On the hill where Troy once stood, seven cities have been excavated Seven cities. Six too many for a single epic poem. What can we do about them, what can we do? The hexameters are bursting asunder, unnarrated brick protrudes from the cracks, in the stillness of a silent film ruined walls, charred beams, broken links, pitchers drained to the last bottom, fertility amulets, orchard seeds, and skulls tangible as tomorrow's moon. There is an expansion of antiquity these days, it's getting very crowded there, fierce tenants elbow their way through history, legions of sword-fodder, twin brothers of Hector the eagle, fully his equal in valor, thousands and thousands of individual faces, each the first and the last in time, and each with a pair of unigue eyes. It used to be so easy to ignore something that lachrymose, that spacious. What can we do about them, what can we give them? Some century hitherto under-populated? Some small recognition for their gold-work? Surely it's too late for the last judgment. We, three billion judges, have our own problems. our own inarticulate swarms. railway stations. sports stadiums. processions. numerous foreign lands of streets, floors, walls. We pass one another for eternity in dime stores while buying a new pitcher. Homer holds down a job in the bureau of statistics. No one knows what he does at home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GROSS CLINIC by CAROL FROST NURSE'S SONG, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH: A DREAM OF PONCE DE LEON by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH PHILOMELA: PHILOMELA'S ODE [THAT SHE SANG IN HER ARBOR] by ROBERT GREENE |