Dies ist der erste Versuch, mich Polyphem anzunähern. Rein aus Bildungsgesichtspunkten betrachtet, wird Polyphems Abkunft problematisch. Polyphem als “Titanenkind” zu bezeichnen, obwohl doch der antiken Genealogie entsprechend sein Vater ein Olympier (der Meeresgott Poseidon, der Odysseus nach der Blendung Polyphems mit der Irrfahrt bestrafte) war, wirkt widersprüchlich.  Allerdings scheint dieser, zumindest wenn er die Fluten erzürnt gegen den Heimkehrer wendet, eine Sprachform für die Urgewalt des Meeres, daher auch die Kraft des Titanen Okeanos vertretend, zu sein.  Anderen Traditionen folgend sind die “Kreisaugen” (Zyklopen) direkte Abkömmlinge der Urgötter Uranos und Gaia, also noch älteren Geschlechts, weshalb ich mir die Freiheit nehme, Polyphem mit einem kraftvoll wirkenden Wort wie “Titan” zu verknüpfen. Man betrachte das wunderbar befremdende Gemälde Odilon Redons, das wohl auch Polyphems Liebe zu Galatea wiedergibt (und seine aufkommende Eifersucht wider Acis).  Die Grafik in meiner Annäherung beruht auf einem Ausschnitt aus einer chinesischen Skizze.

the bag-carried charms of lonely school-girls

blue crushed dreams drowned at noon-day

vented fortunes melted and re-created

morphed laughters reflected in a magenta pool

shadowy remains of the over-large green lantern

vultured skulls swinging by their guitar strings

music honeyed lions pondering the dancing stars

there a stare – here a smile – everywhere death

paper-thin mannequins feasting on shrimp salads

oceanic largesses buttoned and stored sideways

sun-dried tomatoes drank with overmuch salt

zion led saints proportioning those fairly decked nuns

swing crushed remains – the bread cracks of yore

the vegan induced convulsions of some carnivore

emperor dreamed lords dressed in nakedness

street whispered symphonies overtaken with sun-dried laughters

slithering oysters wrestling with some stranded toe

darling buds gnashing their teeth as they gently kiss those receding winds

suffocated wedding bands recalling past conquests

suffused pleasures desiring a proper vessel

the sweaty palms of boys chained in boarding schools

green sullied roof tops laced in brown jacaranda leaves

death masked violins overran with a craving for strings

there be but a remainder of mats – herded feet whistling their displeasure

overmuch excitement – the sure emblem of lovers at war

gloried bosoms rounder than the fairest august apple

middle apportioned fortunes starved of the seasons fallings

i pose a conundrum – suppose i cared

those circular yearning s teasing the pathetic fortunes of our failings

trombone led bands cowering beneath flute dresses

museum honeyed murals of masters unknown

leather clobbered loins remained upon the chiefest lizard cliffs

shop stewed beans rustling in their metal prisons

willows distantly dancing a fresh of the flowing muds

the punished sounds of choirs hanged at dawn

boot driven passions remained on a plastic plate

a loose lip here – a shoe there – everywhere death

numidian mushrooms sheltered beneath kilimanjaros shoulders

kissed birds overcome with grief

the booked imaginings of shy pupils giggling in rain

pampered lobsters sunbathing in their coffins

oiled thighs standing erect besides michelangelo’s david

yellow scented lusts of husbands given over to theatre

comedy driven longings – the perpendicular stares of wronged lover

the karoo streams – kalahari basins – toureg chants – gorgon encampments

they all be but simple venison servings

table laid charms bottled in salt

how fair are those dancing bears – even the same fur-less devils

suspended aloft that soon disappearing iceberg

night stars rushing purposefully to their deaths

sychellian crustaceans wallowing in grief

the bushveld  tropics leaning gently upon fair mozambique’s cheeks

soon-approaching monsoons announcing their arrival in himalayan chants

train hurried suns murmuring for a lack of attention

the haired touching of lovers stranded at and in the sea

easterly badlands housed in some papal estate

toe-tugged yearnings elegantly decked in straw skirts

of epher’s children – salute them with a gentle tug in either direction

craven red shoes seated upright in some rainy mud hut

of mau mau and his abandoned harlots – whistle only and touch not

burning forests housed wholly in her mouth

olympian straits considered and rejected

righteousness forced upon unwilling saints – they chose sin instead

snow-covered churches overcome with laughter

coat pocketed jealousies of rivals resorting to righteousness – dueling

scorched lands immigrating downward and into hell

cherry scented mustangs awash in fresh aloe

dew carried feet refusing the flung serving of fresh boots

the remaining african horn fed to the nomadics of eritrea

diseased waters bottled and sent to epher’s descendants

soap deprived ankles painted in valley yellow

dark suns prejudiced at the sight of blue oranges

suited bullfrogs desiring an audience with the priest

mournful dirges of some tragic anthem lorded over the plains

serengeti woodlands teaming with overmuch grasshoppers

lateral – dental – palatial

the rice grown hatreds of aphrite’s rude cousins

millet rinsed touchings of loves and lovers clothed in burnings

sight condemned ancients rehearsing their final movements

hurried motionings of sharks harpooned at the high deserts

drunk instructors condemned to the wine cellars

drought moustaches grown arrogant with the occasional brush

ankle dipped hands dancing on freshly painted ceilings

roman centurions sheepishly waiting upon the priests

the back covered lashes of whips crying at dawn

zebra teethed lions lying sideways – the feed was much

meditating monks nightly preaching patience as they doubt its efficacy

rib jointed searchings of parents transfixed upon some tragic statute

guitar stringed understandings of lovers soon to be loosened

hurricane gales refusing freely gifted medications – they instead desire destruction

church chimed machinations – the loud shadows of sarcadortal hems

leather-covered sweaters speaking of soon returning father abraham

marsh covered bibles resurrected to their mournful parents

papered lips pretending to care yet found out

fortuned souls buried in moses’ bosoom

piano starved school children emaciated and in need of fresh cassava

drunk pilgrims desecrating their holy places

curses courtiers given over to overindulgence

pleasured hips forgetting how to dress

earth abused servants despising their hoes

equator neglected bears doubly aggrieved

polluted musics distilled in yellow barley

tomato crushed dreams of lovers separated by war

tributaries of untamed passions spewing from eva’s bosom

tribal instincts of mothers caressing their pops – confused loves

crucified sailors condemned for purity of passions

the yellow ribbons circling about in their blue trousers

bus driven fears of known futures

boiled mannequins cascading in sheltered rage

the oiled ankles of lovers destined to fail

teaming marshes pregnant with the anticipation of your impending hanging

what would shylock do

such purity contained in those unassuming holy loins

not a penny more or less

the weighty pendulums of earthly expectations placed shoulderwise

upon such lowly flesh – pray for his rich poverty

freely consider the run – jonah did

circular chains layered outwardly upon her cheeks

wandering stares of the decomposing tortoise

craged backs of prisoners rejoicing at the sight of a whip

unseemly lovings of the nile priests

snow married rains competing for the mastery

roaming preachers begging for fresh underwear

any recall the simple pleasures of death

hyacinth troubled waters refusing to suffocate

consider the daffodils and their fair cousins – the black mamba

following – continue your runnings

street dancing muses overtaken with giggling willows

haggard poets taking up whistling

layered burnings of victims returned from their nightly flames

the bleached denials of lovers untrained in the art – of lying

caressed lips of saints hanged and burned by the eclipse

green creeks snaking around eva’s proud towers

ever populated with the bagged trifles of smiles sealed and delivered

expected rains falling only the honest sinners

touch not but freely reach

the flasked remains of wars forced upon the innocent

dirt condemned shoulders praying for rain

honeyed nights scribing the moanful chants of reunited lovers

built ruins of some ancient king – god

boot-straped cowboys jeaned and straightwith saddled

onion ringed stairs of pilgrims unfurling their carpets in prayer

stoned devils loosened on an unassuming friday afternoon

the shamelessly chanted charms of choirs rehearsing compassion

free range grains frustrated at the sight of a sickle

garden manufactured sandals covered in cassava peelings

the red vases of fortunes’ train soon approaches

temple plundered riches housed in some temple

boat driven suspenders tugging the wily doe

arabian summers spend it hibernation

square run destinies married to music slithered hands

love-worn seagulls taking up residence on greenland’s beaches

the pilgrim stares of submerged penguins

superfluous gains of tormentors destined to burn

collected unicorns aimlessly peddling their air cycles

terrace covered nakedness of summers spent at the arctic

zerubabel conducted symphonies arrested by the passing eclipse

the retrograde joys of past loves recalled in regret

of pains  known and grown out of – try harder

vase-shaped frustrations – even the same man nurtured

sandals of ambitions dead at birth

any care pass along the rope – how make you a proper noose

how sweet the contradiction daily raping humanity

baleful mourns of innocence hushed in the still of the night

bewildered stares fixed upon the priestly robes of the temple vultures

scavengers given over to overmuch prayer – before consuming their flesh

teeth mapped meats shaking with fear

with love and for love yet always serving self

hades scented saints marching triumphantly towards their sabbath pews

those proper passions gently housed in some harlots bosom

care consider her kind

rude awakenings of skirts hugged one upon another

round fingers – the meandering coins emblazoned with sea fortunes

sword kissed deaths transfixed upon some tragic mount

that they too desire to commune with father moses – any care find him

knee-nursed yearnings of some crawling pop

kettle-whispered lovings of mothers overcome with joy

loves journeyed in darkness only to be condemned by the searching light

some waffled longings of imprisoned cousins – twice removed

fortunes plundered and straightaway surrendered to mightier foes

watched yearnings of those round face anthills

care imitate the socialized hatreds of the sheppard

joyous singings at the news of the stranded winters upon the seas

today be the burial of some tragic figure – some son of three parents

scared remains of lovers burned in love – rather it be love that burned then -

or love caused these burnings – love burned them – in a word: they be dead

the dragon costumes singularly common yet without a mother

companies of soldiers bewailing their blood-muddied swords

pure-bred expectations of fathers married to daily runnings

parisian harlots – even those decadent damsels of notre dame

lamp lighted walkings of some painted corridor

symphonic laughters given over to overmuch prayers

recall the butterfly laced travels of righteous odysseus

the drought peopled apartments quietly screaming for chardonnay

touched purities of priests aggrieved in spirit yet glad in the flesh

palm lined libraries of cairo giddily seated adjacent jerusalem’s famous lamps

summer covered carpets laced with gerbera ferns

nightly runnings of forbidden lovers conspiring their next escapes

apostolic sureties of saint eva – blessed be her musical loins

poems collected in empty wooden wine skins

coerced laughters masked in the lying giggles of the anaconda

prayerful knees of the arabian monk wrestling with an empty sea shell

rehearsed returns of the blue women of the green lagoon

liberian tiles refusing their ordained marriages to cuban cements

any care hear of the loud shrills of the debauched crickets

plimsol expectations of princes ignored in plain sight

the returned piercings of lapped waters dancing in a great danes mouth

restrained sheep recalling their wild histories as dakota mustangs

of sacrifices a dove yet wholly unrepentant

rosy mornings carried in an empty jar

that the sistine chapel was erected by a harlot – aye even eva

that most righteous and upwardly decked saint of the weeping sheets

known of most for her convulsing inducing hands

virgin pilgrims remained upon their store-bought piety

some raisin cured yawns of the whited sepulchers housing her blessed remains

glass layered centuries of accusations returned and loosened

sweet-honeyed chirpings of the wooly mammoth

crane-spoted hyenas jumping rope in the serengeti plains

crowned turtles desiring the company of boiling lobsters

any recall the tearful repentances of proud nabucco

slaves become masters and enslaving their fellow slaves

how that in running – they instead lost themselves

have a care

He had me in tears today, my lovely astrologer.

They bubbled up, out of nowhere, and flowed down my cheeks to splash on the notes on my desk.

His latest passion is Asteroids and Trans-Neptunians and his reasearch exhaustive. Greedily, he devours books, pores over charts, identifies personality traits, deep-rooted problems, potential pitfalls.

Jupiter, right now, is at 19° 18′ Aquarius and is transiting my Odysseus. So he looks up Odysseus. Odysseus is the asteroid for one who is sent into exile. “This sense of exile is to be seen as poignant because there is a longing for home; one has been banished and yet yearns to go home, to have a home, to find a place that offers what they idealise as home.” The tears, by now, are streaming unbidden down my face. “There is the perception that one doesn’t have a place to call his own.”

Then, of course, having punched this asteroid into the software, we discover that it is conjunct my Mars in the 9th – the lure of the open road, eh? And Odysseus conjunct Mars, to quote the pertinent paragraph: “Angry scenes in connection with being sent away” from ‘Go to your room’ as a child to “later in life, anger, independence or criticism carry the potential for echoes of banishment – being driven out.”

He is, inadvertently, enormously good at summoning my pain, dredging it up from its hiding place deep within my soul, standing it in front of me and saying: “Here it is. Confront it. It will make it better.” Or put another way, as he often says: “With awareness comes relief.” I suppose it is some small relief to know that it is there, in black and white, in my Nativity.

I am exiled from my family.

More than that, whenever I have dared speak out, rock the boat, step out of line, I have been royally punished for it. And (conjunct Mars in the 9th, remember?) hauled my cookies abroad and lived there for a good long time. Since I can remember I have longed to live far away from the family home. I have left and found it bittersweet because from a distance I can pretend that home is perfect. I can miss it. And if I stay away too long, I run the risk of forgetting that it isn’t what I believe it should be.

My whole life I have been mystified by the discrepancies between my understanding of home and family and the reality. Don’t misunderstand me, I have had a privileged and comfortable life, upbringing. On the surface of it, you would consider me the luckiest in the world. But it is about appearances, doing and saying the right thing. The substance of it, the meat of it, the depths of it… they have been conspicuous by their absence. Behaviours have been so utterly not what I expect of a family.

And, with what my lovely astrologer calls “The Jupiter Effect”, Jupiter is magnifying this conjunction. No wonder it hurts, huh?

-0-

His research is not exactly painless for him either, you know.

Inevitably, he uses his own Nativity as a test or control case (and mine follows on as the live-in guinea pig), and turns up aspects and placements that have him drawing in his own breath in recognition, wonder or pain.

The latest example of such was his discovery, yesterday, of how Psyche plays out in his own chart. Apart from Daedalus, the Sun’s conjunction with Psyche is the closest aspect it makes. It is a massively sensitive point, arising mostly from one’s own pain “the excessively present trauma of the past”, which creates a hypersensitivity. It can be nigh on crippling “as one identifies oneself in terms of one’s ‘pain’ and the emotional complexes of the childhood. One may feel that what they are, at root, is the sum total of their pain and damage”.

As the tears rolled off his cheeks and into his beard, I began at last to understand from where his unsettling, extreme sensitivity and deep anxiety stem.

Surely only one with such levels of insight into pain and damage is qualified to help others overcome theirs?

“If “the concept of resistance is critical of thought’s claim to totality”, as Adorno avers, then surely Odysseus is the very image of the ambivalent cunning of reason, surviving and even redeemed by his very perserverance. In his gradual evolution throughout mythic history—from his earliest appearance as a primitive Autolycan trickster, to Homeric μῆτις [metis] under the protection of Hermes—Odysseus becomes formally modern, not because he calculates or uses power, but because he is all things to all men; a kind of confidence man, simultaneously master and slave, king and beggar. This is the truly Hegelian aspect of Odysseus: the idea that he must deny his identity in order to preserve it. In the cave of Polyphemus, his weasel words rescind his own name: he is ου-τις, ou-tis; ‘no one’. And it is this moment, I would argue, rather than the encounter with the Sirens, that marks out Odysseus (and not, say, Prometheus, or Philoctetes) as the archetype of lyrical subjectivity; a survivor whose predicament consists precisely in not knowing how exactly to relate or dispose the experience and knowledge that he manifests and bears.”

Kevin Nolan, Capital Calves: Undertaking an Overview

From The Odyssey (Samuel Bulter trans.), which I’m listening to as a LibriVox audio book. Kink in ancient Greece?

When Circe strikes you with her wand, draw your sword and spring upon her, as though you were going to kill her. She will then be frightened, and will desire you to go to bed with her. On this you must not point blank refuse her, for you want her to set your companions free and to take good care also of yourself. But you must make her swear solemnly, by all the blessed gods, that she will plot no further mischief against you, or else when she has got you naked, she will unman you and make you fit for nothing.

Es war Odysseus, der sich “outis” nannte. Gerne hätte ich dieses Gedicht aus Polyphems Sicht wiedergegeben. Leider ist die Zeit dafür noch nicht reif.