Author Archives: astyages

Hell Hospital 12

19 Saturday Mar 2011

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Hospitals are hell - Aren't they?

 

HELL HOSPITAL

Episode 12

By theseustoo

When John and Mary Swan had finally decided to phone the hospital to find out about their parents’ protracted absence they had been told, in order to ‘spare their feelings’ that their father had suffered a fatal accident at work and that the shock had been too much for their mother, who was being kept in the psychiatric ward for the time being and the baby was being looked after in the hospital nursery. A social worker was sent to help arrange social security benefits for the children and with this done they were promptly forgotten.

But the bills had begun to arrive and it quickly became clear that social security benefits were not going to be enough to pay them all. John knew that he and Mary would have to find work in order to support the rest of the Cricket Team. The duty of ‘babysitting’ their other siblings devolved on the third and fourth eldest, Algernon and Vivienne, who, as their elder siblings had done before them, immediately rose to the challenge and put away the toys they had been playing with to don a more ‘adult’ persona as they intuitively assumed the mantle of authority whilst John and Mary, children competing for work in an adult world, went out day after day to look for work; their lack of early success was disheartening, but like the troopers they were, they always maintained a brave and cheerful face in front of the other members of the Cricket Team. Eventually they found work stacking supermarket shelves in the evenings at Coals; the pay wasn’t great, but it would pay the rent and bills and leave them just about enough to feed the Cricket team, so, for the time-being, they were satisfied.

***** ******** *****

As for their poor deceased pater, Swannee, as the bible says is true of all the dead, was aware of nothing at all. His recently animated corpse was still a corpse; capable of movement and obedience to simple commands, perhaps, but a corpse nonetheless. Without a mind to give it volition or purpose of its own, it was still very much a dead thing; a zombie. Neither was the zombie’s mistress, Elaine, any more aware of what she was doing than was her zombie creation; her own mind having been supplanted by the will of the Dark One and forced to retreat into subconsciousness; all her actions were now directed by the Dark One, to fulfil purposes only he could understand.

***** ******** *****

Dave returned to the hospital and demanded to see the doctor who had handled his injured and now de-calcified foot so roughly that he had re-fractured the fourth meta-tarsal. The doctor had not been impressed with Dave’s display of temper when he loudly accused the doctor of having broken his foot again. But when Dave had threatened to ‘see how you like having your bones broken!’ whilst advancing menacingly towards him, the doctor instantly shouted for security. The two burly security men who instantly responded, upon seeing Dave yelling at the doctor, immediately assessed the situation, sidled round behind him and, each taking hold of one of his arms, held him securely, in spite of his loud demands that he be ‘unhanded forthwith!’

“He’s raving,” the doctor said, “I believe he’s having some kind of nervous or mental breakdown; I’m going to give him a sedative…” With that he filled a syringe from a small bottle and quickly swabbing the skin of Dave’s upper arm, which the security guard who was still firmly holding it had thoughtfully uncovered, injected the syringe’s contents into Dave’s arm as the latter swooned into unconsciousness.

***** ******** *****

Virgil’s Aeneid, Part 4

27 Sunday Feb 2011

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Rendered into prose by

D L Rowlands

*****     *********     *****

Meanwhile Aeneas lay awake in the dark of the night, unable to sleep for his burden of care. But when the sun rose, he too arose to survey the coast and the country near their landing site, anxious to learn more about the nature of the land in which they now found themselves. The region seemed wild and uncultivated, but they did not know whether the land was inhabited by men or solely by beasts.

He hid his fleet underneath a rocky overhang, above which grew tall trees which covered the mountainside and provided a safe retreat. Arming himself with two pointed darts and with the faithful Achates at his side, he left his friends, and when they had reached the deep recesses of the woods, all of a sudden, his goddess mother stood before him, a huntress by habit and manner; her dress suggested a maiden but her air confessed a queen. Her skirt was bound up and her knees were bare; her hair was loose and windblown; her hand held a bow and a quiver hung at her back. She seemed like a virgin of the Spartan blood: With such an array as this Harpalyce bestrode her Thracian courser and outstripped the rapid flood.

“Ho, strangers!” she addressed them, “Have you seen one of my sisters, dressed like myself? I think she wandered into the forest; she had a quiver, painted with spots at her back and she wore a lynx’s hide, and in full cry pursued a long-tusked boar.”

Thus spoke Venus, and her son replied, “We have seen none of your sisters, o virgin; or whatever other title you may call yourself above that… Oh, you are fairer than any mortal woman; your voice and manner betray the celestial nature of your birth! At the very least you seem like one of the chaste goddess, Diana’s retinue… Hear my plea then and do not let a humble suppliant beg your help in vain; but tell me, a stranger long tossed on the tempestuous sea, what earth we tread and who commands this coast? And then wretched mortals shall call on your name and offer sacrificial victims at your altar.”

“I dare not assume the name of goddess,” she replied, “or claim celestial honors; Tyrian virgins carry bows and quivers and wear purple buskins on their feet… Know, gentle youth, that you are in the land of Libya; a people rude in peace and rough in war. The rising city, which can be seen from afar, is Carthage; a Tyrian colony. Phoenician Dido rules this growing state, who fled from Tyre to escape her brother’s hatred. Great were her wrongs and her story is full of fate, which I shall sum up in brief: Sichaeus, a man known for his wealth, and brother to the Tyrian king, was engaged to her but both brothers were struck with an equal dart.

Her father gave her to Pygmalion while she was still a spotless maid. Then Pygmalion, who condemned both divine and human laws, attempted to seize the Tyrian scepter; then strife ensued, caused by accursed gold… The king, blinded by his greed for his brothers’ wealth, by stealth slew him before the sacred altar, but for a long time concealed from her this cruel deed. Every day he framed some new pretense about his brother’s whereabouts to soothe his sister, and delude her mind.

At length, in the dead of night, the ghost of her unhappy lord appeared; the specter stared at her as he bared his bloody bosom and told her of his cruel fate at the altar. Then he warned the widow to take her household gods and flee to seek refuge in faraway places. Finally to support her on such a long voyage, he showed her where he had hidden his treasure. Thus admonished and seized with a mortal fear, the queen gathered companions from among all those who had cause to hate or fear the tyrant, to join her in her flight.

They found a fleet, ready rigged, which they seized, taking Pygmalion’s treasure with them. The vessels, thus heavily laden, put to sea, with fair winds and a woman to lead the way. I don’t know if the weather or Heaven’s fate drove them, but at last they landed, where from afar your eyes may view the turrets of new Carthage rise. They bought a space of ground, named Byrsa, after the bulls hide, which they first enclosed and walled… But where are you from? Where were you born, and what do you seek on our Libyan soil?”

 To her, with sorrow streaming from his eyes, and sighing deeply, her son replied, “Had you the patience to hear, or I to tell, oh nymph, the tedious tale of our fate, I’d take you through such a train of woes that the day would be over before the tale was done! We come from Troy – have you heard of her? – from which we were expelled by force and have been driven by tempestuous storms on various seas…

At length we landed on your Libyan coast. My name is Aeneas; a name not unknown to fame while Fortune favored me. With pious care I rescued my household gods, the companions of our woes, from our enemies and set sail for Italy; and I am descended from the King of Heaven. With twenty ships I crossed the Phrygian sea; my mother goddess leading the way. Now only seven ships remain; preserved from the storms here within your harbor. Now I am an exile, unknown and in distress; barred from Europe and thrown out of Asia to wander the Libyan deserts alone.”

His tender parent could no longer bear to hear his tale and interrupted him, seeking to soothe his care, “Whoever you are, you are not unbeloved by Heaven, since your ships have been driven onto our friendly shore. Have courage, and leave the rest to the gods. Go to the queen and ask her for her help. Your scattered fleet is now safely gathered upon the shore; the winds have changed and your friends are free from danger, or I’ll renounce my skill in augury!

Do you see those twelve swans, flying in beautiful order? Not long ago they were chased by an eagle, who pursued their scattering throng through the clouds; now reunited and in good order, and with returning joy, they flap their wings and fly in circles as they skim the ground looking for a friendly stream. Thus it is with you and your ships; all you have to do is to follow this path before you… You can already see the town from here.”

Having said this, she turned to leave and, as she walked away, allowed him to see her graceful neck and disheveled hair, which flowed over her shoulders and reached the ground; scenting the air with ambrosia, and, letting down the train of her long gown, by her graceful walk revealed herself as the Queen of Love.

The prince pursued the parting deity, calling after her, “Where are you going? You are unkind and cruel to deceive your son with borrowed shapes and to shun his embrace… never to let me see you except thus in disguise and to speak to him not in your own language but in a foreign tongue!”

Thus he complained against the goddess, but he obeyed her commands and took the path she had indicated and marched, invisibly, for Venus had shrouded their persons with mist so that no-one would stay their passage or force them to tell where they were bound and what was their purpose. This done, the sublime goddess flew off to visit Paphos, her native land; where garlands, ever green and ever fair, are offered with vows and solemn prayers at a hundred altars in her temple wile a thousand bleeding hearts invoke her power.

The Trojans climbed the next hill and, looking down beheld the town. Now much closer, the prince beheld with wonder the stately towers where until recently had been nothing but huts and shepherd’s hovels. He viewed the gates and streets and from everywhere heard the noise of the busy marketplace; the toiling Tyrians calling to each other, exhorting each other to work.

Some extended the wall while others built the citadel; or dug, or pushed unwieldy stones along. Some chose a spot of ground for their dwelling place, which, once designed, they surrounded with ditches. Some ordained laws; and some attended the election of holy senates. Here some drew up designs while there others lay deep foundations for a theater. From mighty quarries, mighty columns were hewn for ornaments depicting scenes which expressed their future hopes.

All worked as busily as bees in the flowery plains, when winter is past and summer scarce begun. Some conduct the youths about the city, while some make wine, which sitll others dispense. Some wait at the gate to receive the harvest and relieve their friends of their golden burden. All, with united force, combined to drive the lazy drones from the laborious hive.

Stung with envy, they viewed each others’ deeds as the fragrant work proceeded diligently. “Thrice happy you, whose walls already rise!” Aeneas said as he viewed, with lifted eyes, their lofty towers; then, entering the gate, still concealed in prodigious clouds, he mixed, unnoticed, among the busy throng, as, borne by the tide, he passed unseen among them.

***** ********* *****

Hell Hospital 11

25 Friday Feb 2011

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HELL HOSPITAL

Episode 11

By theseustoo

(Disclaimer: this series of stories is completely fictional and none of the persons, places or institutions in these stories are real, but figments of my own imagination. Any similarity to any real person, place or institution is entirely coincidental.)

Dave had had a particularly wearying eighteen months since his accident; his foot had been crushed and dislocated simultaneously as he was thrown over the handlebars of his motorcycle after a female driver had driven out of a side-street to make a left turn right in front of him; he’d seen her approaching the junction and, as she had looked right at him, Dave had of course assumed that she was going to stop and give way as the law demanded in such a situation. She hadn’t, however, and the result had been just about every bone in Dave’s left foot being shattered. After eighteen months he’d returned for his check-up, expecting to be told he would soon have bone fusion surgery and that this would lessen some of the pain he still felt in the leg, even though he’d begun to walk on it some time ago.

“I remember you…” the doctor said, frowning heavily under his thick-rimmed glasses

“I remember you too!” Dave said. This doctor had seem him once before and had demonstrated such a judgemental attitude towards Dave and his injury that Dave suspected him of working for the insurance company which was dealing with his claim for compensation. At the very least, thought Dave, this guy has the bedside manner of a house-brick; in fact he was sure he’d known friendlier and more compassionate house-bricks.

The doctor made Dave take off his shoes and socks and, after looking at the X-rays Dave had just had done, took the latter’s left foot in his hands; taking one end of his foot in one hand and the other end in the other hand, the doctor then suddenly twisted both ends of the foot in opposite directions; “Aaargh!” Dave yelled instantly as he felt something go ‘click’ painfully in his left foot. Another wrench of the foot upwards towards the kneecap brought another yell of pain from the patient, who was beginning to wonder what he’d ever done to the doctor to deserve such treatment.

“That’s bad…” the doctor was saying, “Your ankle is still very stiff; and the x-rays show that your bones have all decalcified; your foot now has osteoporosis as a result of protracted disuse; there’s too little calcium in your bones for the bone fusion surgery to work, so you’ll need to walk on it as much as you can for the next six months… Then come back and we’ll see if there’s enough calcium in it for the bone fusion operation… The good news is that if you walk on it enough for the next six months you may not need the bone fusion…”

Dave had patiently ignored the violent urges he felt towards this doctor and even more patiently made another appointment for six months later; it had been six months since his last appointment; one thing Dave was sure of was that he was not suffering from ‘over-servicing’. He made a mental note of his determination that if he had to see the same doctor on his next visit, that he would ask for another doctor; he had been assured that none of the hospital’s doctors ‘worked for the insurance companies’, but who, he asked himself, could one possibly believe in this wonderful 21st century? And this quack seems downright hostile!

His determination was redoubled when a visit to his own GP confirmed a suspected fractured fourth meta-tarsal; and his GP’s method of examining the foot for flexibility was not only much gentler, but, it seemed to Dave, also produced greater flexibility in the whole foot.

***** ******** *****

“Well,” Doctor Frood was saying, “Vat does zis ‘saint’ of yours look like, then…?”

“Well, she’s kinda tall and slim… blonde and speaks with a slightly Scandinavian accent.

“So you actually do see her, then; she’s not just a voice inside your head?”

“Oh yes, Doctor… I see her as plainly as I see you sitting here in front of me!”

“Most unusual…” the psychiatrist said, suddenly standing up and agitatedly starting to pace the room; he stopped in front of the window, staring out of it into space, as he continued, “… few schizophrenia patients actually see visions; the voices remain internal to their heads, but clearly, you understand that this cannot be real? It must be some kind of hallucination! People just don’t appear and disappear like that!”

He turned round only to discover with astonishment that Loreen had somehow disappeared. She couldn’t have left by the normal route; his secretary was trained to try to stop and question anyone who left an interview early and he’d have heard; besides, when he asked her if his patient had left, his secretary had just said, “Patient?” as if she hardly knew what such at thing was. Nervously he reached into his drawer, took out a small pill-bottle and poured himself out a generous handful of ‘little yellow helpers’; then he withdrew a silver flask from a hip pocket and washed his pills down with a good strong slug of brandy…

It wasn’t possible, was it? That he could be imagining patients? Patients who talked about seeing saints? Was this, he began to wonder, some kind of guilt manifestation from his own rejection of religion at an early age? Perhaps, he thought, I need to see a psychiatrist!

***** ******** *****

HELL HOSPITAL 10

12 Saturday Feb 2011

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HELL HOSPITAL

Episode 10

By theseustoo

(Disclaimer: this series of stories is completely fictional and none of the persons, places or institutions in these stories are real, but figments of my own imagination. Any similarity to any real person, place or institution is entirely coincidental.)

After her narrow escape, Loreen decided it would be a good idea to keep a low profile for a while, so when the psychologist she had decided to visit on the advice of her friend, Nurse Julia from the Psych Ward, suggested that Loreen should prepare a bag for herself and then enter the Psych Ward for a few days’ observation, she welcomed it with a sigh of relief. Eating in the ward would keep her away from the staff canteen and thus minimise the chance that her presence might jog someone’s memory about the mystery siren who had lured the unfortunate Swannee to his doom…

“Don’t worry Loreen,” the shrink had said, as he opened his office door for his client as her session drew to a close, “…once we’ve observed you for a few days and run some tests, we’ll probably find there’s nothing wrong with you; we’ll find out what these apparitions you keep seeing really are… and what they really mean!”

“Thank you Dr Frood”, she had replied, as if her sigh of relief were a sigh of reluctance, “… I’m sure you know what you’re doing, of course; it’s all for the best…” The burden of looking after Nurse Paula had been something of a strain lately and she had begun to wonder about the sanity of following the advice of anyone spoken to during a transcendental experience. Yet she could not deny that had she not been there on several occasions, Nurse Paula’s actions would most certainly have been lethal for certain patients. Though she doubted her own sanity now, she still felt compelled to act on those occasions when she had realised the meaning of the clues in the crosswords; and she was never without a copy of ‘Take 5’ magazine in her pocket, buying the latest edition the moment after it arrived in the hospital’s shop. But she couldn’t understand why it had been she who had been chosen for this task; she’d never even been particularly religious.

Her relief at managing to escape the scrutiny of the diners in the staff canteen for even a few days was somewhat tempered, however, when she found herself in a bed right next to Catherine Swan… the now-infamous mad murderess who had killed her husband. The poor woman had completely refused to recognise her baby when it had been presented to her; indeed Catherine’s memory of having been married and had any children at all had completely vanished; she now thought she was in the convent to which she’d been prepared to go after a sadly fatal performance had put an end to her partner’s life and simultaneously brought her career as a knife-thrower to a premature close just before she had allowed herself to be persuaded by the blandishments of the then youthful Swannee.. She spent most of her waking hours in prayers or meditations, but the nature of these prayers and meditations was very unpredictable; sometimes they involved the hospital’s patron saint and seemed relatively benign, whilst at other times she seemed to be communicating fearfully with someone she referred to only as the Dark One; occasionally she would speak, snarl, growl and otherwise communicate as if she actually were the Dark One.

Loreen decided that Catherine was totally ‘out of it’. She showed no sign whatsoever that she recognised the woman who now occupied the next bed, so Loreen decided that her chances of remaining undiscovered were still much better here than at work. Of course, she still had to keep an eye on Paula, but Loreen knew Paula’s schedule by heart and had no difficulty in ‘disappearing’ from the ward whenever her protege had a serious mishap. Yes, she would be much safer here, she thought, with some satisfaction.

***** ******** *****

On a dimension the existence of which today’s scientists can scarcely dream of, the Dark One brooded; an eternity was coming to an end and he sensed that release from his eternal imprisonment was nigh; sensing a weakness, he extruded a metaphysical pseudopod into that group of dimensions which our scientists recognise as ‘Space-Time’ and found sympathetic vibrations; gently, he eased himself into Elaine’s receptive consciousness… Manipulating this one would be easy, he thought.

***** ******** *****

Virgil’s Aeneid, Part 2

17 Monday Jan 2011

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A ship struck by waves during a storm over the Black Sea

An example of the kind of storm the seas in this region experience even in modern times: A fierce storm with winds of up to 67mph (108kph)batters the northern shores of the Black Sea, sinking several ships.

by Astyages

And while the pious prince bewailed his fate, fierce Boreas, the cold north wind, drove against his flying sail and rent the sheets. The raging billows rose and lifted the storm-tossed vessel to the skies and when it fell broke all the oars as the ship slewed around and turned her prow, while those astern, as they slid down the steep slope of the deck, through the gaping waves beheld the boiling deep.

Three ships were blown by the south wind who cast them furiously upon those hidden rocks, which the Ausonian sailors call the Altars, when upon occasion they rise above the flood into view and bared their spacious backs. Three more were driven angrily by Eurus, onto the shallows of moving sandbanks which left them stranded in the middle of the ocean.

Orontes’ ship, which bore the Lycian crew, before Aeneas’ very eyes, oh, horrid sight, was washed by waves from stem to stern and finally the pilot was washed overboard, torn from his rudder and hurled headlong into the sea, in which he circled the ship three times before a huge wave sucked him under and he was lost to the deep; while here and there, floating on the waves were arms, pictures, precious goods and floating men, as the stoutest of the Trojan vessels gave way before the storm, her shivered timbers and loosened planks letting in the rushing sea. Iloneus was her captain, and old Alethes was in her crew; while faithful Achates and the bold and youthful Abas endured no less in their own ships, which both let the briny sea in through gaping seams.

Meanwhile, Neptune, hearing the sound of the raging tempest, was displeased and, fearing some usurpation of his watery reign, raised his mighty head above the sea with serene majesty, then rolled his eyes and looked around him. He saw the distress of the dispersed Trojan fleet, oppressed by winter’s stormy winds. He knew all about his sister, Juno’s envy, and what she intended for the Trojans. He summoned Eurus and the West Wind, and cast an angry glance on both of them as he rebuked them:

“Audacious winds! Where did you get the insolence to make such a bold move! Do you now take it upon yourselves to ravage the seas and the land without my supreme command? To raise mountainous waves on the troubled sea? But first let me restrain the billowing seas and then you shall be taught obedience to my reign! You may remind your lord, Aeolus that the realms of the air and the ocean are mine; not his. The trident of the sea and the liquid realm, fell by fatal lot to me. From now on Aeolus’ power is confined to hollow caverns, where he can keep the winds and boast and bluster in his empty hall!”

And as he spoke, he smoothed the troubled sea, dispelled the darkness and restored the daylight, as Cymothoe, Triton and their sea-green train of beautiful nymphs, the daughters of the sea, cleared the Trojan vessels from the rocks with their hands, while the god himself, standing with his trident ready, opened the deep and, spreading the moving sands, then heaved the vessels off the shoals. And wherever Neptune guided his finny coursers, the waves unruffled and the sea subsided, while the Trojan sailors plied their shattered oars and made for the nearest land, which, as Fate would have it, turned out to be the shores of Libya.

Within a long, recessed stretch of coast, they found a bay, hidden from the sea by an island and the two stretches of land on either side which jutted out into the sea, which also protected it from the wind, making it safe for the Trojan ships to ride within the bay even without anchors. Between the two rocky promontories on either side, a cool, green and friendly grotto was formed, whose lichen-covered rocks were the resting place of the Nereids, where they could hide from the heat of the day, while a crystal waterfall provided pure, clean drinking water. Within this harbor, seven ships met; the thin remainders of the scattered Trojan fleet. As soon as they arrived, the sailors, worn out from toil and spent with woes, leaped onto the welcome land to seek repose from their troubles.

First, the good Achates struck flints together repeatedly over the dry tinder and withered leaves he’d collected until first a small flame sprouted among the dry leaves; within a few minutes the fire had caught and as Achates piled on more fuel, the flames rose towards the skies. Wet and dripping, the Trojans dropped to the ground in front of the fire and lay along the ground, or stood around the cheerful blaze. Some dried their corn, which had been thoroughly soaked with brine, and then ground it into a flour to prepare their meal.

Aeneas climbed the brow of the mountain and took in the prospect of the sea below, to see if he could find some sign of the rest of his ships; those captained by Capys, perhaps, or Antheus; perhaps he would see the pennant streamers of Caicus flying somewhere out on the main. But there were no vessels to be seen. However, on the plain below him he saw three well-muscled stags leading a lordly train of does and fauns which grazed contentedly as they moved slowly along. Standing up he took the bow which Achates had given him and let fly his arrows, bringing down first the stags of the herd and then does, until he had felled seven magnificent beasts; one for each of the ships.

He returned to the port triumphant from this little war and broached the large jars of wine which Acestes had generously given him when they left the Trinacrian shore and prepared for a feast, sharing the meat out into equal portions; and as he passed the portions round, the pious leader tried to ease the common grief, “Endure, and conquer! Jove will soon turn our present woes into future good. You have braved the rocks of Scylla with me; and defied the inhuman Cyclops in his den. How much more are you able to bear? Dismiss your cares and keep courage within your breast and Fate will ensure that the hour will come when, with all your sorrows left behind, you relate all these adventures with pleasure for the amusement of your friends. Though we have passed through various hazards and events, we are still on our way to Latium and those realms fore-ordained by Jove, where Trojan kingdoms once again may rise! So, endure your present hardships and survive… live and preserve yourselves for a better fate.”

Thus spoke Aeneas, but he was speaking in order to put heart into his melancholy crew; and not speaking from his own heart; his outward smiles hid his own inward hurt. But for the present the men forgot their own troubles and made haste to prepare the feast. Some skinned the beasts while others cut up the meat; the limbs, still trembling, were put into a huge caldron to boil, while the reeking entrails were roasted on the fire. Stretched out on the grassy turf, they dined at their ease, restoring their strength with meat and cheering their souls with wine.

But once their hunger and thirst were sated, their minds turned once more to the doubtful fortune of their absent friends and hope and fear alternately possessed their minds. They did not even know whether or not their comrades were dead or in some dire distress. Above all, Aeneas mourned the fate of brave Orontes, and the uncertain fate of Gyas, Lycus, and Amycus. Thus the day, but not their sorrows, ended.

***     ******     ****

About An Old Mate – The Pig’s Welcomes T2

16 Sunday Jan 2011

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Russian Monument to Bikers

Whew! Well, that was a close shave… if I hadn’t turned a headlong dive into a combat roll, I’d have gone face first into the tarmac and that, as they say, would have been that. “It would have been ‘Goodnight’ from me; and it would have been ‘Goodnight’ from him!”

Two and a half weeks in hospital, three operations on the foot, nearly $10,000 worth of surgical scrap metal rods, plates and screws holding my foot and ankle bones together, and another couple of weeks of home-recuperation later (and with more operationls to come… “Oh, joy!”) I’m still unable to do much, but I’ve finally recovered enough energy to keep my promise to make a contribution to Poet’s Corner.

To that end, it seems appropriate at the present moment in time to offer you, “Dave, the Mad Biker from Hell”, which I’d like to dedicate to the Bruised and Battered Bikers’ Brigade, and to all the nurses and staff at the RAH, especially the nurses on Ward R3/Orthopaedics.

Dave, the Mad Biker from Hell

1: You may keep your tales of glory
Of wealth and power and fame
And I’ll tell you the story
Of one who wouldn’t play that game:
A hard-riding crazy Irishman
Who, so I’ve heard tell,
Is known by the name,
And it’s earned him some fame –
As ‘Dave, the Mad Biker from Hell’

2: From the cold Streets of London
Young David had come,
To Australia’s sunny shores.
His busker’s life he’d leave behind;
It’s hardships he’d deplored.
A New Start he’d work hard to make,
And he’d succeed for sure…
Until one day fate laid his path
To the Uni’s hallowed door…

3: Now, Dave had but one ambition,
And all he sought was knowledge,
So he studied really hard
At Elizabeth Community College…
Then to Uni off he went,
As proud as proud could be
To study Anthropology
And earn him a degree.

4: He passed with flying colors;
To do honors was invited.
But then they made him student rep
And his career was sorely blighted
When they disestablished the department
Of Anthropology
And he was made to fight his teachers
And the whole Arts Faculty.

5: He knew it was no accident,
The situation had been crafted:
Volunteered, real ‘Army-Style’;
He knew that he’d been shafted…
Now the winding road it calls him,
For he knows that he must find
A different kind of future
To the one he left behind.

6: Now he rides the lonely road
In silence, and solitude serene
While he ponders on the irony
Of all he’d heard and seen.
Even those who had supported him
Could now all kiss his ass
For those he’d represented, (of course),
Had been mostly middle-class.

7: Like his life, Dave’s ancient bike reflects
Cruel hardship and poverty
The clutch worn through, the brakes near gone
The tyres as bald as he;
But he doesn’t care for he knows full well
He’s more chance now than then,
Of survival, as he rides this wreck,
As ‘Dave the mad biker from Hell’.

Virgil’s Aeneid Part 1

30 Thursday Dec 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Virgil's Aeneid

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Edited by

David L Rowlands

Part 1:

Book I 

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)

Cyrus

28 Saturday Aug 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 13 Comments

Babylon 

  

CHAPTER 19: The Massagetae  

Wasting no time, Cyrus quickly and firmly established his rule in Babylon. The Babylonian king, Labynetus and all of his family were quietly but efficiently killed; he could not risk the chance of an heir to the throne gathering local sentiment and rising against him. Labynetus’ most senior officers were also executed; but those of lower ranks were given a similar choice to the one which Pactyas had been given. Although they had not been given the choice, King Labynetus and his executive officers, even if they had, would most certainly have chosen to die rather than to live as slaves in the land they had once ruled. Most of his lower-ranked officers, however, chose to live; and immediately swore fealty to Cyrus with the most sacred of blood oaths in the most sacred temple in the land; the temple on the very top of their tower; where they sacrificed their own blood by cutting their upper arms and offering it to Cyrus to drink; and besides this sacrifice they also sacrificed a dozen of every kind of sacrificial animal. Most of them were even allowed to continue in their previous offices.  

By thus using the Assyrians’ own bureaucracy and official institutions, Cyrus saved much time and effort and greatly facilitated the management of the general populace; having reasoned that they would respond to the instruction of their own bureaucrats and officials more readily than they would to a foreign authority. Essentially, from the perspective of an ordinary Babylonian citizen, all that had changed, apart from the fact that Persians now guarded and policed the city, was that their own bureaucrats and city officers now reported to supervisors placed over them all by Cyrus.  

To ensure that none of his new Babylonian subjects rebelled against him he immediately installed a large permanent garrison of sufficient Medes and Persians to ensure that any such attempt would be swiftly and thoroughly suppressed. As soon as he had established order in his new capital Cyrus received a messenger from Harpagus. At the same time a second messenger arrived from the land of the Getae, who were currently being quickly assimilated into the rapidly-expanding Persian Empire in the east. These messengers were escorted into the war-room of the Great King’s palace, which Cyrus had taken, along with the title of Great King, for himself, following the tradition of Babylon’s previous rulers. This would be his new centre of operations, he decided as he surveyed, with great satisfaction, the most magnificent palace he had ever seen.  

“So, what news is there from Harpagus?” Cyrus asked the herald, “How goes it in Ionia and Aeolia?”  

“Your majesty’s devoted servant, Harpagus, sends word that all has gone as you would wish,” the herald began, with an ingratiating smile and a deep bow. “The Prienians who revolted against your majesty have been taken and sold into slavery;” Pactyas reddened slightly at this reminder of his own rebellion against Cyrus, but the king said nothing and the messenger continued, “the Phocaeans he defeated by building earthen mounds to overtop the walls the Tartessian king Arganthonius had built for them, but the Phocaeans fled the city in their ships before they could be captured; in spite of the mild terms Harpagus had offered them; and the people of Teos did the same.”  

Cyrus merely nodded his appreciation of this news; the strategic position and the territorial expansion represented by these two coastal cities, as well as the access their ports now gave him to their shipping lanes and trade routes was, he decided, of more use to him than their inhabitants, whom he regarded as no great loss. Taking a deep breath the herald continued, “When the men of Xanthus were finally overpowered, they gathered all their women, children and slaves together within the citadel and burned them all to death, rather than yield; then they fought to the death and were all slaughtered.”  

The news of this massacre saddened Cyrus; he felt that the Xanthians were an ancient and very noble people; they had really deserved a better fate; he had even harboured some hope that they might join him voluntarily. He had little time to dwell on this sad thought however, as the herald was still speaking, “Thus continental Ionia was again reduced to servitude; and when the Ionians of the islands saw their brethren upon the mainland thus subjugated, they too surrendered to your majesty, dreading the same fate. After he subdued Ionia and Aeolia, Harpagus forced them to serve in his army; then he defeated the Carians, the Caunians and the Lycians.”  

“Wonderful!” Cyrus declared, elated by such tremendous successes. Persian territory now stretched all the way to the eastern coast of the Aegean Sea and right around that coast from Troy as far as the Sinai. He was even beginning to contemplate overrunning the Sinai and invading Egypt; but first he wanted to secure his frontiers from the wild, nomadic Scythian tribes to the north and east of his realm. If he could win over the Massagetae, he thought, it could gain him many important allies among the other Scythian tribes and this, he knew, would save him many troublesome years. Cyrus’ plans for the expansion of his empire seemed to happen perfectly naturally in an uninterrupted flow, one after the other; just as his military victories had.  

Now that he had a vision of a united world, he was perfectly prepared to do whatever was necessary to achieve it. With this latest news from Harpagus; on the verge of subduing both the Scythians on the eastern and the Egyptians on the western extremities of his empire; Cyrus felt that his most precious goal was at last in sight. His general had achieved far more even than Cyrus had either ordered or expected and still remained his true and faithful servant; his tribute wagons arrived punctually every year just after harvest-time, together with a complete record of Harpagus’ own accounts, continually replenishing Cyrus’ granaries and the royal treasury. Overall, Cyrus decided, when the herald fallen silent, that he was quite delighted with Harpagus’ progress. Now, he thought, would be the perfect time to give him his reward.  

Keeping Harpagus happy would not only reward his best friend and most trusted ally, but it would also ensure the safety of his western region, Cyrus thought, while I subdue the east. Harpagus already acted as Cyrus’ viceroy in the western region, but Cyrus decided that now was the right time to make his authority permanent. Handing the herald a small purse full of coins as a reward for his services, Cyrus said, “When you return, you may tell Harpagus that he may now choose a capital for himself and use the title of Satrap of Ionia and Aeolia…”  

Then, turning to the second messenger, who had just returned from the land of the Getae, he asked, “Now, what news from the east?”  

“Bactria, the Sacae and the Getae have been completely subdued, majesty.” the messenger reported, “We now hold all the territory east of Babylon as far as the Araxes. Across this river is the land of the Massagetae. Lord, we have heard that their king died some months ago; his widow, Tomyris has ascended their throne…”  

Cyrus was intrigued, “Indeed? Interesting…” he said pensively; a few moments later he asked, “What is this queen like?”  

“Scythian women are as fierce as their men, Lord…” the herald responded, “And the Massagetae are among the most warlike tribes of their race; but it is said that she is a great beauty.”  

“The territory of the Massagetae is vast; and rich…” Cyrus mused, almost to himself, “…and I have need of a queen…” After a few moments of thoughtful silence, he turned to the messenger once again, ”You are to take generous gifts of gold, silver and purple to this queen and, acting as my go-between, you must court her for me.” The herald nodded as the king continued, speaking now primarily for the benefit of Pactyas, Hystaspes and the other officers who were present, “If possible, I’ll marry this queen and win her territory peacefully!” Then he turned again to the herald, to give him his final instructions, “Inform Tomyris of my victories and tell her that it is my destiny as the Son of Heaven to unite all the tribes and nations of the whole world into one vast empire which she may rule beside me!” For a very brief moment a dreamy look glazed Cyrus’ eyes and his voice almost faltered as he dared finally to give voice to his greatest ambition.  

The generals too were awed at the magnificence of the vision which had just been revealed to them. The moment passed quickly, however, and the vision was gone and Cyrus and his generals were all businesslike once again as he continued, “In the meantime, Hystaspes; have the army prepare to march; I wish to inspect the Getae territory and I have a desire to see the Araxes.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And if Tomyris accepts my proposal, I want to be close at hand, so that I will not seem tardy; like a reluctant suitor!”  

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