The third part of my ode to Greece in the stanza of Spencer.
Argument: Orestes, the son of Agamemnon, born into power cannot expect to escape its depravities.
XIII.
There is a rupture, a moment of bleak
Empty wilderness a time lost to all,
Before whence all idealists did seek,
To test their skills unprepared for the fall,
The house of old Mycenae’s blood drenched hall,
Familiar bonds not always so dear,
A king though in stature may be quite tall,
Orestes’ doom, to complacently hear,
Furies’ cry for lifeblood, his lineage clear.
XIV.
Tell me how could any such Delphic bard,
Make song of sparse eons’ austerity?
When even muses themselves find it hard,
The act of fine vocal dexterity?
Long gone are days of kind sincerity,
A feature so common among equals,
Fully knowing harsh pending levity,
That weight of a Bronze age that now appalls,
The pending curtain call which upon greatness falls.
XV.
Orestes, son of family dispute,
To whom it fell the burden of vengeance,
Against his own kindred, to raise his boot,
Blot out the life that gave him essence.
Electra too, in his sister’s presence,
Brought down retribution on his own head,
Furies sought unremitting repentance,
They drove him forth to Athens, where it’s said,
Trial by reason! Passions soothed and put to bed!
XVI.
Barely come of age, the soft hairy down
Of his chin still smooth, quite easily seen.
Such youth commits matricide for the crown,
For Clytemnestra’s end he was too keen.
The hot-headed impatience of a teen,
Brought about further dynastic shift.
She having been in turn also too mean,
Orestes merely repeating to lift
The knife by which his father too was set adrift.
XVII.
Hardly avoidable his destiny,
Punish a mother of so little love,
For a husband long lost at war away,
Agamemnon returning felt her shove
His war weary personage from above,
Down into Hades’ waters thereabout,
Polluted bloodshed the peace of a dove,
Long since denied during Troy’s tragic rout,
Likewise, nobody cared for his own final shout.
XVIII.
Despite his depravity, such an act,
The duty of honour should deserve praise,
To avenge a father who but lacked,
Nothing to a son which should amaze,
Agamemnon’s vengeance he obeys,
A brother & sister seem justified,
Forgetting that father’s very own craze,
Iphigenia, their sibling once sighed,
Ritual sacrifice! The Greek cause obliged!
The second part of my ode to Greece, in the stanza of Spencer.
Argument: The foundation of the bronze age imperial power Mycenae. Dynasties may change but they will always use the same old excuses to further their gains through war.
An ancient bard makes his debut at the sanctuary of Epidaurus...
III. Frail uncertainty of future life Has no bearing on an opponent’s fight, Many noble souls’ unrepenting strife, Each attempt descends into darkest night, Every free spirit enchained, denied sight Of passions, took us away from that bond, Servitude has known not of wrong nor right, Deep embittered patience still remained fond For conceptual beauty! We forever longed!
IV. Then as now stumbling through an era, Eventually to go by the name, A classical age, Apollo’s lyre, Or affinities holding true, the same, Reminiscences, most have always been tame Followers, few deserve remembrance, Those who invent another type of game, Set the dice rolling until decadence Misuses cultural riches through fat opulence!
V. All institutions plagiarize anew, Give ethical clarity, sense denied, The family where sons & daughters grew, Was founded on a stone deep red blood dyed, Against the instincts obligingly lied, Suit propriety, avoid provocation, True loves passion, forgotten, pushed aside. Deadly union, honour’s destitution, Mutual wealth poached into cold extinction!
VI. Our world is abound with divine pretenses, That have always sought to hold their harsh sway, Divide unequally, raising fences, To show who is banished and who can stay, Invoking difference between those who’d say, That we have no quarrel with each other, no! Rather they would try to keep us at bay. Final indictment their weak powers show, Lofty in abundance! Yet spiritually low!
VII. High-minded princes, bravery’s fountain, Not always the case we see poets told. Men suspicious, unbelieving, doubting, Mythology cut off in days of old. The relevance that such tales should hold, Over disparity of meager ways, Not caring for eloquence unless sold. Something fit to wile away idle days, The genius amongst us grudgingly displays!
VIII. The now ruined city of Mycenae Was once founded by Perseus of fame, Who rode the wingèd horse elegantly And the snakes of Medusa’s hair did tame, He brought low the Kraken, that very same Threat to Andromeda, African bride, Whose former suitor he was forced to maim, Only the hauntiness of such Greek pride, Could indulge romantic rivalry to be set aside.
