November 16th

from Poseidon’s purse

they drag the big eyed harvest

gasping on hot wharfs

the omniscient

God so fickle and angry

buries them with waves

I popped into the British Museum, I haven’t been there in years, it is an astonishing place, putting aside the dubious origins of how some of the antiquities ended up there, it is a magnificent collection.

This mosaic (Roman, approx 100AD) really caught my eye. The pieces of stone were so tiny, it allowed for fantastic detail. N.b – I know I use the Greek “Poseidon” as opposed to “Neptune”, but I prefer using the Greek names

September 21st

A penitent stag

the huntress fixed him, cursed him

run mute to your dogs

Yesterday I briefly visited the National Gallery, I wrote a one tweet poem for their competition relating to the Ovid / Metamorphoses exhibition they have there at the moment. The original poem I wrote is below. The above is the abridged Haiku version!

Of the Titian artworks on display, I chose the scene relating to Diana and Actaeon, the hunter meeting his match when he spies on the Goddess of the hunt Diana, who by way of punishment, turns him into a stag. He then gets stalked, run down and devoured by his own dogs.

(pic from wikipedia)

My original “one tweet” poem below, less than 140 characters of course.

#titianpoem He gasped, she turned, her fierce wisdom fixed him, froze him, a penitent stag, the huntress cursed him, run mute to your dogs

Co-incidentally I’d bought a second hand copy of Ted Hughes’ adaptation of Ovid’s work a couple of months ago. Before I visited I’d read a few passages. It’s steeped in Hughes’ descriptions of nature, of the wild. So vivid and powerful. My favourite passage from Diana and Actaeon was actually on the wall.

I copy an extract here (from the national gallery website), the late Ted Hughes is a wonderful poet.

……Actaeon
Stared at the goddess, who stared at him.
She twisted her breasts away, showing him her back.

Glaring at him over her shoulder
She blushed like a dawn cloud
In that twilit grotto of winking reflections,

And raged for a weapon – for her arrows
To drive through his body.
No weapon was to hand – only water.

So she scooped up a handful and dashed it
Into his astonished eyes, as she shouted:
'Now, if you can, tell how you saw me naked.'

That was all she said, but as she said it
Out of his forehead burst a rack of antlers.
His neck lengthened, narrowed, and his ears

Folded to whiskery points, his hands were hooves,
His arms long slender legs. His hunter's tunic
Slid from his dappled hide. With all this

The goddess
Poured a shocking stream of panic terror
Through his heart like blood. Actaeon

Bounded out across the cave's pool
In plunging leaps, amazed at his own lightness.
And there

Clear in the bulging mirror of his bow-wave
He glimpsed his antlered head,
And cried: 'What has happened to me?'

No words came. No sound came but a groan.
His only voice was a groan.
Human tears shone on his stag's face

……..

August 11th

 

regal vantage point

flags flutter over the green

and battle clamour

Went to the Olympic Football final. What I love about football is the tribalism. The Roman’s loved their spectator sports, with some sort of combat, we’ve just carried on that tradition, without the killing, TV gives us that now. Was great fun. Have thoroughly enjoyed the Olympics. Shame it’s coming to an end.

August 1st

 

the claw foot flexes

scoring stone as the flames lick

on Mithras’ altar

This photo is from the Altar of Mithras at the recently restored Wrest Park where we went today. We joined English Heritage, so we can go in free for a year. Seeing as it’s round the corner we’ll be regulars. It’s only around three miles from our house. An enormous country house with beautiful gardens, dotted with outbuildings, classically influenced sculpture and smile inducing follies. You can get lost in the grounds, but the Altar is marked on the map and it seemed alluring, so we found it, deep in the woodlands, an imposing stone block. I should have got a pic of the whole thing, it had a brazier on top (rather, I assume it did but it was around 10 feet up so couldn’t see) with Greek and Persian inscriptions. But the four claw foot stands appealed to me the most.

Who was Mithras? He was worshipped around the time Christianity was picking up. There seem to be many parallels and similarities between Mithras and Jesus, they were contemporary developing religions. Also, Mithraism was a secretive religion, which would, I believe, appeal to the gentry already soaked with classical teaching. Mystery stokes interest. I can imagine this altar was built in the woods as a kind of naughty folly, fires probably burned on it and I can imagine tongue in cheek summer parties lasting well into the night with everyone in Roman fancy dress. “Roman Priests” would conduct rites and the wine would flow. Do I have any evidence for this? Of course not, but if I built a great big altar in honour of a mysterious deity, I would certainly use it for fun historical reconstructions!