cemeteries aren't creepy they're actually devoted to memory and rest and love and humanity
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james longenbach / wendy cope / jon kabat-zinn
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So much for all the mason bee footage I was going to get this week...
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Rain and lightning, always a good opportunity to thank Zeus and Hera.
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Between night and day
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Honor the goddesses in your lives, both mortal and immortal
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A Hymn to Artemis
To amuse myself while I translate the Homeric Hymns, I decided to try writing my own Hymns in a similar style. Here’s one to Artemis that I whipped up this morning. I hope you enjoy it. (Next is Poseidon.)
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Sing, Pierian Muses - for you are able -
Of Artemis, the shining goddess, pourer of arrows,
Mistress of beasts, with her tunic drawn up
Above her knees, who runs through the rocky glades
And mountain dells, a train of nymphs at her heels:
Sometimes at noon she runs, when the Sun
Showers its brilliant rays from overhead;
Sometimes at night she runs, exulting
In the Moon’s silver gleam, and her arrows gleam silver as well.
Sister from the same womb to Apollo she is-
Daughter of glorious Leto and Zeus who delights in thunder.
Goddess of three faces, called by some Artemis,
By some Selene, and by others still Hecate -
You will be the subject of my song, if the Muses grant it.
But how best to sing of you, beast-slaying maiden?
I could sing perhaps of your birth in hidden Ortygia,
When you sprang forth from Leto into the light
And all the assembled women, nymphs and goddesses,
Raised a cry of joy. Or I could sing
Of the day the dread Giants took up arms against Olympus -
On that day your bow and quiver were never still,
Fast and thickly your arrows sang from the string
And not a one that did not find its mark
In the chest of some Earth-born monster, laying him low
In his hubris. Then, too, I could sing,
As many have before, of Actaeon, ill-starred hunter,
Who stumbled on you bathing - his eyes
Saw things forbidden, and in justice
You punished him. Turned to a stag, hooves
For hands and feet, antlers from his brow,
He fell prey to his own greedy hounds.
But no, Artemis pourer of arrows,
I have a greater song in mind. Evoke now, Muses,
The proud Achaeans, thousands upon thousands,
Chieftains and spear-bearing men, assembled
On Aulis’ shore, eager to sail for Troy
Where godlike Paris had secreted Helen
Unmatched in beauty. But they did not sail,
Not at first, for Agamemnon full of folly
Had slain a swift hind consecrated to you, o Artemis.
Your wrath was great. You pressed your hand
Upon the winds - it was easy for you, a goddess -
And penned them in their cave, feeble, helpless.
The East Wind could not blow; the black ships
Could not make their way over the watery deep
To Troy’s high walls. Such anger, goddess,
Among the bronze-helmeted Achaeans!
How they raged at Agamemnon, cursed
The lord of Mycenae for his blindness
In offending you, Artemis, haunter of the lonely hills.
Blood called for blood; and so Atreus’ son
Led his own offspring, white-browed Iphigenia,
To the altar. High he raised the knife…
And then what, Muses? Tell me unerringly.
Did he slay her? So some say,
But others - theirs is the truer account -
Sing of a wonder: that mighty Artemis placed
A deer beneath the blade, and bore Iphigenia,
All unseen, far from the shores of Hellas,
To the Euxine hateful to sailors, there to dwell
Among the stone-hearted Taurians.
Then the winds blew forth, whipping the gray sea to froth,
And they sailed, the uncountable Achaeans,
To bronze-gated Ilium - many sailed but few
Returned, through the will of Zeus, Cronus’ invincible son.
But they did not forget you, swift-footed lady,
For on Aulis’ sandy shore Agamemnon set up
Your form in wood, and still today the rustic Boeotians
Journey there, by foot and wagon, over long roads,
All to fall at your feet and chant the name of Artemis
Who delights in the hunt and spurns the works of Eros.
Hear me, goddess - grant me prosperous works
And health; defend me with your gleaming arrows.
And in return I shall pray to you as I wander
The wilds, the hollows where no man lives.
But never shall I forget you,
Even as I pass on now to another song.
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“Hestia tends the flame” / Héstia cuida da chama
Portuguese:
Quando a de dedos róseos se espreguiça
E dourado Hélio seus cavalos atende
A flamejante Deusa urge, sempre diligente
Já quando o céu encandeia pela quadriga
Dedos atentos aquecendo ambrosia
Canções e louvores na ponta da língua
A luz eterna no Olimpo que jamais mingua
Em áureas flamas, a refeição cozia
Em bronze ela adorna e logo dispõe
Belo semblante apressa-se adiante
Hebe a assiste, com néctar brilhante
E diante dos Imortais se expõe
Eles sorriem, em esplendor doméstico
Aproximando-se de Héstia e seu prato
A chama ruge, coluna ao centro
Os Deuses vêm em seu alento
Zeus assente, o Rei entre Deuses
Hera gesticula, sua Esposa em flor
Os Deuses partilham da refeição
Mas não sem antes uma libação
Apolo das Musas, cítara em mão
Propicia Boulaia com uma canção
Os doze a honram, primeiro e último
E festejam a primogênita no Olimpo
English:
When the rosy-fingered one stretches
And golden Helios His horses attends
The Flaming Goddess urges, always diligent
When the sky shines through with the chariot
Careful fingers warming up ambrosia
Songs and praises on the tip of the tongue
The eternal light on Olympus that never wanes
In golden flames, the meal is cooked
In bronze is adorned and presented
Her beautiful form rushes ahead
Hebe assists her, with brilliant nectar
And before the Immortals she exposes herself
They smile, in domestic splendor
Approaching Hestia and her plate
The roaring flame, column in the center
The Gods come hither
Zeus nods, the King among Gods
Hera gestures, his flowered-wife
The Gods share the meal
Not before a libation
Apollo of the Muses, khitara in hand
Provides Boulaia with a song
The Twelve honor her, first and last
And celebrate the firstborn on Olympus
As always, the poem is supposed to rhyme in portuguese, not in english, but I hope you guys appreciate it. The Muse struck me with a bit of domestic bliss this morning and I could not stop improvising a song to Hestia whilst cooking.
Anyways, may the Gods be with you! Khaire Hestia!
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Descriptive Epithets of Hera
Hera Aegophagos • Hera the goat-eater (Spartan)
Hera Alexandros • Hera defender of men
Hera Antheia • Hera the blooming/friend of the flowers
Hera Argoea • Hera of the ship Argo
Hera Boopis • Hera cow-eyed
Hera Heniokhe • Hera of the chariot
Hera Hippia • Hera of horses (chariot races at Olympia)
Hera Hyperkheiria • Hera who holds her protective hand above
[ X ]
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source
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Anis Mojgani, from “Here I Am”, Songs from Under the River: A Collection of Poetry
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WHAT is that one poem (?), abt a modern worker contemplating the numerous forgotten who were actually responsible for all the ‘great’ deeds of history
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Morning Prayer to Hestia
Grass-yellow Hestia,
Warm as the blankets I woke up in
and the coffee I sip.
Eldest daughter of red-flowing Rhea
and mighty Kronos,
First among the gods
and last upon Olympus.
Thank you for this house
in which we both reside.
Your reassuring presence lifts my spirits
and warms my heart.
Protect my family
Until we return tonight
to your yellow-eyed hearth.
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