Hannibal Lecter’s Whore: Blog Of

1

Come now, luxuriant Graces, and beautiful-haired Muses.

 

 

2

I tell you

someone will remember us

in the future.

 

 

3

Now, I shall sing these songs

Beautifully

for my companions.

 

4

The moon shone full

And when the maidens stood around the altar…

 

 

5

“He is dying, Aphrodite;

luxuriant Adonis is dying.

What should we do?”

 

“Beat your breasts, young maidens.

And tear your garments

in grief.”

 

6

O, weep for Adonis!

 

 

7

But come, dear companions,

For day is near.

 

8

The moon is set. And the Pleiades.

            It’s the middle of the night.

                        Time [hôrâ] passes.

But I sleep alone.

 

 

9

I love the sensual.

For me this

and love for the sun

has a share in brilliance and beauty

 

 

10

I desire

And I crave.

 

11

You set me on fire.

 

 

12

A servant

of wile-weaving

Aphrodite…

 

 

13

            Eros

Giver of pain…

 

 

14

            Eros

Coming from heaven

throwing off

his purple cloak.

 

15

Again love, the limb-loosener, rattles me

bittersweet,

irresistible,

a crawling beast.

 

16

As a wind in the mountains

assaults an oak,

Love shook my breast.

 

17

I loved you, Atthis, long ago

even when you seemed to me

a small graceless child.

 

18

But you hate the very thought of me, Atthis,

And you flutter after Andromeda.

 

19

Honestly, I wish I were dead.

Weeping many tears, she left me and said,

“Alas, how terribly we suffer, Sappho.

I really leave you against my will.”

 

And I answered: “Farewell, go and remember me.

You know how we cared for you.

 

If not, I would remind you

 …of our wonderful times.

 

For by my side you put on

many wreaths of roses

and garlands of flowers

around your soft neck.

 

And with precious and royal perfume

you anointed yourself.

 

On soft beds you satisfied your passion.

 

And there was no dance,

no holy place

from which we were absent.”

 

20

They say that Leda once found

an egg—

like a hyacinth.

 

21

“Virginity, virginity

Where will you go when you’ve left me?”

 

“I’ll never come back to you , bride,

I’ll never come back to you.”

 

22

Sweet mother, I can’t do my weaving—

Aphrodite has crushed me with desire

for a tender youth.

 

 

 

 

23

Like a sweet-apple

turning red

high

on the tip

of the topmost branch.

Forgotten by pickers.

 

Not forgotten—

they couldn’t reach it.

 

24

Like a hyacinth

in the mountains

that shepherds crush underfoot.

 

Even on the ground

a purple flower.

 

25

To what shall I compare you, dear bridegroom?

To a slender shoot, I most liken you.

 

 

26

[Sappho compared the girl to an apple....she compared the bridegroom to Achilles, and likened the young man’s deeds to the hero’s.]

 

                                                            Himerius (4th cent. A.D.), Or. 1.16

 

27

Raise high the roofbeams, carpenters!

            Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!

Up with them!

            Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!

A bridegroom taller than Ares!

            Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!

Taller than a tall man!

            Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!

Superior as the singer of Lesbos—

            Hymenaon, Sing the wedding song!

—to poets of other lands.

            Hymenaon!

 

28

The Marriage of Hektor and Andromakhe

 

 …Cyprus…

 …The herald Idaios came…a swift messenger

 …and the rest of Asia…unwilting glory (kleos aphthiton).

Hektor and his companions led the dark-eyed

luxuriant Andromakhe from holy Thebes and…Plakia

in ships upon the salty sea. Many golden bracelets and purple

robes…, intricately-worked ornaments,

countless silver cups and ivory.

Thus he spoke. And his dear father quickly leapt up.

And the story went to his friends through the broad city.

And the Trojans joined mules to smooth-running carriages.

And the whole band of women and…maidens got on.

Separately, the daughters of Priam…

And the unmarried men led horses beneath the chariots

and greatly…charioteers…

 

                                    …like gods

                                    …holy

set forth into Troy…

And the sweet song of the flute mixed…

And the sound of the cymbals, and then the maidens

sang in clear tones a sacred song

and a divinely-sweet echo reached the sky…

And everywhere through the streets…

Mixing bowls and cups…

And myrrh and cassia and frankincense were mingled.

And the older women wailed aloud.

And all the men gave forth a high-pitched song,

calling on Apollo, the far-shooter, skilled in the lyre.

And they sang of Hektor and Andromakhe like to the gods.

 

29

Blessed bridegroom,

The marriage is accomplished as you prayed.

You have the maiden you prayed for.

 

30

I don’t know what to do: I am of two minds.

 

31

For gold is Zeus’ child.

 

32

I have a beautiful daughter

Like a golden flower

My beloved Kleis.

I would not trade her for all Lydia nor lovely…

 

33

When you lie dead, no one will remember you

For you have no share in the Muses’ roses.

No, flitting aimlessly about,

You will wildly roam,

a shade amidst the shadowy dead.

 

34

Death is an evil.

That’s what the gods think.

Or they would die.

 

 

35

Because you are dear to me

Marry a younger woman.

I don’t dare live with a young man—

I’m older.

1

            Immortal Aphrodite, on your intricately brocaded throne,[1]

            child of Zeus, weaver of wiles, this I pray:

            Dear Lady, don’t crush my heart

            with pains and sorrows.

 

5          But come here, if ever before,

            when you heard my far-off cry,

            you listened. And you came,

            leaving your father’s house,

 

            yoking your chariot of gold.

10        Then beautiful swift sparrows led you over the black earth

            from the sky through the middle air,

            whirling their wings into a blur.

 

            Rapidly they came. And you, O Blessed Goddess,

            a smile on your immortal face,

15        asked what had happened this time,

            why did I call again,

 

            and what did I especially desire

            for myself in my frenzied heart:

            “Who this time am I to persuade

20        to your love? Sappho, who is doing you wrong?

 

            For even if she flees, soon she shall pursue.

            And if she refuses gifts, soon she shall give them.

            If she doesn’t love you, soon she shall love

            even if she’s unwilling.”

 

25        Come to me now once again and release me

            from grueling anxiety.

            All that my heart longs for,

            fulfill. And be yourself my ally in love’s battle.

 

16

            Some say an army of horsemen,

            some of footsoldiers, some of ships,

            is the fairest thing on the black earth,

            but I say it is what one loves.

 

5          It’s very easy to make this clear

            to everyone, for Helen,

            by far surpassing mortals in beauty,

            left the best of all husbands

 

            and sailed to Troy,

10        mindful of neither her child

            nor her dear parents, but

            with one glimpse she was seduced by

 

            Aphrodite. For easily bent…

            and nimbly…[missing text]…

15        has reminded me now

            of Anactoria who is not here;

 

            I would much prefer to see the lovely

            way she walks and the radiant glance of her face

            than the war-chariots of the Lydians or

20        their footsoldiers in arms.

 

 

 

 

 

31

            That man to me seems equal to the gods,

            the man who sits opposite you

            and close by listens

            to your sweet voice

 

5          and your enticing laughter—

            that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast.

            For whenever I look at you even briefly

            I can no longer say a single thing,

 

            but my tongue is frozen in silence;

10        instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin;

            with my eyes I see nothing;

            my ears make a whirring noise.

 

            A cold sweat covers me,

            trembling seizes my body,

15        and I am greener than grass.

            Lacking but little of death do I seem.

Sappho’s “To an Army Wife, in Sardis” stresses how powerful love can be. For some, cavalry or infantry corps, or the oars of the fleet are the finest sights, but the author argues that whatever one loves, is the most beautiful sight of all. Sappho presented Helen as an example of how a man’s views and priorities (that is, Paris’) can change all because of love. The poem mainly talks about the persona’s longing to Anactoria, and the love for her that goes beyond limits.
    “On the day of death, when my bier is on the move” by Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī (under Arabic and Persian poetry) talks about the paradox of death. The persona is trying to say that there is still life after death – a life that is far more ideal than the life that we have in this physical world. The persona believes that the grave is just a shroud over the place of eternal bliss, and that though a tomb seems to be a prison, it is actually a freedom of the soul. In author’s own words, “What seed ever went down to into the earth which did not grow? What bucket of water ever went down and came out not full?” Truly, the author presented statements in the poem that seem contrary to common sense yet may perhaps be true.
    Bertran de Born’s “I love the joyful time of Easter” (of Provençal poetry) talks mainly about war and violence. The persona in the poem feels great pleasure when he sees armed knights and horses. He attains great joy from violence; it pleases him when the skirmishers make people run away, when castles are seized, etc. De Born also presented a stern perception that a man is better dead, than alive yet beaten. He described chaotic scenes wherein neighing unfastened horse wander over the wounded and the dead, and of little and great men alike fall in the flanks of corpses, yet seemed to derive pleasure from these. The author here, simply put, portrays violence like an ordinary subject matter, and at the end of the poem diverges from war to love.
    Analyzing the themes, we can observe that these three poems exhibit universal human emotions, yet did a little twist. Yes, Sappho’s “To an Army Wife, in Sardis” talks about love – a universal emotion, yet the poem is about her attraction to a woman (Anactoria). Sappho’s depiction of passionate love therefore, is not the typical heterosexual love, but a homosexual one, particularly woman-to-woman love. This theme may have created a shock in her time, but now, such theme is already accepted by modern literature readers.
    On the other hand, Jalāl al-Dīn Rūmī’s “On the day of death, when my bier is on the move” also did a little twist on our notion of death – a very general theme. For most of us, it may mean end of life and of everything. Yet the author presented the persona having no pain at leaving this physical world. Yes, the idea of a paradise after death is a Utopist thought, but the author presented it in a way that is swaying to the readers. Personally, I see this work as being influences by the dominant philosophy Sufism, in which everything has a meaning that is in relation with God. I believe that the idea of a “god” has been presented indirectly in the poem, but is reflected in the author’s notion of an after-life, of a paradise, and in his own words, of “union and encounter”.
    Provençal poetry, on the other hand, is primarily devoted to the subject of love, hence it is also called as courtly love poetry. However, Bertran de Born’s “I love the joyful time of Easter” is shockingly cruel for it talks about war and violence. Personally, I see this as somewhat similar to a known saying that man is a beast for the poem seems to portray human nature and his inclination to liking violence. The author depicts the violence of men versus men, which is but a universal scenario. What is even more shocking is that at the end of the poem, the theme abruptly changes into love – still the identity of Provençal poems.