Traces of gold

Dante

 

'Do not be afraid; our fate
Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.'

 

Dante Alighieri (1308), Divina Commedia: Inferno

Points & pointers: the abacus

'remembering, hapless ones, their former way of life.'

'... seeing the bitter fate of his comrades turned to winged birds, who shall accept a sea life, after the manner of fishermen, like in form to bright-eyed swans. Seizing in their bills the spawn of fishes they shall dwell in an island which bears their leader’s name, on a theatre-shaped rising ground, building in rows their close-set nests with firm bits of wood, after the manner of Zethus. And together they shall betake them to the chase and by night to rest in the dell, avoiding all the alien crowd of men, but in folds of Grecian robes seeking their accustomed resting-place they shall eat crumbs from the hand and fragments of cake from the table, murmuring pleasantly, remembering, hapless ones, their former way of life.'

ALEXANDRA, TRANSLATED BY A. W. MAIR

Callimachus, Hymns and Epigrams. Lycophron. Aratus. Translated by Mair, A. W. & G. R. Loeb Classical Library Volume 129. London: William Heinemann, 1921. [594]  http://www.theoi.com/Text/LycophronAlexandra.html

'Nur der Irrtum ist das Leben, und das Wissen ist der Tod.'

 

 

 

Friedrich von Schiller (1802):

Kassandra

- for English translation click here -

Freude war in Trojas Hallen, Eh die hohe Feste fiel; Jubelhymnen hört man schallen In der Saiten goldnes Spiel; Alle Hände ruhen müde Von dem thränenvollen Streit, Weil der herrliche Pelide Priams schöne Tochter freit. Und geschmückt mit Lorberreisern, Festlich wallet Schaar auf Schaar Nach der Götter heil'gen Häusern, Zu des Thymbriers Altar. Dumpf erbrausend durch die Gassen Wälzt sich die bacchant'sche Lust, Und in ihrem Schmerz verlassen War nur eine traur'ge Brust. Freudlos in der Freude Fülle, Ungesellig und allein, Wandelte Kassandra stille In Apollos Lorbeerhain. In des Waldes tiefste Gründe Flüchtete die Seherin, Und sie warf die Priesterbinde Zu der Erde zürnend hin: Alles ist der Freude offen, Alle Herzen sind beglückt, Und die alten Eltern hoffen, Und die Schwester steht geschmückt. Ich allein muß einsam trauern, Denn mich flieht der süße Wahn, Und geflügelt diesen Mauern Seh' ich das Verderben an. Eine Fackel seh' ich glühen, Aber nicht in Hymens Hand; Nach den Wolken seh' ich ziehen, Aber nicht wie Opferbrand. Feste seh' ich froh bereiten, Doch im ahnungsvollen Geist Hör' ich schon des Gottes Schreiten, Der sie jammervoll zerreißt. Und sie schelten meine Klagen, Und sie höhnen meinen Schmerz. Einsam in die Wüste tragen Muß ich mein gequältes Herz, Von den Glücklichen gemieden Und den Fröhlichen ein Spott! Schweres hast du mir beschieden, Pythischer, du arger Gott! Dein Orakel zu verkünden, Warum warfest du mich hin In die Stadt der ewig Blinden Mit dem aufgeschloßnen Sinn? Warum gabst du mir zu sehen, Was ich doch nicht wenden kann? Das Verhängte muß geschehen, Das Gefürchtete muß nahn. Frommt's, den Schleier aufzuheben, Wo das nahe Schreckniß droht? Nur der Irrthum ist das Leben, Und das Wissen ist der Tod. Nimm, o nimm die traur'ge Klarheit, Mir vom Aug den blut'gen Schein! Schrecklich ist es, deiner Wahrheit Sterbliches Gefäß zu sein. Meine Blindheit gib mir wieder Und den fröhlich dunklen Sinn! Nimmer sang ich freud'ge Lieder, Seit ich deine Stimme bin. Zukunft hast du mir gegeben, Doch du nahmst den Augenblick, Nahmst der Stunde fröhlich Leben - Nimm dein falsch Geschenk zurück! Nimmer mit dem Schmuck der Bräute, Kränzt' ich mir das duft'ge Haar, Seit ich deinem Dienst mich weihte An dem traurigen Altar. Meine Jugend war nur Weinen, Und ich kannte nur den Schmerz, Jede herbe Noth der Meinen Schlug an mein empfindend Herz. Fröhlich seh' ich die Gespielen, Alles um mich lebt und liebt In der Jugend Lustgefühlen, Mir nur ist das Herz getrübt. Mir erscheint der Lenz vergebens, Der die Erde festlich schmückt; Wer erfreute sich des Lebens, Der in seine Tiefen blickt! Selig preis' ich Polyxenen In des Herzens trunknem Wahn, Denn den Besten der Hellenen Hofft sie bräutlich zu umfahn. Stolz ist ihre Brust gehoben, Ihre Wonne faßt sie kaum, Nicht euch, Himmlische dort oben, Neidet sie in ihrem Traum. Und auch ich hab' ihn gesehen, Den das Herz verlangend wählt! Seine schönen Blicke flehen, Von der Liebe Gluth beseelt. Gerne möcht' ich mit dem Gatten In die heim'sche Wohnung ziehn; Doch es tritt ein styg'scher Schatten Nächtlich zwischen mich und ihn. Ihre bleichen Larven alle Sendet mir Proserpina; Wo ich wandre, wo ich walle, Stehen mir die Geister da. In der Jugend frohe Spiele Drängen sie sich grausend ein, Ein entsetzliches Gewühle! Nimmer kann ich fröhlich sein. Und den Mordstahl seh' ich blinken Und das Mörderauge glühn; Nicht zur Rechten, nicht zur Linken Kann ich vor dem Schreckniß fliehn; Nicht die Blicke darf ich wenden, Wissend, schauend, unverwandt Muß ich mein Geschick vollenden Fallend in dem fremden Land - Und noch hallen ihre Worte - Horch! da dringt verworrner Ton Fernher aus des Tempels Pforte, Todt lag Thetis' großer Sohn! Eris schüttelt ihre Schlangen, Alle Götter fliehn davon, Und des Donners Wolken hangen Schwer herab auf Ilion.

Words

 

Louise Bogan:  
Cassandra

To me, one silly task is like another.
I bare the shambling tricks of lust and pride.
This flesh will never give a child its mother,—
Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side,
And madness chooses out my voice again,
Again. I am the chosen no hand saves:
The shrieking heaven lifted over men,
Not the dumb earth, wherein they set their graves.

Source:

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cassandra-12/

The oracle

Cassandra bracelet

 

'And when girls wish to escape the yoke of maidens, refusing for bridegrooms men adorned with locks such as Hector wore, but with defect of form or reproach of birth, they will embrace my image with their arms, winning of mighty shield against marriage, having clothed them in the garb of the Erinyes and dyed their faces with magic simples. By those staff-carrying women I shall long be called an immortal goddess.'

 

LYCOPHRON of Chalcis was a Greek poet and scholar of the Library of Alexandria who flourished in the C3rd BC. His cryptic poem, the Alexandra, tells the stories of the heroes of the Trojan War in the riddling, prophetic words of the Trojan princess Cassandra.

Callimachus, Hymns and Epigrams. Lycophron. Aratus. Translated by Mair, A. W. & G. R. Loeb Classical Library Volume 129. London: William Heinemann, 1921.[1122]

ALEXANDRA, TRANSLATED BY A. W. MAIR

The speaker is a slave appointed to watch Cassandra and report her prophecies. He addresses Priam.

http://www.theoi.com/Text/LycophronAlexandra.html

Making & music

The Dave Brubeck Quartet:
Cassandra

Drowning

"Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes
And I will fill them with prophetic tears."

Shakespeare, TROILUS & CRESSIDA

sc.ii Act II

Bees wax & feathers

‘At Delphi it is said that the first shrine was made of bees-wax and feathers; the second, of fern-stalks twisted together; the third, of laurel-boughs; that Hephaestus built the fourth of  bronze, with golden song-birds perched on the roof, but one day the earth engulfed it; and that the fifth, built of dressed stone, burned down in the year of the fifty-eighth Olympiad, and was replaced by the present shrine.’

Robert Graves – The Greek Myths, 1955, revised 1960  (108)

Signpost

Sorrow

 

'And now Ares, the dancer, fires the land, with his conch leading the chant of blood. And all the land lies ravaged before my eyes and, as it were fields of corn, bristle the fields of the gleaming spears. And in my ears seems a voice of lamentation from the tower tops reaching to the windless seats of air, with groaning women and rending of robes, awaiting sorrow upon sorrow.'

 

ALEXANDRA, TRANSLATED BY A. W. MAIR

 

Callimachus, Hymns and Epigrams. Lycophron. Aratus. Translated by Mair, A. W. & G. R. Loeb Classical Library Volume 129. London: William Heinemann, 1921. 

Cassandra's net

Cassandra, Iraq

 

 

Cassandra, Iraq

C K Williams

1.

She’s magnificent, as we imagine women must be
who foresee and foretell and are right and disdained.

This is the difference between we who are like her
in having been right and disdained, and we as we are.

Because we, in our foreseeings, our having been right,
are repulsive to ourselves, fat and immobile, like toads.

Not toads in the garden, who after all are what they are,
but toads in the tale of death in the desert of sludge.

2.

In this tale of lies, of treachery, of superfluous dead,
were there ever so many who were right and disdained?

With no notion of what to do next? If we were true seers,
as prescient as she, as frenzied, we’d know what to do next.

We’d twitter, as she did, like birds; we’d warble, we’d trill.
But what would it be really, to twitter, to warble, to trill?

Is it ee-ee-ee, like having a child? Is it uh-uh-uh, like a wound?
Or is it inside, like a blow, silent to everyone but yourself?

3.

Yes, inside, I remember, oh-oh-oh: it’s where grief
is just about to be spoken, but all at once can’t be: oh.

When you no longer can “think” of what things like lies,
like superfluous dead, so many, might mean: oh.

Cassandra will be abducted at the end of her tale, and die.
Even she can’t predict how. Stabbed? Shot? Blown to bits?

Her abductor dies, too, though, in a gush of gore, in a net.
That we know; she foresaw that – in a gush of gore, in a net.

(From the April 3, 2006 issue of the New Yorker)

 Interview with C K Williams and reading of the poem

Threads of guilt and anger

 

‘Cassandra is most at risk, not when the wrath of the Trojans threatens her life, but when all the threads that link her with them, including the threads of anger, have snapped and a new net has not yet been knotted by her own guilt.'

Wolf, Christa, 1984.  Conditions of a narrative. in Wolf, Christa, 1984. Cassandra: a novel and four essays.  Translated from the German by Jan van Heurck. London: Virago

Cassandra's trap

‘… in recent times, I started to note a flow, small but increasing, of comments that carry the opposite criticism: "scientists," they say, "have been poor at explaining how things really stand with climate. They didn't do enough to inform us on how serious the situation is". This is something that we could call "Cassandra's trap," the fear of alarming people, of telling of disasters that won't come, in short of looking like an alarmist.’

Ugo Bardi

Cassandra's Legacy

Theatre of Tragedy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cassandra

[Words by Raymond, Music by Theatre of Tragedy, 1998]

He gave to her, yet tenfold claimed in return -
She hath no life but the one he for her wrought;
Proffered to her his walking heart - she turned it down,
Reposted with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn.

Prophetess or fond?,
Though her parle of truth:
"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!",
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.

Still, is she lief and quaint in his eye, a sight divine? -
A mistress fueled by his prest haughtiness -
If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee,
Belike egal as it to him might be?!

Prophetess or fond?,
Though her parle of truth:
"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!",
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.

'Or was he an eried being,
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
Her naysay' rought his heart,
Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
She belied her own words,
He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge,
She held him august, yet wee;
He left her ne'er without his heart.

Though her parle of truth:
"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!",
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.

'Or was he an eried being,
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
Her naysay' rought his heart,
Her daffing was the grave of all hope –

The crystal ball

'Why, unhappy, do I call to the unheeding rocks, to the deaf wave, and to the awful glades, twanging the idle noise of my lips? For Lepsieus has taken credit from me, daubing with rumour of falsity my words and the true prophetic wisdom of my oracles, for that he was robbed of the bridal which he sought to win. Yet will he make my oracles true. And in sorrow shall many a one know it, when there is no means any more to help my fatherland and shall praise the frenzied swallow.'

Lycophron, Alexandra
translated by A.W.Mair

 LYCOPHRON of Chalcis was a Greek poet and scholar of the Library of Alexandria who flourished in the C3rd BC. His cryptic poem, the Alexandra, tells the stories of the heroes of the Trojan War in the riddling, prophetic words of the Trojan princess Cassandra.


Callimachus, Hymns and Epigrams. Lycophron. Aratus. Translated by Mair, A. W. & G. R. Loeb Classical Library Volume 129. London: William Heinemann, 1921.

Source: http://www.theoi.com/Text/LycophronAlexandra.html

The pond

‘... the future is casting a shadow. No one else sees it but you know your fate.’

 Cassandra (Abba 1982)

The spell

'...it is men who deny the truth, not the gods who deny it to them, but the essential paradox is the same: The truth must be spoken, but cannot be believed.'

 Robert Zallar (1983) The cliffs of solitude: a reading of Robinson Jeffers. Cambridge Unversity Press.

 source: On Cassandra