- There’s a new sonnet up on the tumblr. It’s addressed to a door, because ancient love poets used to write poems to the doors of their girlfriends’ houses, and that’s a thing I wanted to do, too. You can read it if you want.
- It contains the word “peiratic,” which means “having the qualities of, or made in, an attempt.” It comes from the Ancient Greek word πειράω (peirao), which means “I try.”
- I’m working on a translation of a speech from Sophocles’ play “Philoctetes.” I wrote a paper on it once.
- Hopefully at some point a version of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite will materialise, too. Like if elves put it here, like when they made shoes for that cobbler that one time. Then he had all those shoes and was like “how did I get all these shoes?” The look on his face was probably priceless.
What juvenile pursuit of this is mine,
O idle, dumb, and deaf and constant door?
Why turn in dark and vain but for a sign
Of her affections? None; I knock thee more.
- A handful of poems of varying quality I’ve written have been uploaded to the Tumblr, and filed under the “Poetry” section. They are written in Old Modern English. One of them contains the word “proscephalise,” which means “to lie with your head on a pillow,” and comes from the Ancient Greek word προσκεφάλαιον (proskephalaion), which means “pillow,” and the verb suffix -ίζω (-ize). If I’m lucky people will use it in places. Another contains the word “Veneran,” which means “like Venus.” Technically the word should be “Venereal,” but that word is gross now.
- I plan to make the Translations section less barren in the near future.
- “About” and “Contact” pages have been created, which you should totally check out.
- Is this how a blog works? I think this is how a blog works.
Do you not see what sadness we endure,
O you who live in kind with friends alway?
For a New World doth her apart secure,
And salutations hind’reth me to say.
And now the world is quiet: here is she.
The light is drained and forces cease to act.
And to my shock, lo, here she seeth me,
And here I now recall those things I lack.
O, when upon mine eyes the light doth break,
And from dear sleep’s embrace I wrest my mind,
My body from the dark I drag and wake
It is thy sleeping’s beauty that I find.
O, love, why dost thou now make up thy face?
Why dost thou now thy nat’ral self adorn?
Why spoil thy by nature given grace?
Why ruin what by Phoebus’ hand was borne?
You see the sun is jealous of her face,
And to its end runs all across the sky;
But ev’ry day the sun doth fall from grace,
And ‘neath a shroud of darkness doth it lie.
The Sonnets are a collection of love poems I began to write in early 2010, and have been adding to sporadically since. Some of them are inspired by old love poems from Roman elegaists, such as Propertius and Ovid. Sometimes I’ll invent words to use in them.
They collectively are part of a work called the “Carmina De Amanda,” and have been rejected by at least one major publication. I have in no way taken this to mean anything.