A review...of sorts
I'm kind of reluctant to post this. Read on, and you'll see why...
On Sunday I went to see Ancient Greeks: Athletes, Warriors and Heroes, a British Museum travelling exhibition, currently on display at New Walk Museum. I intended to do a straight review, but then I had a stunning idea (always dangerous).
I'm participating in the Thing-A-Day project, and I thought I could (to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak) see if there was a way of achieving both tasks with the same piece of work. Hence, the following poem (yes, you read that right - a poem) inspired by the exhibition. Quite honestly, it has to be the worst poem ever written in the history of civilization but, hey, at least I've tried to approach this post from a new, more creative angle. *ha!*
And so, without futher ado, I present to you dear Attic readers, the first piece of poetry I have written for public consumption since I was, oh, about eleven! Please be kind.
Black and red-figured amphorae,
Images of young men honing their skills.
They do battle, in sport, in the theatre,
To achieve status,
To become citizens.
The victorious athlete raises his absent arm
To place a wreath of laurels upon his head.
A hoplite combats his Persian counterpart
In a symbolic battle between civilisation and barbarity.
Greece, the cradle of learning.
In the arena are poets, musicians and actors.
A clever turn of musical or literary phrase.
A comedy,
A tragedy,
Sophokles is a fighter too.
Myth and reality fuse.
Herakles achieves redemption -
The Olympiad delivered of his labours.
An odyssey.
A wooden horse.
A woman covers her hands in an act of modesty.
Her marble-chill gaze looks distant,
Through time, she has prevailed.
In life, smothered by her culture,
As the folds of her cloak envelope her now.
And yet all ends, changes.
The past is forgotten, meaning is lost.
Those accursed statues and pagan icons,
Are destroyed to save the present
From the long since dead.
On Sunday I went to see Ancient Greeks: Athletes, Warriors and Heroes, a British Museum travelling exhibition, currently on display at New Walk Museum. I intended to do a straight review, but then I had a stunning idea (always dangerous).
I'm participating in the Thing-A-Day project, and I thought I could (to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak) see if there was a way of achieving both tasks with the same piece of work. Hence, the following poem (yes, you read that right - a poem) inspired by the exhibition. Quite honestly, it has to be the worst poem ever written in the history of civilization but, hey, at least I've tried to approach this post from a new, more creative angle. *ha!*
And so, without futher ado, I present to you dear Attic readers, the first piece of poetry I have written for public consumption since I was, oh, about eleven! Please be kind.
Black and red-figured amphorae,
Images of young men honing their skills.
They do battle, in sport, in the theatre,
To achieve status,
To become citizens.
The victorious athlete raises his absent arm
To place a wreath of laurels upon his head.
A hoplite combats his Persian counterpart
In a symbolic battle between civilisation and barbarity.
Greece, the cradle of learning.
In the arena are poets, musicians and actors.
A clever turn of musical or literary phrase.
A comedy,
A tragedy,
Sophokles is a fighter too.
Myth and reality fuse.
Herakles achieves redemption -
The Olympiad delivered of his labours.
An odyssey.
A wooden horse.
A woman covers her hands in an act of modesty.
Her marble-chill gaze looks distant,
Through time, she has prevailed.
In life, smothered by her culture,
As the folds of her cloak envelope her now.
And yet all ends, changes.
The past is forgotten, meaning is lost.
Those accursed statues and pagan icons,
Are destroyed to save the present
From the long since dead.
Comments
I shall be writing this comment in the style of a 1980's sax solo. ;)
Thanks for your support folks - but it's certainly not something I shall be attempting again in the near future!