Friday, December 12, 2008
Ponderings
I haven't been on this blog in the last millennium, so I thought I'd stop by! Merry Christmas everybody! Okay, so it's not quite Christmas yet, but I thought I'd better say it now, because I probably won't post again until sometime in the middle of February!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Published!
A while ago I wrote an essay on the four marks of the Church for my theology class. I didn't think it was too bad, and a friend of mine had told me of a writing contest that was held one every few months by a Catholic magazine called Voices, published by Woman for Faith and Family, they read. I never imagined I would actually win, or even get second or third place, but nevertheless, I sent my paper in.
To my utter surprise, a few weeks ago a large packet came in the mail, containing TEN copies of the magazine, and a check for $100!!!! I was published! I won the contest! I was totally surprised, but happily so indeed!!! You can read the paper here, if you'd like to! I'd love to hear what you think of it!
Anna
To my utter surprise, a few weeks ago a large packet came in the mail, containing TEN copies of the magazine, and a check for $100!!!! I was published! I won the contest! I was totally surprised, but happily so indeed!!! You can read the paper here, if you'd like to! I'd love to hear what you think of it!
Anna
Home
Home
By Anna
The sky above was growing dark
The view around was bleak and stark.
Little Lea could not be found
By her friends who sought her ‘round.
They searched among her normal places,
And fear was clear upon all faces
As the sky grew dimmer still,
And the evening air began to chill.
In the forest, all alone
Upon small Lea the moon shone.
She sat upon a little rock,
Looking round and taking stock.
She shivered as the red sun disappeared.
A great new menace to be feared
Were the sounds of the dark eve,
The hoots of owls; the crunch of leaves.
She shut her eyes and breathed a prayer,
“Oh dearest Lord, you’re always there.
You know my dangers and my fears,
You’ve guarded me for all these years.
“Help me now, these dangers face,
Far from me these terrors chase.
Help me not despair of aid,
You will help all you have made.”
Little Lea with greatest bravery,
Refused to cry, such pluck had she.
She tried to block out of her ears
The sounds that woke her childish fears.
But suddenly a sound reached her ears,
A sound that wakened all her fears.
The crunch of leaves, the ruffle of trees.
She quickly sent up silent pleas.
From the dark, a figure rose,
And stuck a most impressive pose.
“Who is this,” the voice did say,
“Who trespasses in my woods today?”
“Excuse me, sir,” little Lea gasped,
Her cold, small hands before her clasped,
“I wandered in these woods alone,
I’m frightened and want to go home.
“Please, kind sir, won’t you help,
This lonesome, frightened little whelp?”
The figure stepped into the light
Of the moon, and into sight.
It was no man, but a boy,
His dirty face a grin of joy.
He had seemed, when hidden by trees
Taller than the tallest anyone sees.
In truth he was not very tall,
In fact he was really quite small.
His ragged clothes were worn and old.
In the frigid breeze, he shivered with cold.
“Good evening, miss,” with grins he said
Scratching his ruffled, shaggy head.
“I guess these woods are as much yours as mine,
But I’ve lived my whole life among oak and pine.
“I s’pose your lost, and so am I…in a way.
But better two, than one, I say.
Nice to meet you, my name’s Nate,
Seems I was brought here by Mistress Fate.”
The little lass gave a sniffle.
“Will you stop talking piffle?”
She heaved a sigh, shaking her head.
“I want to be home, safe in bed.
“Not lost with a dirty lad,
Who’s probably really awfully bad.
I hoped you were a kindly sir,
Not a smelly, ragged cur.”
“Well now,” the young mister said,
“No reason to be so awful mad.
I can help you find your home,
I all about this forest roam.
“I’m sure I know the quickest way
And I’ll help you there… if I can stay.
Just for this night, I’d better add!
I’m truly not really awfully bad,
“But I’ve got no place to stay,
And if I take you back, you’ve got to pay.
So give me a haystack, give me a bed,
Just somewhere soft to lay my head.”
The little lass heaved a big sigh,
“What other realistic choice have I?
I truly can’t stay here all night,
I fear if I did I’d die of fright.
“So since you give me no other choice,
I suppose you have reason to rejoice…
If you get me home safe and sound,
You shan’t spend tonight on the ground.”
“Thank you Miss, now we’d better start.
From these woods we’ll now depart.
Tell me now, what your home looks like
Before we start our homeward hike.”
She told him of its size and hue,
How it was large and a light blue.
“Why, yes, I’ve seen that house before,
In fact I’ve knocked upon its door!”
So young Nate with joy declared,
“A tasty lunch your brother shared
With me, a poor, young starving lad.
This home is yours? I’m awful glad.
“So now we’d better hurry fast,
And you’ll be safe at home at last.”
So together the two set on their way
Through the woods where the animals play.
It was not long before a house came in view.
It was fine and big and a light blue.
Little Lea cried out with joy,
Rushing from the woods with the boy.
She rushed up the steps and into the hall
Into the warmth of her mother’s shawl.
“Darling,” her mother cried, with tears,
And her little brother gave three cheers.
“Mother, dear,” said little Lea,
“May I tell you my idea?
In the woods I met a boy called Nate.
It seems it was destined by Mistress Fate
“That he and I should meet there.
It was as if he came in answer to my prayer
For he helped me find my way back here,
And he is kind, that’s surely clear.
“I’m afraid that I was rude and mean
Because he was ragged and unclean.
But he hasn’t any home,
All his life he’s roved and roamed.
“He hasn’t any friends or family,
Alone in the world, a boat at sea.
Could he live with us, right here,
And always have a mother near?”
“Oh dearest daughter, where is the lad,
That he may hear and be glad!
He shall have a home to live in,
For the kindness he has given.”
Little Lea stepped outside,
For to young Nate this happiness confide.
Yet when she cried and yelled his name,
No answer to her shrill call came.
“Why, where on earth has he gone,”
She asked the moon as it brilliantly shone.
“Why did he leave, I cannot say,
Why would he want to go away?”
But no answer to her query came,
And when her mother asked the same,
She shook her head unhappily.
Why had Nate left, she could not see.
Later on as she lay in bed,
She thought of Nate, alone, unfed.
Suddenly, on her window,
She heard a knock, a quiet blow.
What in heaven could it be?
She crossed the room, better to see.
On the roof, young Nate sat.
In his thin arms he held a cat!
Quickly Lea opened the window,
And in Nate hurried on silent tiptoe.
“What are you doing on the roof?
You must be crazy…this is proof!”
“Don’t be mad, now,” smiled he,
And Lea really couldn’t be.
“See this fine young tabby cat?
He’s old and not the least bit fat,
“And as I waited outside your house,
I saw him chase a little mouse.
He scrambled after the poor beast,
Bound to have his little feast.
“But the little mouse scurried into a hole,
And old kitty here never had his full.
I felt for him, cause I know what hunger is,
So I hoped my bed for tonight could be his.
“I went to fetch him, but he’s rather shy.
Nonetheless, I coxed him, by and by,
To come with me to your cheerful home,
Where I hoped you’d give him a little bone,
“And maybe a little bed to rest,
‘Til morning comes and this old pest
Goes to scramble about, happily free,
After a helpless mouse or up a lofty tree.
“I hoped you wouldn’t mind,
But if you let him stay, you’ll be awfully kind.
I’ll give him my bed, for the night,
And I’ll find my own place to sleep tight.”
“Don’t be silly!” Lea cried gleefully,
“This cat shall have a bed with me
Every night forever more,
And so shall you, so good and poor.
“You shall live here with my mother,
Share my sister and my brother.
We shall be a family,
You shall live here happily!
“Please do stay here with us
Let my mother cuddle and fuss,
She wants you as a son, to raise and love,
To admire and be proud of.
“So what do you say,
Will you with us stay,
And grow up merrily with us here,
Where you’ll no longer hunger or fear?”
Young Nate with tears and utmost shock,
Could not in his blissful happiness talk.
To be loved, to have a home,
A place to really call his own!
With happiness unheard of, unimagined ever before,
He realized his lonesome boat had finally reached shore.
Here he was, at home at last.
Regardless of his lonesome past,
All his wishes had now come true,
A home his own, a large house – blue!
With a happy sigh of bliss,
He gave his new sister a kiss.
“There’s my answer, sweetest sister,
Another name could not be fitter
For you, so sweet, so kind and fine,
And to imagine…a sister…mine!”
And together, Lea and young Nate,
Thanked kind, sweet Mistress Fate,
For united them as siblings, friends.
They knew they'd live happily, to the end.
By Anna
The sky above was growing dark
The view around was bleak and stark.
Little Lea could not be found
By her friends who sought her ‘round.
They searched among her normal places,
And fear was clear upon all faces
As the sky grew dimmer still,
And the evening air began to chill.
In the forest, all alone
Upon small Lea the moon shone.
She sat upon a little rock,
Looking round and taking stock.
She shivered as the red sun disappeared.
A great new menace to be feared
Were the sounds of the dark eve,
The hoots of owls; the crunch of leaves.
She shut her eyes and breathed a prayer,
“Oh dearest Lord, you’re always there.
You know my dangers and my fears,
You’ve guarded me for all these years.
“Help me now, these dangers face,
Far from me these terrors chase.
Help me not despair of aid,
You will help all you have made.”
Little Lea with greatest bravery,
Refused to cry, such pluck had she.
She tried to block out of her ears
The sounds that woke her childish fears.
But suddenly a sound reached her ears,
A sound that wakened all her fears.
The crunch of leaves, the ruffle of trees.
She quickly sent up silent pleas.
From the dark, a figure rose,
And stuck a most impressive pose.
“Who is this,” the voice did say,
“Who trespasses in my woods today?”
“Excuse me, sir,” little Lea gasped,
Her cold, small hands before her clasped,
“I wandered in these woods alone,
I’m frightened and want to go home.
“Please, kind sir, won’t you help,
This lonesome, frightened little whelp?”
The figure stepped into the light
Of the moon, and into sight.
It was no man, but a boy,
His dirty face a grin of joy.
He had seemed, when hidden by trees
Taller than the tallest anyone sees.
In truth he was not very tall,
In fact he was really quite small.
His ragged clothes were worn and old.
In the frigid breeze, he shivered with cold.
“Good evening, miss,” with grins he said
Scratching his ruffled, shaggy head.
“I guess these woods are as much yours as mine,
But I’ve lived my whole life among oak and pine.
“I s’pose your lost, and so am I…in a way.
But better two, than one, I say.
Nice to meet you, my name’s Nate,
Seems I was brought here by Mistress Fate.”
The little lass gave a sniffle.
“Will you stop talking piffle?”
She heaved a sigh, shaking her head.
“I want to be home, safe in bed.
“Not lost with a dirty lad,
Who’s probably really awfully bad.
I hoped you were a kindly sir,
Not a smelly, ragged cur.”
“Well now,” the young mister said,
“No reason to be so awful mad.
I can help you find your home,
I all about this forest roam.
“I’m sure I know the quickest way
And I’ll help you there… if I can stay.
Just for this night, I’d better add!
I’m truly not really awfully bad,
“But I’ve got no place to stay,
And if I take you back, you’ve got to pay.
So give me a haystack, give me a bed,
Just somewhere soft to lay my head.”
The little lass heaved a big sigh,
“What other realistic choice have I?
I truly can’t stay here all night,
I fear if I did I’d die of fright.
“So since you give me no other choice,
I suppose you have reason to rejoice…
If you get me home safe and sound,
You shan’t spend tonight on the ground.”
“Thank you Miss, now we’d better start.
From these woods we’ll now depart.
Tell me now, what your home looks like
Before we start our homeward hike.”
She told him of its size and hue,
How it was large and a light blue.
“Why, yes, I’ve seen that house before,
In fact I’ve knocked upon its door!”
So young Nate with joy declared,
“A tasty lunch your brother shared
With me, a poor, young starving lad.
This home is yours? I’m awful glad.
“So now we’d better hurry fast,
And you’ll be safe at home at last.”
So together the two set on their way
Through the woods where the animals play.
It was not long before a house came in view.
It was fine and big and a light blue.
Little Lea cried out with joy,
Rushing from the woods with the boy.
She rushed up the steps and into the hall
Into the warmth of her mother’s shawl.
“Darling,” her mother cried, with tears,
And her little brother gave three cheers.
“Mother, dear,” said little Lea,
“May I tell you my idea?
In the woods I met a boy called Nate.
It seems it was destined by Mistress Fate
“That he and I should meet there.
It was as if he came in answer to my prayer
For he helped me find my way back here,
And he is kind, that’s surely clear.
“I’m afraid that I was rude and mean
Because he was ragged and unclean.
But he hasn’t any home,
All his life he’s roved and roamed.
“He hasn’t any friends or family,
Alone in the world, a boat at sea.
Could he live with us, right here,
And always have a mother near?”
“Oh dearest daughter, where is the lad,
That he may hear and be glad!
He shall have a home to live in,
For the kindness he has given.”
Little Lea stepped outside,
For to young Nate this happiness confide.
Yet when she cried and yelled his name,
No answer to her shrill call came.
“Why, where on earth has he gone,”
She asked the moon as it brilliantly shone.
“Why did he leave, I cannot say,
Why would he want to go away?”
But no answer to her query came,
And when her mother asked the same,
She shook her head unhappily.
Why had Nate left, she could not see.
Later on as she lay in bed,
She thought of Nate, alone, unfed.
Suddenly, on her window,
She heard a knock, a quiet blow.
What in heaven could it be?
She crossed the room, better to see.
On the roof, young Nate sat.
In his thin arms he held a cat!
Quickly Lea opened the window,
And in Nate hurried on silent tiptoe.
“What are you doing on the roof?
You must be crazy…this is proof!”
“Don’t be mad, now,” smiled he,
And Lea really couldn’t be.
“See this fine young tabby cat?
He’s old and not the least bit fat,
“And as I waited outside your house,
I saw him chase a little mouse.
He scrambled after the poor beast,
Bound to have his little feast.
“But the little mouse scurried into a hole,
And old kitty here never had his full.
I felt for him, cause I know what hunger is,
So I hoped my bed for tonight could be his.
“I went to fetch him, but he’s rather shy.
Nonetheless, I coxed him, by and by,
To come with me to your cheerful home,
Where I hoped you’d give him a little bone,
“And maybe a little bed to rest,
‘Til morning comes and this old pest
Goes to scramble about, happily free,
After a helpless mouse or up a lofty tree.
“I hoped you wouldn’t mind,
But if you let him stay, you’ll be awfully kind.
I’ll give him my bed, for the night,
And I’ll find my own place to sleep tight.”
“Don’t be silly!” Lea cried gleefully,
“This cat shall have a bed with me
Every night forever more,
And so shall you, so good and poor.
“You shall live here with my mother,
Share my sister and my brother.
We shall be a family,
You shall live here happily!
“Please do stay here with us
Let my mother cuddle and fuss,
She wants you as a son, to raise and love,
To admire and be proud of.
“So what do you say,
Will you with us stay,
And grow up merrily with us here,
Where you’ll no longer hunger or fear?”
Young Nate with tears and utmost shock,
Could not in his blissful happiness talk.
To be loved, to have a home,
A place to really call his own!
With happiness unheard of, unimagined ever before,
He realized his lonesome boat had finally reached shore.
Here he was, at home at last.
Regardless of his lonesome past,
All his wishes had now come true,
A home his own, a large house – blue!
With a happy sigh of bliss,
He gave his new sister a kiss.
“There’s my answer, sweetest sister,
Another name could not be fitter
For you, so sweet, so kind and fine,
And to imagine…a sister…mine!”
And together, Lea and young Nate,
Thanked kind, sweet Mistress Fate,
For united them as siblings, friends.
They knew they'd live happily, to the end.
Cyrus
For literature I'm supposed to write my own "epic poem." It is supposed to have the 9 elements of an epic... Long, narrative poem, Elevated style, Imposing hero, Vast setting, Full of action and deeds of courage, Supernatural forces, Invocation of the muses, Long catalogue of ships, Begins in the middle of the story. I think is the most fun I've had with any of my assignments this year, but even so, writing this is HARDER than I originally thought it would be! I've started several times and had to restart again and again! Here is one of my tries....I thought it was going along great...until I remembered I was supposed to start in the MIDDLE of the story! Nonetheless, I'm going to finish it, because it is really fun to write!
Just so you know, this is about a "true" story. You can find the full account (though not in poetic form!) in Herodotus' The Histories!
To Be Continued.......
Just so you know, this is about a "true" story. You can find the full account (though not in poetic form!) in Herodotus' The Histories!
Sing, O goddess, of the power
Of mighty Cyrus, full of valor.
He, who born among the mighty
Was guarded best by Aphrodite.
But a sweet, endearing babe
He was kidnapped by a knave.
Late in the silent, tranquil night
He with the little babe took flight.
He was to kill him out of sight
But in his heart, there was a fight.
Kill the child, so young, so dear?
He could not do it; that was clear.
But, alas, the job must be done
It must be finished now 'twas begun.
To a herdsman he took the child,
"Kill this babe, or I shan't be mild."
The herdsman, he took the little babe
To his cottage in the glade.
“My dear,” he told his loving wife,
“I have been told to take his life.”
The wife, she cried, “Let not it be,”
Let us raise him, you and me.”
"But dearest," so the herdsman said,
"I must give proof that he is dead."
"But you see," with saddest heart,
She told of their own babe's depart.
"He was stillborn," she mourned to say,
"But now we have a trick to play."
They took their own sweet, dearest babe,
And Cyrus' clothes to him gave.
"Now he looks of noble birth,
And they can put him in the earth."
The herdsman took the babe his son
And gave as proof his little one.
And so they raised the child, wee,
In their land so good and free.
And so Cyrus lived happily for many years,
'Til news of his existence reached hostile ears.
To Be Continued.......
Beauty Abounds
Beauty All Around Me
by Anna
The afternoon sun is shining brilliantly,
Fluffy white clouds are passing slowly by…
Goodness reveals itself, as far as the eye can see.
Fragrant breezes waft gently by…
Beauty all around me...I feel I could fly.
The moon beams tenderly down on me tonight,
Darkness shrouds me like a cloak.
Stars sparkling, so lovely, so bright.
Sweetness and splendor are clear to the eye...
Beauty all around me...I feel I could fly.
In the early morning I see dewdrops on the flowers.
Beauty, glory spreads across the morning sky…
Showing God’s almighty powers.
Such loveliness abounds, I feel I could cry…
Beauty all around me...I feel I could fly.
A tiny child gives his mother his first smiles.
A flower spreads its first delicate petals.
A little girl surmounts her first difficult trials.
I don’t want this time to pass me by…
Beauty all around me...I feel I could fly.
________________________________________________________
Alright, so this poem is a mess! I know! hehehe. It
s one of the first poems I've ever tried to write though, so I thought for the sake of that I'd share it with you guys!! It's silly, but I think somewhere deep inside all the "trying-too-hard-to-be-poetic-ness there is a little bit of hope. Tee hee!!!
Love yall! catch you later
by Anna
The afternoon sun is shining brilliantly,
Fluffy white clouds are passing slowly by…
Goodness reveals itself, as far as the eye can see.
Fragrant breezes waft gently by…
Beauty all around me...I feel I could fly.
The moon beams tenderly down on me tonight,
Darkness shrouds me like a cloak.
Stars sparkling, so lovely, so bright.
Sweetness and splendor are clear to the eye...
Beauty all around me...I feel I could fly.
In the early morning I see dewdrops on the flowers.
Beauty, glory spreads across the morning sky…
Showing God’s almighty powers.
Such loveliness abounds, I feel I could cry…
Beauty all around me...I feel I could fly.
A tiny child gives his mother his first smiles.
A flower spreads its first delicate petals.
A little girl surmounts her first difficult trials.
I don’t want this time to pass me by…
Beauty all around me...I feel I could fly.
________________________________________________________
Alright, so this poem is a mess! I know! hehehe. It
s one of the first poems I've ever tried to write though, so I thought for the sake of that I'd share it with you guys!! It's silly, but I think somewhere deep inside all the "trying-too-hard-to-be-poetic-ness there is a little bit of hope. Tee hee!!!
Love yall! catch you later
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Homeric Similes
One of the most distinguishing characteristics of Homer’s writing style is his florid, colorful similes. He is famous for his vivid imagery, which does not take the form of such direct descriptions as “the sounds of the battle were violent and thunderous,” but instead take more eloquent and expressive pictures, such as this striking description:
“As when rivers in winter spate running down from the mountains
Throw together at the meeting of streams the weight of their water
Out of the great springs behind in the hollow stream-bed,
And far away in the mountains the shepherd hears their thunder,
Such, from the coming together of men, was the shock and the shouting.”
(4. 452 – 456)
This example shows perfectly how Homer can weave words together to make something powerful and poignant, how by likening a thing to something different, he helps us to envision that thing completely. What a potent picture that simile invokes, how clearly you can hear the thunder and roar, the deadly sound of fiercest battle.
Another example is this portrait, describing the Greeks’ as they advance to furious combat with the Trojans:
“As on the peaks of a mountain the south wind scatters the thick mist,
No friend to the shepherd, but better than night for the robber,
And a man can see before him only so far as a stone cast,
So beneath their feet the dust drove up in a stormcloud
Of men marching, who made their way through the plain in great speed.”
(3. 10-14)
What a vision this conjures up before your eyes; can you not see the whirling dust, enveloping the “storm cloud of men marching,” a they proceed toward battle, the ground thundering and rumbling beneath their marching, pounding footsteps? And here we see Homer’s vivid and highly developed simile. Like all of his similes, to describe something, here the cloud of dust raised by the feet of the marching soldiers, he describes instead what he is comparing it with, such as the thick mist on the peaks of a mountain. Homer, we see, when describing a thing, develops the thing to which it is likened, rather than the thing itself.
Homer not only likens the cloud of dust raised by the marching men to the thick mist on mountain peaks, but he describes that mist as “no friend of the shepherd, but better than night for the robber,” giving a visual of dimness and shadows. He adds that “a man can see before him only so far as a stone is cast,” illustrating how thick this mist truly is.
“As when along the thundering beach the surf of the sea strikes
Beat upon beat as the west wind drives it onward; far out
Cresting first on the open water, it drives thereafter
To smash roaring along the dry land, and against the rock jut
Bending breaks itself into crests spewing back the salt wash;
So thronged beat upon beat the Danaans’ close battalions.”
(4. 422-432)
We can easily see the construction of Homer’s similes here: “A is like B; B has such and such a history, progresses in such and such a manner; and (we repeat) it is like A” (Richard Lattimore). This description of the sound of the Danaans’ “close battalions,” is yet another perfect example of Homer’s powerfully characteristic simile. He likens the beat of the Danaan’s battalions to the “surf of the sea,” as it strikes “beat upon beat as the west wind drives it onward,” depicting for us the thundering sound the Danaans’ close battalions make, how explosive and deafening it would ring in our ears were we but there to hear it.
“Now when the men of both sides were set in order by their leaders,
The Trojans came on with clamour and shouting, like wildfowl,
As when the clamour of cranes goes high to the heavens,
When cranes escape the winter time and rains unceasing
And clamourously wing their way to the streaming Ocean,
Bringing to the Pygmaian men bloodshed and destruction;
At daybreak they bring on the baleful battle against them.”
(Book 3, lines 1-7)
This simile describes the clamour and shouting of the Trojans as they thunder towards the Achaians to do battle. Homer likens their din to that of wildfowl, “as when the clamour of cranes goes high to the heavens, describing the cranes as they “escape the winter time and rains unceasing and clamourously wing their way to the streaming Ocean.” Here Homer beautifully portrays the pandemonium of battle to the racket of flying birds winging their way from winter and rain, adding for flavor that the cranes are “bringing to the Pygmaian men bloodshed and destruction,” just as the Trojans are bringing the Greeks.
Homer’s similes are perhaps one of the most effective writing techniques in the history of literature. The sense of description he lays before us with this real and striking imagery brings the Iliad alive before our eyes, powerful and piquant as ever, able to move though time and space and still remain vivid and electric. Never has anyone been able to master with the same eloquence and imagination the art of vibrant similes as Homer did.
“As when rivers in winter spate running down from the mountains
Throw together at the meeting of streams the weight of their water
Out of the great springs behind in the hollow stream-bed,
And far away in the mountains the shepherd hears their thunder,
Such, from the coming together of men, was the shock and the shouting.”
(4. 452 – 456)
This example shows perfectly how Homer can weave words together to make something powerful and poignant, how by likening a thing to something different, he helps us to envision that thing completely. What a potent picture that simile invokes, how clearly you can hear the thunder and roar, the deadly sound of fiercest battle.
Another example is this portrait, describing the Greeks’ as they advance to furious combat with the Trojans:
“As on the peaks of a mountain the south wind scatters the thick mist,
No friend to the shepherd, but better than night for the robber,
And a man can see before him only so far as a stone cast,
So beneath their feet the dust drove up in a stormcloud
Of men marching, who made their way through the plain in great speed.”
(3. 10-14)
What a vision this conjures up before your eyes; can you not see the whirling dust, enveloping the “storm cloud of men marching,” a they proceed toward battle, the ground thundering and rumbling beneath their marching, pounding footsteps? And here we see Homer’s vivid and highly developed simile. Like all of his similes, to describe something, here the cloud of dust raised by the feet of the marching soldiers, he describes instead what he is comparing it with, such as the thick mist on the peaks of a mountain. Homer, we see, when describing a thing, develops the thing to which it is likened, rather than the thing itself.
Homer not only likens the cloud of dust raised by the marching men to the thick mist on mountain peaks, but he describes that mist as “no friend of the shepherd, but better than night for the robber,” giving a visual of dimness and shadows. He adds that “a man can see before him only so far as a stone is cast,” illustrating how thick this mist truly is.
“As when along the thundering beach the surf of the sea strikes
Beat upon beat as the west wind drives it onward; far out
Cresting first on the open water, it drives thereafter
To smash roaring along the dry land, and against the rock jut
Bending breaks itself into crests spewing back the salt wash;
So thronged beat upon beat the Danaans’ close battalions.”
(4. 422-432)
We can easily see the construction of Homer’s similes here: “A is like B; B has such and such a history, progresses in such and such a manner; and (we repeat) it is like A” (Richard Lattimore). This description of the sound of the Danaans’ “close battalions,” is yet another perfect example of Homer’s powerfully characteristic simile. He likens the beat of the Danaan’s battalions to the “surf of the sea,” as it strikes “beat upon beat as the west wind drives it onward,” depicting for us the thundering sound the Danaans’ close battalions make, how explosive and deafening it would ring in our ears were we but there to hear it.
“Now when the men of both sides were set in order by their leaders,
The Trojans came on with clamour and shouting, like wildfowl,
As when the clamour of cranes goes high to the heavens,
When cranes escape the winter time and rains unceasing
And clamourously wing their way to the streaming Ocean,
Bringing to the Pygmaian men bloodshed and destruction;
At daybreak they bring on the baleful battle against them.”
(Book 3, lines 1-7)
This simile describes the clamour and shouting of the Trojans as they thunder towards the Achaians to do battle. Homer likens their din to that of wildfowl, “as when the clamour of cranes goes high to the heavens, describing the cranes as they “escape the winter time and rains unceasing and clamourously wing their way to the streaming Ocean.” Here Homer beautifully portrays the pandemonium of battle to the racket of flying birds winging their way from winter and rain, adding for flavor that the cranes are “bringing to the Pygmaian men bloodshed and destruction,” just as the Trojans are bringing the Greeks.
Homer’s similes are perhaps one of the most effective writing techniques in the history of literature. The sense of description he lays before us with this real and striking imagery brings the Iliad alive before our eyes, powerful and piquant as ever, able to move though time and space and still remain vivid and electric. Never has anyone been able to master with the same eloquence and imagination the art of vibrant similes as Homer did.
Friday, September 12, 2008
The Iliad and other Homeric Poems
For school I've been reading the Iliad this quarter. What a magnificent epic tale! Never did I imagine it to be so vivid and alive. I'd always heard how hard it was to get through, but never once have I wished to put it down myself.
Unluckily for me (and for you, as well!), I was asked to write a "10-15 line poem using at least two Homeric-type similes." Oh dear. I can tell you now, I've tried my hand at poetry before and never has it turned out well.
Here is what I have so far. I'm afraid I'm probably going to have to scrap this though, because it would definitely end up becoming at the very least a 30-50 line poem if I pursue it. Which may seem strange to you, as I just said I've never been good at writing poetry, but you see, the tale of Cyrus is long and filled with interesting details, and I'd want to fit it all in.
Sing, goddess, the valor of Cyrus the Greater,
Who in times long passed ruled magnificent among the Persians.
Even before his birth magnificent Cyrus’ doom was imminent,
As Asyages the lance-hurler, his grandfather
And last of the rulers of the mighty Median Empire,
Who by a dream learned of his own downfall,
Was plotting his pending doom.
For in the darkness of the night, as a thief
Steals into a chamber with evil in his mind,
A dream of prophecy slipped into the bedchamber of Asyages,
To stand by his bedside and whisper of his end.
As you can see, I have not mastered the dactylic hexameter yet. All those "feet" "ancepts" "spondees" and "- U | - U | - U | - U | - u u | - -" things make my head spin!
LATER
The finished project:
Stars sparkle up above, shimmering like diamonds
In the glistering pond down below.
The flowers gently close their petals. Wet with dew,
They glitter in the dusk like jewels.
Like the gentle murmur of a sleeping child
As he rests serene against his mother's bosom,
The warm wind whispers softly by,
Sways the branches of the ancient trees above.
Fluttering by on the wings of darkness,
She murmurs her secrets to the bending grasses.
High above, the moon, mild and wise as the magi,
Looks tenderly down on his children below,
Shining his lantern upon their lonesome paths.
Silence profound swathes the night in its myriad folds,
Like a cloak shrouds the lone figure of a sleepy traveler,
As he makes his way wearily home.
Definitely not very well written, neither is it written in dactylic hexameter. But I found out this afternoon that I did not, in fact, need to write in dactylic hexameter (apparently, this comes later! =/), but instead must simply use Homeric-type similes. I'm afraid my wimpy similes ("Silence profound swathes the night in its myriad folds, as a cloak shrouds the lone figure of a sleepy traveler, as he makes his way wearily home.") fall far short of Homer's magnificent, vivid descriptions (" ...the Trojans came with cries and the din of war like wildfowl when the long hoarse cries of cranes sweep on against the sky and the great formations flee from the winters grim ungodly storm...").
I thought perhaps of writing of a mighty storm:
The wind beats heavily against the mighty mountain,
As the thunderous beat of the booming drums of war.
And the mighty roar of the sea sounds as the lion’s angry yell
He the king of the lush green forests of
As it crashes upon the shore in almighty waves.
Up above, the clouds heavy with rain
Cast their shadow upon the dew glistened grasses
And the sand covered coast.
But in the end a more peaceful scene won over. What do you think? I believe it would have been less difficult to think of vivid similes if I were to write of a storm, but somehow "shimmering dewdrops" and "shrouds of silence" better suited my feelings.
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