Aeneid Book 6: The Descent into the Underworld
by Virgil
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Sibyl began to speak to Aeneas:
“God-blooded Trojan, son of Anchises,
descending into the Underworld’s easy
since Death’s dark door stands eternally unbarred.
But to retrace one’s steps and return to the surface:
that’s the conundrum, that’s the catch!
Godsons have done it, the chosen few
whom welcoming Jupiter favored
and whose virtue merited heaven.
However, even the Blessed find headway’s hard:
immense woods barricade boggy bottomland
where the Cocytus glides with its dark coils.
But if you insist on ferrying the Styx twice
and twice traversing Tartarus,
if Love demands you indulge in such madness,
listen closely to how you must proceed...”
Keywords/Tags: Virgil, Aeneid, descent, underworld, Aeneas, death, door, Jupiter, heaven, woods, Cocytus, River Styx, Stygian, Hades, Tartarus, voyage, journey, love, madness, god, gods
Categories:
aeneas, death, god, heaven, journey,
Form: Free verse
On sunny days walk beneath the aesthetic pine trees
that gently undulate in the tepid Roman breeze,
their image is reflected in the Tiberius' flowing water;
majestic is the Colosseum, the mighty power of Rome,
it has withstood time, wars, earthquakes, and pillage...
stand in front of it and reimagine emperor Nero, so fair,
inciting the crowds to hail him as a god while they caught his bread:
what was his real reason for burning Rome: madness, anger, or dread?
Did Virgil, the Mantovian poet, love and admire Rome
when Augustus ruled the empire and was worshiped?
No, he chose Naples to write the epic poem Aeneid
in a location that stunned, but he was too far from home!
The Campanian landscape was the perfect setting
as Virgil brought to life Aeneas, the Trojan captain, escaping
burning Troy to realize his fate and embark for Italy without doubting;
and Rome vainly waited for his return and hear his brilliant poem
in the Forum to amaze Caesar while senators applauded him!
Categories:
aeneas, beauty, history, nostalgia, peace,
Form: Lyric
Little crabs their toes scrawled upon the sand
Meaningless patterns to my eyes
Yet before the water like a fairy's wand
Leave nothing but the blankness of surprise
The little crustaceans had purpose in the random patterns
Yet I wonder now if they made it to their destinations
While the fated footsteps without glowing lanterns
Callously direct a spurious crowd's unintentions
Or the shells could just be this tidal destiny
Now stalking an old man, frightening memory.
And I had always exalted above history
My ability to tell like Aeneas my story.
If the crab comes back nothing will be here
To say it was here before.
It's neither tides nor waves that wipe things bare
It is the wind smoothing out the wrinkles from the shore.
My mind too like crab's feet
Stares wondrously at the blank sheet.
Categories:
aeneas, on writing and words,
Form: Free verse
Little crabs their toes scrawled upon the sand
Meaningless patterns pinched on my eyes
Yet browsing, the water like a fairy's wand
Leave nothing but the blankness of surprise.
Some purpose in the little crustaceans random patterns
Did they chase an illusion too, seeking destinations
While the fated footsteps without glowing lanterns
Callously direct a spurious crowd's unintentions?
Was it shells alone marked for this tidal destiny
Now stalking an old man, frightening his memory?
And I had always exalted above history
My ability to tell like Aeneas my story.
If the crab comes back nothing will be here
To say it was here before.
It's neither tides nor waves that wipe things bare
It is the wind smoothing out the wrinkles from the shore.
My mind too like crab's feet
Stares wondrously at the blank sheet
Categories:
aeneas, on writing and words,
Form: Verse
Aeneas crept into the depths
of the underground, upright
he stepped
darkly
as dead roses pressed
and she wept
(Persephone)
in the pit
(indemnity)
where shadows slept
bellowing
as bellows sing
so readily
below those mourning bells that ring
burrowed
'neath the death of Spring
borrowed
from the breath we breathe
burroughs
of departed greed
ennui ennui ennui I scream
wake up! this hell is not a dream
and all is eaten as it feeds
and everything is as it seems
and everything is vanity
as Ashteroth to Easter bleeds
calamitous insanity
the bedlam that Pandora breeds
and Neptune drowned himself in seas
abysmal king of dead seaweeds
the pit is dank and dark and deep
and filled with those of restless sleep
and as the riddle of the Sphinx
shows that time is entropy
just as chains are naught but links
our DNA, life's tapestry
unweaves itself unto deceit
stranding us in furnace heat
like the Rich Man full of thirst
as is the last so was the first
Categories:
aeneas, allegory, death, easter, riddle,
Form: Free verse
To my Valentine
My voracious dear
Whose zest is for wine
Yet mine guise is of beer
To my dulcet amore
You're the last in regard
To my soul's paramour
This endeavor is scarred
Same as Aeneas
I'll leave this sublime queen
And love instantaneous
Twill deliquesce 'tween
No curb to my ideal
Since love turned out unreal
Categories:
aeneas, art, lost love, love,
Form: Sonnet