When young I would walk,
Wandering the back streets and alleys.
But I did not see the asphalt under my feet,
Nor the begrimed buildings that I passed.
Instead, I saw the blinding words before me
Echoing with every step:
μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην…
Sing the destroying wrath, Goddess,
Of Achilles, Peleus’ son!
The creak of wooden ships, the smoke from a burning city,
And the cries of the dying were all around me.
No prophet I, yet still possessed,
Thrown into another world by ancient text.
Even today, in my dimming years,
I recall my transport.
The shattering ecstasy reverberates still,
Remaining, remaining, remaining.