Thursday, 14 January 2010


only the gods never become old, never die.
Time - dictator time - wrecks all else.
The might of the earth wastes away.
The strength of the body too.
Loyalty faith trust, all die, and treachery flourishes.
No spirit remains constant between men, between cities.
or perhaps later
the sweet becomes bitter and then loved again.
And so if between you and Thebes the days now pass in pleasantness, infinite time brings on infinite days and nights, in which, to the echo of a small word, a spear will smash the concord of past days.
And then my sleeping corpse, hidden, cold, will drink their hot blood
Oedipus, in Oedipus at Kolonos, First Episode

at many things
But wonder most
at this thing:
crosses the speckled sea
across winter storms ...

He has found a way
to weave the different nets
that ensnare giddy birds
trap the wild species of the plains
and catch the dwellers of the sea.
Ingenious man ...

He taught himself speech
thought light as wind
the passions that raise cities
how to escape the bitter shafts
of rain
the frost
the wrath of the open sky.
Nothing stops him:
he finds his way through
From death alone he sees no
way out,
even though
he discovers routes through stubborn diseases.
Second Chorus, Antigone

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