Edited by
David L Rowlands
Part 1:
It was the hatred and jealousy of the goddess Juno which caused the Trojans, fleeing from the destruction of their home-city, so much grief and struggle, through seas made mountainous by Aeolus the god of the wind. Yet even the Queen of Heaven could not forever forestall the fate which Jove had ordained for these storm-tossed wanderers, who would father the Alban race and lay the foundations of the glory that was Rome.
But tell me, oh Muse, what were the causes of such divine wrath? What act, innocent or knowing, was it which provoked the ire of Heaven’s Queen?
It was out of love for Carthage, dearer to Juno than the isle of Samos or even her own city of Argos, whose empire she had personally designed and encouraged to greatness, that her anger arose. For an ancient prophecy had once said that the Trojan race would one day destroy her beloved Carthage and then would lay the yoke of their imperialism upon all the nations of the world. For this reason Juno had aided the Greeks in their ten-year-long campaign against the Trojan state. Furthermore, Juno harbored great resentment against the beautiful young Paris, who had disdained to make love to her, as the goddess had requested, and had instead bestowed this grace upon the beautiful youth, Ganymede.
This prophecy and this insult had caused the Queen of Heaven such distress that she turned her dark and bloodthirsty mind to the business of revenge. For seven long years Juno caused the band of wandering refugees, the remnants of the Trojan host to wander, storm-tossed and scattered through the main, until at last they were driven against the shores of the Latian realm. But scarcely had the Trojan fleet left the Sicilian shores, with cheerful shouts, when Juno, laboring still with endless discontent, gave vent to her fury:
“Then am I vanquished? And must the Trojans reign in Italy? So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force; I am powerless alone against these two. Angry Pallas, with vengeful spleen, could burn the Grecian navy and drown the men! She, for the fault of one offending foe, presumed to throw the very bolts of Jove himself; and with whirlpools from beneath she tossed the ship and exposed the bosom of the deep. Then, as an eagle grips the trembling hare, she strongly seized the wretch, still hissing with her father’s flame, and with a burning wound transfixed him; and naked, on a rock, she bound him.
“But I who walk in awful state, the majesty of heaven, the sister wife of Jove, for long years employ my fruitless force against the thin remains of ruined Troy! What nations will now pray to Juno’s power? Who now will lay offerings on my slighted altars?”
Feeling thus powerless, the goddess sought the aid of an ally in the form of Aeolus, who keeps the winds bound up within a mountain cave or lets them out to work at his command.
“Oh Aeolus”, she beseeched him, “the King of Heaven has given you the power of the winds and of tempests; you can calm them down and smooth the troubled seas, or you can swell them to a fury… Now there is a race of wandering slaves whom I abhor who are currently making fair headway through the Tuscan sea on their way to Italy, where they plan to design and build new temples for their vanquished gods. Raise all thy winds! Let the skies become black as night! Sink or disperse my fatal enemies! Do this for me, and of the fourteen ocean nymphs who bear my train, the fairest, Deiopeia, shall be yours and make you the father of a happy line.”
To this the god replied, “Your wish is my command, my Queen, for is not my own realm the present of your bounteous hand?”
And with that the god hurled his spear against the mountainside and when he pulled it out again, from the hollow wound the winds danced into the air, and skimming along the ground they settled on the sea, sweeping it into great surges, raising mountains of water and disclosing the deep. The South, East and West winds all blowing at the same time caused such confusion that huge waves rolled in billows to the shore. The cables cracked; and the sailors cried out fearfully as the daytime skies turned to night, and loud peals of thunder and flashes of Jove’s lightning revealed a dreadful picture.
Struck with an unusual fright, the Trojan chief lifted up his hands and eyes and prayed for relief, “Those who died under the walls of Troy are far happier than we! Why couldn’t I have been slain by Tydides, bravest of Greeks, and lie with noble Hector in the plain? Or in the bloody fields of Sarpedon, where Simois rolls the bodies and the shields of heroes, whose dismembered hands still hold their dart aloft or clench the pointed spear!”
(to be continued)
So, when is it you moving again, T2? Have you seen the place and had a chance to peruse furniture in the Sales?
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The 21st is the actual moving date, Voice… but I’m picking up the keys and ‘taking posession’ on the 14th; so I can start to move boxes of odds and ends and start packing up books, dvds, tapes etc… on which date, hopefully, I may also just be lucky enough to have security screens installed…
Yes, I’ve seen the place; not bad; a slightly prettier environment than the one I’m in currently; and I’ll have my own little ‘courtyard’ which has a fair bit of shade from a large quandong tree, which also apparently attracts the local population of rosellas (all of it!)
I may not have much time for more than an occasional comment here at the pigs until February or perhaps even March, as I also have to see the orthopaedic surgeon at the hospital on the 24th and am likely to have more surgery sometime in February…
So, if I appear to disappear for a while, I hope you’ll all forgive me; as Arnie once said, “I’ll be back!” I will, however, try to post a new episode of the Aeneid every couple of weeks…
Following ato’s advice, I’ve edited out a stray line of Dryden’s about ‘electra’s injured bed’, ’cause it didn’t make any sense whatsoever… and may further edit the line about Paris and Ganymede, which is also inaccurate (however, ato, I think my having Paris ‘spurn’ Hera’s bed not too unlikely a scenario and this may even be regarded as a more literal version of his metaphorical refusal to vote for her as the ‘fairest of godesses’… The historical inaccuracy of my invented relationship between Paris and Ganymede may hopefully be allowed as ‘poetic licence’ in order to fill in lacunae in my own understanding, of which I’m sure there are many.
However, with the noble professor Atomou to advise me from time to time, perhaps we may, between us, do this wonderful tale justice.
🙂
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asty, I hope all goes well with your cumbersome travails about shifting and surgery! Far too much for a single mortal to bear. I’d be demanding that the whole of Olympus stop its lecherous ways for a day or and come down to assist with the burden!
Good to see the jarring allusion to Electra’s bed disappear. Just don’t understand what the old bard was up to.
As for Paris spurning Hera’s bed… mate! There’s no way a mortal would do that to a goddess -Zeus’ missus at that!- and get away with it. And if a mortal did, then it certainly wouldn’t be pusillanimous Paris!
Hippolytus tried it with Aphrodite and look what happened to him! The ocean turned into a ginormous bull that eventually had him crushed under the wheels of his own chariot.
Never say “no” to a goddess -or a god for that matter.
I know, asty, I’m being a cruel pedant but, shite, mate, pusillanimous Paris wasn’t gay either. Even if Ganymedes was his contemporary, he wouldn’t have gone to his bed… at least not for any prurient reasons. Paris was a ladies’ man.
But poets should be given a great deal of license. A liberal dose of wicket licentiousness is a must in a poet!
Interestingly, Aeneas’ father, Anchises, played hard-to-get with Aphro, until she seduced him by pretending to be a mortal, a princess. Then, nine months later, she appears before him with baby Aeneas at her breast!
Oh, the horror, the horror!
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Okay, ato… I’ll edit the Ganymede bit too, when I get a moment…
😉
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I must say, piggies, there has only been one year in my life when I can say it began badly but then that year too, rolled itself out beautifully. That year was 1958 which began while mother, sister and I were aboard the good but very old ship, “Queen Frederika.”
It had just swung East around the Great Oz Bight and happily riding the waves towards Melbourne, when a cyclone hit it. The image of a chestnut half spinning about in the ocean doesn’t do justice to what we all went through for over 24 hours. If you can imagine being on deck and looking up, bending your head back as far as it can go and still seeing the ocean above you, then doing the opposite but seeing only the sky, you just might get the picture. I was only 13 and the sister, 11. Sister was stuck petrified with mother in the cabin, I and a whole bunch of other twits were rushing about the ship hopping over great pools of puke having fun, as if it was all a game. The dining hall was, of course completely abandoned to us kids and we raided the cupboards for coke and all sorts of other stuff.
Father was in Melbourne already, having arrived a year earlier.
The news that our ship was sending out SOS signals and that another ship was rushing towards us for the rescue had hit father’s radio and he stayed up all night listening, out of his wits with fear and shouting at the relatives he was living with, curses at himself for trying out this adventure.
Suddenly, it was announced that the ships signal has been lost and that we have all drowned. I can’t imagine what pappy would be feeling at the time and the description of the evening given to us by those relies a few days after we go here, were, to put it mildly, animated. For my parents, it was a re-living of his family’s flight from Turkey in 1925. Pursued by the Turkish army, clawing their way through snow, blizzards and harsh terrain until they reached Greece.
Queen Frederika survived the tempest and the following morning we saw a typical brilliant and hot January morning. The sea was oily.
The puke was washed away from all decks and the adults came out from their cabins, gingerly at first but confidently enough later to be telling each other’s adventures. The ship’s church was packed and loudspeakers were connected to every corner of the ship to hear the mass. Thrice, I think. Orthodox, Catholic and Anglican, if I remember right.
I can’t for the life of me remember how long it took for us to reach Melbourne after that but reach it we did and the embraces haven’t untangled themselves to this day.
The newspapers in Greece also had the bad news in the first day’s edition but then gave the good news in the next edition; and when Mrs Ato and I went there in ’76, for the first time, we were told how the whole village was praying for us and preparing for the funeral service.
That ship did the Italy-America trip only once and when it got to its final destination it was put to salvage.
These days, when we hear about “boat people,” we feel that agony and extreme trepidation all over again.
After that, we were all very lucky with the beginnings of our years. Sure we had lots of dramas during them, just like every other human being on the planet but I can’t remember another Xmas or New Year that came anywhere near being as big a bummer as 1958.
Huge Xmas lunch last year, huge New Year’s lunch this year and a huge New Year’s BBQ again tomorrow! Huge in food and drink, as well as in hugs, kisses and love.
May the rest of your year be nothing short of splendid! I’ll have a little chat to Zeus for yez all!
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I was in a cyclone in 1956 in North Queensland, ato. It was my first year of school. I remember the look of the sky as I was walked home by my sister as I recall it, supposing now that was from school. It is a strange and strong deepish grey in my mind. It seems to me the earth stood still. I remember silence. I think often how strange the colour of the sky is and how still the surrounds. Later was far from still. I recall moments of anxiety, being directed to go to an area of the house I think I muddle between our verandah and our parents’ bedroom as I can see backdrops behind worried faces that appear in an alternate two moments, one my mother’s face gathering me under something and dad with his face set with exertion on the verandah with two arms around the legs of my big brother..and bro is holding onto the corner of the verandah roof. V strange but I believe they were attempting to combat a lift of wind under that. They look massively heroic in memory-they were big chaps and I am seeing them from a distance that they are hanging on for that security. I recall it the next day that the environment outside was scattered with branches and treees, that the road seemed as if it had scrubbed, the fallen trees I remember looking as if they had been hosed down and were clean. That latter memory does not hold up next to photographs I have seen of the aftermath of more recent cyclones. Doing that cyclone at sea! Noooo! 😐
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You are staunch and outstanding in your output T2-as is Atomou in that complimentary genre.
A genuine pleasure to see that! And the (other) patron’s continual output too.
Felicitations to all: and goodwill for the New Year. Last year was a bummer for me.
Oh well! What do they say?? ‘Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again!’
Runcible left an acknowledgement on your population comment AJ. If yer out there?
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Sorry to hear you had such a hard time last year, LH; but it’s good to see you back at the Pigs’ again. Mind you, this year seems to be starting as a bit of a bummer for me! As you say, pick yourself up, etc… Hope this year is better for you and gets better for me!
😉
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Just what has happened astyages that the year has started as a bit of a bummer for you?
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A good friend disappeared leaving me wondering what I’d done wrong…
😉
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“Abracadabra” will do it every time, asty.
Perhaps however it is a matter of only perspective.
We particularly lose our perspective in trying circumstances that isolate us in harsh conditions… and we comfort ourselves with repetitive behaviour that is ritual of proof we are safe.
Nothing can become more dangerous and sometimes our friends have to go for respite to wherever they feel safe. To walk down a road with fresh wind in the face and greet people and make trivial conversation for the pleasure of finding their depth.
Perhaps your good friend has not disappeared. Perhaps you have created that illusion.
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Nice to see you back LH, I hope 2011 is a better and peaceful year for you.
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Thanks Algy. Goodwill for this year.
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Well, Little Hadron, we all have those bummer years, months, and or just days; only yesterday someone, not Gez, upset me badly. I took my sadness and anger out by cleaning out my garage, and this on The First day of the Year!
My anger made me work hard and fast and I flung out almost half of the stuff I had carefully packed and stored 🙂
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G’day mate. I’ve already replied to that post in a complimentary way.
Also replied to your skiting on ‘It’s hip to be square’ far more characteristically. But the mods are a sanctimonious, self-righteous, bunch of dickheads, and moreover they are NO FUN, and must think you are very thin skinned indeed.
Although now I check, the complimentary reply didn’t appear either. Maybe they have a backlog, in which case you have something to look forward to. 🙂
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…and my reply to VoR agreeing about flat TV’s being cheap and easier to place has not been published either….
Yet my silly bantering about Cuban heels is there. Maybe the mods feel sorry for the authors who don’t get many replies…I often post on blogs where no one else goes…feeling sorry.
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I have made about thirty comments since I retook my keyboard, of which ~fifteen haven’t been censored out!
The censors seem especially to despise friendly asides..Or personal criticisms of style.
Although, laughingly, I have found a post with identical sentiment appear from what is obviously a favoured poster of a particular mod. Bloody Aussie poofters!!
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Not censorship methinks, they just haven’t got it together. But you can always post anything memorable on the PA Leashed site.
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“Then as an eagle grips the trembling hare”. Beautiful word picture, T2.
Sometimes I need to read a piece two or three times to make sure I understand it. For example – the reference to Paris and Ganymede to my mind is tricky and a little parenthetic. For me, it reads like Paris made love to Ganymede, not, as I imagine, Juno had her way with Ganymede. Is this arrangement of clauses imposed by the original text ? Or might it be a way of cutting a long story shorter ?
Hoping the move completes smoothly and wishing you and all the Pig’s Arms patrons a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year.
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That Paris disdained the offer of Juno’s bed in favor of Ganymede, I believe, was how the author intended the story to be read Emmjay. And Juno (known to the Greeks as Hera, was a very jealous ‘Mother of Heaven’… Hence her ire with Troy… Good to see you lads in the back row are paying attention!
🙂
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Almost, asty but not quite. Let’s see…
Both great ancient epics, Homer’s “Iliad” and Virgil’s (aka Vergil) “Aeneid” begin with an anger, a wrath.
The Iliad in fact, begins with the very word: Menin, (the English “mania” comes from it) and it is the anger felt by one of the Greek heroes, Achilles. It is that anger that had caused the deaths of many thousands of “brave greek souls” and nearly brought about the destruction of the whole greek army and thus the loss of the war against the Trojans.
Virgil says, that the reason poor Aeneas, along with his old pappy and the rest of his tribe (the only Trojan survivors) was battered about the many seas was because Juno (Latin for Hera) wife of Jupiter (Latin for Zeus) carried a similarly dire anger (“iratus,” line 25) in her heart against the Trojans, for two reasons: Paris, if the piglets can remember, and as you’ve mentioned, asty, didn’t chose her as the most beautiful of the three goddesses presented to him (the other two being Aphrodite and Athena) and, also because of another Trojan, another Prince, back in the dim past, the son of Tros, the founder of Troy, called Ganymedes, though this time, it was not anything that Ganymede had done. But, you see, this young prince was so gorgeous that Zeus fell desperately in love with him and abducted him, took him over to the heavens where he and all the gods dwelt, made constant love to him and gave him the most honoured office among the gods, that of a cup bearer.
To this day, one may hear Greeks begging their children sweetly, “I want to take my cup of coffee, or cocoa, or shot of ouzo, from your hands.”
Hera (Juno) was green with envy. Zeus had turned his affections and amorousness away from her -a woman- to lavish them upon Ganymede, a boy!
Over the ages, Ganymede(s) has become the symbol of, as well as the justification for homosexuality; as well as its condemnation as an act of pederasty.
Lots of academic ink was spilled over this issue.
Herodotus (father of History) contends that the Persians (Easterners) had learnt of this act of pederasty from the Greeks. Plato, says, it was the other way round, or, rather, almost the other way round. That is, it was the Cretans who, wanting to behave as did their gods, in this case Zeus, would freely fall in love with people of their own sex. To this day, lots of the practices of the devotees of all three Abrahamic religions are based on the lives of their main prophets. So, it was the Cretans who introduced homosexuality to the mainland Greece, according to Plato and, in fact, according to many other writers of his time, Euripides being one of them, if memory serves me aright.
But, there is a vast difference between love and pederasty and, Plato in particular, shows that whilst one is to be abhorred (and thus considered barbaric in origin) the other is to be admired (and thus to be considered Greek in nature.) Make of that what you will!
But oui, the gorgeous Ganymede has a long and coloourful history.
If one stares into the broad and splendidly weaved cape of Night one will see the shining shape of the constellation of Aquarius, the Water Carrier. That’s our Ganymede, placed up there by the daddy of the gods, Zeus, because he loved him so much. Look deeper into the inner sanctum of the heavens and you will see the star Jupiter (Latin for Zeus). Spinning around that star is the largest satellite in the solar system, Jupiter’s seventh moon. That satellite, too, is called Ganymede, first discovered by the great Galileo Galilei in 1610 and so named by the German astronomer, Simon Marius with the lovely words, “Io, Europa, Ganimedes puer, atque Calisto lascivo nimium perplacuere Iovi.” (…the young boy, Ganymede and Calisto who pleased lusty Jupiter enormously)
Hope you’re all nursing a bit of a pleasant fog in your head, this morning. We’re preparing for a huge oceanic lunch at my sister’s!
Zeus bless yez all!
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asty, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to send you a note about this passage but I don’t have your addy. Could you please send me a g’day at solowords&yahoo.com ?
Ta muchly.
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Ato, I just tried to send you an email, but it didn’t work… my current addy, using T2’s original name is at an extinct flightless bird dot com dot au. I’m happy to read any notes you send me.
🙂
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Yes. Send emails to teatwo@moa.con.au
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Errrr… I guess that the fact that I got so confused over this little passage myself in some way at least justifies the object of my exercise, even if my own interpretive skills fall short of the mark…
😐
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This keyboard is drunk!
It hits & instead of @!
Sorry, asty! Hopefully you’ve got a dodo in your mail box!
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I sure do ato… for all the good a useless extinct spuggie is to anyone! I’ll check your note and get back to you…
🙂
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The Latin is a little convoluted but clear. Hera wasn’t after sex from Paris. Just to be named the most beautiful of the three contestant deities. Ganymede was an ancestor of Paris and, by now, living happily up among the rest of the gods, being the cup bearer for them and enjoying the caresses of their chief, Zeus.
Those who wish to read more about the great beauty contest may go to my “Eris Wrapped in Newspaper” reposted here on October 9, 2010https://pigsarms.com.au/2010/10/09/eris-wrapped-in-newspaper-2/
One of the better translations of Virgil’s Aeneid, I reckon, is that by C. Day Lewis, but Frank Copley’s is quite fine. My mate in the UK, Tony Kline as also done an excellent job of it. He may be found here: http://tkline.pgcc.net/PITBR/Latin/Virgilhome.htm
But these are direct translations and not retellings like those done by yours truly and asty. Different kettles, different fish.
Talking about fish, the time has come when we chooffed off for the great fish feast at the sister’s
Ciao everyone!
And, ehhhhh, catchalata
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It’s a good idea, asty. You begin at the fall of Troy and I begin at the beginning of its fall!
Our readers will have to keep in mind that in a few more of my pieces, the Greeks will be landing in that poor city and then the war that brings its destruction and the destruction of “myriads of heroes” will begin.
This piece follows that destruction, as Virgil followed Homer.
The biggest, most gorgeous story ever told… and told again and again and again!
Courage, young man!
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I shall nail my courage to the sticking point, Ato, never fear! Am girding up my loins even as we speak! I’m glad you think it’s a good idea, though…
🙂
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Over at Astyages’s Weblog, I’ve been rendering Virgil’s Aeneid into prose, in the hope that, in this rather less than poetic age, a new generation of readers who are either unfamiliar with, or who otherwise lack the patience to read the Aeneid in its poetic original form, may more easily understand the story behind this, the foundation myth of the Roman Empire, which, of course, traces its origins back to the fall of Troy… which is where our tale begins.
I do hope you will all enjoy this pilot; if it proves to be popular I’ll continue to post more. Apologies for the delay with HH10… moving house is currently occupying to much of my brain cell… But I’ll try to get onto it a.s.a.p. if there’s a lull in the chaos, or if I manage to find the ‘eye of the storm’…
😉
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