhaps, mind), an appropriate extract to Share for the impending holiday festivities. If not, something, still, deserving at least a moments consideration: Epilogue O Sun, great Eastern Prince, your eyes have brimmed with tears, for all the world has darkened, all life swirls and spins, and now youve plunged down to your mothers watery cellars. Shes yearned for you for a long time, stood by her door with wine for you to drink, a lamp to light your way: Dear Son, the tables spread, eat and rejoice your heart; heres forty loaves of bread and forty jugs of wine and forty girls who drowned to light your way like lanterns; your pillows are made of violets and your bed of roses, night after night Ive longed for you, my darling son! But her black son upset the tables in great wrath, poured all the wine into the sea, cast bread on waves, and all the green-haired girls sank in the weeds, and drowned. Then the earth vanished, the sea dimmed, all flesh dissolved, the body turned to fragile spirit and spirit to air, till the air moved and sighed as in the hollow hush was heard the ultimate and despairing cry of Earth, the suns lament, but with no throat or mouth or voice: Mother, enjoy the food youve cooked, the wine you hold, Mother, if youve a rose-bed, rest your weary bones, Mother, I dont want wine to drink or bread to eat— today Ive seen my loved one vanish like a dwindling thought. --Nikos Kazantzakis, The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel
Posted on: Thu, 28 Nov 2013 02:30:27 +0000
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