Plus my only natural talent's wasted

[sovay]

I sat down to write up this weekend and the bits and pieces of news that I've been reminding myself to report since last Thursday, but my brain has gone to slurry.* Consequently, I am forced to fall back on other people's brains for my entertainment. Don't let me down here.

So. I saw this done once with icons. If you want to comment on this post, you must do so in quotation. If you want to respond to a comment, you must do so in quotation. Prose, poetry, film, television, song lyrics, academic criticism, all are fair game; the language is likewise left to your discretion, although I cannot promise that you won't be asked to provide translations. Neither will I stipulate that you must be able to identify the quotation to which you are responding, although more power to you if you can. Quote characters who are already speaking in quotation, if you feel like it.** Now watch a total radio silence fall.

"Is anybody there?" said the Traveler . . .

*I blame this partly on the fact that I'm reading what must be the perkiest whaler's journal ever. A sample entry: December 10. Saturday. Set in, bright & beautiful! 9 AM raised "Right Whales!!!!!" Lowered! The Larboard Boat went on & struck a fine one! He tried hard to get away but the lance "hurt his feelings" and in consequence, he was a dead whale at 22 AM!! 3 PM Cut in. 7 PM Boiling! You think I'm making those exclamation points up.

**And if you are Pamela Dean, you should properly be started with a handicap . . .

Comments

[zdenka]

As winter starlings riding on their wings
form crowded flocks, so spirits dip and veer
foundering in the wind's rough buffetings,
upward or downward, driven here and there
with never ease from pain nor hope of rest.
As chanting cranes will form a line in air,
so I saw souls come uttering cries -- wind-tossed,
and lofted by the storm.

E come li stornei ne portan l'ali
nel freddo tempo, a schiera larga e piena,
cosi quel fiato li spiriti mali
di qua, di la, di giu, di su li mena;
nulla speranza li conforta mai,
non che di posa, ma di minor pena.
E come i gru van cantando lor lai,
faccendo in aere di se lunga riga,
cosi vid' io venir, traendo guai,
ombre portate da la detta briga . . .

[sovay]

Their voices, dying as they fly,
Thick on the wind are sown;
The names of men blow soundless by,
My fellows' and my own.

[zdenka]

'My lord, come nearer, listen to our story!
Conquer your indignation and your pride.'

But he gave no reply and turned away,
following other ghosts toward Erebos.
Who knows if in that darkness he might still
have spoken, and I answered?

[sovay]

We're each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?

[zdenka]

Solitaire en ce lieu sombre,
la terreur emplit mon âme.
Toute l'ombre qui environne
est semblable á la mort.

Alone in this dark place,
terror fills my soul.
All the shadows that surround me
seem to resemble death.

[sovay]

. . . I thought I knew what Persephone must have felt after she ate those pomegranate seeds; and was then surprised by a sudden rush of sympathy for the dour King of Hell.

[zdenka]

Pale, beyond porch and portal,
crowned with calm leaves, she stands
who gathers all things mortal
with cold immortal hands.