The details such as the nudging of the foot are taken straight out of Homer, and the scenes have a freshness and sparkle, not the old world traversed by long-suffering Odysseus, but a new world of adventure just opening up to young heroes. Together the young companions make a road trip to see Menelaus and, especially, the bewitching Helen daughter of aforementioned Leda and Swan. Yet the poem closes with a rejection of all this—Keats is in fact dead, in Rome. In the last stanzas, Sikelianos performs yet another feat of connections. Prose Home Harriet Blog.
Visit Home Events Exhibitions Library. Newsletter Subscribe Give. Poetry Foundation. Back to Previous. Prose from Poetry Magazine. Angelos Sikelianos is perhaps best summed up by David Ricks in his anthology, Modern Greek Writing Peter Owen Publishers, : Prolific, vatic, uneven, yet a master of many complex forms, no twentieth-century Greek poet is more deserving of serious attention.https://gtipatcomsou.tk
Nakedness Is My End: Poems from the Greek Anthology
Nature Haikus from poets with first names starting with A-H. Nature Haikus from poets with first names starting with N-Z. Fifth Grade Word Clouds.
Poets wrote a diamante poem about a cherished object or place. Then, they wrote a second diamante poem about a person associated with the object or place. Using the words of their poems, students designed a colorful word cloud. Keeley's Students Recite Poems Mrs. Keeley inspired her students to check out Library poetry books and memorize a poem. What difference would a meaningless fling make?
In November, I met a young Athenian. A professional-studies student and an aspiring composer, he struggled, as I did, to balance duty with creative dreams. And so once again I embarked on a romance that could not last. My Athenian was preparing for two years of mandatory service in the Greek Army, while Photis planned to join me in Greece after exams. By the time my parents visited Athens that spring, I had astonished myself and everyone else by breaking up with Photis.
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In Athens, my parents smiled through a dinner with me and my new love, but I knew they feared losing me to Greece. I was happy with my Athenian, but I hated that I had hurt Photis, and I wondered, if I could abandon him, what other betrayals was I capable of?
That spring, I forgot about Yiannis, Odysseus, and Constantine. I squandered the opportunity to read Cavafy with my undergraduate Greek professor, Richard Burgi, who had retired to Athens. Shutting out my guilt about Photis and anxieties about the future, I lived in a desperate but exalted present tense. My Athenian would soon be joining the army. My job, and the on-campus housing that came with it, was ending, and so was my time in Greece.
I had no plans for what came next.
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It did not even occur to me to request another deferral on my student loans, or try to find a new job, so I could stay. I had been away for an entire year, enjoying myself, perhaps too much. It was time to go home. America had become a foreign country. New York felt unreal, a temporary detour until I could sort out a scholarship for graduate school in England or Greece.
I found a job and started repaying my Princeton loans, while my Athenian coped with army life. We had no money for traveling, so long-distance landline calls and hand-written letters sustained us.
During our separation, my relationship to the language I had started learning so I could read Modern Greek poetry deepened and changed. It took on the tenor of his voice on my answering machine, the sweet silliness of the pet name we created from one of my funnier grammatical errors. The shaky alpha, beta, gammas from my copybooks the summer I met Photis solidified into the shape my Athenian gave the Greek alphabet when he wrote to me from the army camp. Over time, the stress and unhappiness on both sides grew too great, and in early , we admitted defeat. Single again for the first time in three years, I discovered that I could not reestablish a purely academic connection to the language of my love for these two men.
I quit my.
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Greek lessons and abandoned my comp-lit career plans. I felt I had failed myself and my mentors. Modern Greek had become a lexicon of heartbreak, and I had to leave it behind me. The man I married is the kindest person I know. They will always be with me. Catherine Curan is a fiction writer, independent journalist, and writing teacher based in New York City.