17th century etching
Theodor van Thulden (1606 - 1669)
Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco
Once again I've been inspired by one of Robert Brimm's poems. In his entry for December 1, he includes a poem about a dog named Houdini, along with a beautiful photograph of the shadow of a tree stretched upon the ground. Robert's poem is called "Old Dog Asleep."
Below is part of my post to Robert's journal entry. To read Robert's poem, go here.
In my response to "Old Dog Asleep," I included the following excerpt from The Odyssey:
There the dog Argos lay in the dung, all covered with dog ticks.
Now, as he perceived that Odysseus had come close to him,
he wagged his tail, and laid both ears back; only
he now no longer had the strength to move any closer
to his master, who, watching him from a distance, without Eumaios
noticing, secretly wiped a tear away, and said to him:
"Eumaios, this is amazing, this dog that lies on the dunghill.
The shape of him is splendid, and yet I cannot be certain
whether he had the running speed to go with this beauty,
or is just one of the kind of table dog that gentlemen
keep, and it is only for show that their masters care for them."
Then, O swineherd Eumaios, you said to him in answer:
"This, it is too true, is the dog of a man who perished
far away..."
And this was my comment on the excerpt from the Odyssey (and by extension, Robert's poem):
How those last words ring true for most of us. Are we not sometimes human beings whose dreams are perished; are we not so often looking again for our true selves?
I'm very interested in how our pets come to represent hidden aspects of ourselves. The story of Odysseus and Argos brings me close to tears every time. Robert's poem is powerful, as well.
Odysseus and Argos
Engraving and etching on paper
John Flaxman
1805
I have quoted the following excerpt from the journal of Mircea Eliade before, his journal entry from 1 January 1960. I have repeated it here because it relates so well to Robert's poem (Odysseus and Ulysses are the same):
Every exile is a Ulysses traveling toward Ithaca. Every real existence reproduces the Odyssey. The path toward Ithaca, toward the center. I had known all that for a long time. What I have just discovered is that the chance to become a new Ulysses is given to any exile whatsoever (precisely because he has been condemned by the gods, that is, by the "powers" which decide historical, earthly destinies). But to realize this, the exile must be capable of penetrating the hidden meaning of his wanderings, and of understanding them as a long series of initiation trials (willed by the gods) and as so many obstacles on the path which brings him back to the hearth (toward the center). That means: seeing signs, hidden meanings, symbols, in the sufferings, the depressions, the dry periods in everyday life.
My point is that it is ever so easy to see ourselves inside the work of others. Robert's life is like the life of Homer's hero. So is mine. So is yours.
5 comments:
So sad the ones that do not have the capablity to do so.
Beautiful entry.
V
Theresa, there is so much food for thought in this entry! First, I am put in mind of my old dog, 13 now, who has become such a momma's girl recently after the death of our other (younger) dog from cancer last spring. It doesn't matter if I have been gone all day, or if I have forgotten to feed her for an hour or so. I just need to look at her, and she loves me. No need to prove myself, no need to DO anything (except for giving her the liver treats of course).
I also love the metaphor of the journey we are all taking home. For a blessed few of us it is easy, and bump-free. For most of us, the way is blocked from time to time by boulders, floods, or fires. I think that if we view our setbacks as initiation trials willed by the gods, then maybe we can take a longer or wider view of them and set our jaws more firmly to overcome them. The thought of our life's journey as heading home is comforting - and it is wonderful to pick up companions on the way. Thanks for the imagery, Theresa.
Reading your entries is like bathing in a deep, cool stream. I'm glad to have found your journal, and through it Chosen Words. Both are very satisfying places to spend an evening.
I am intrigued by Eliade's use of the term, EXILE. Are we all exiles? A Freudian view might be that we are all exiled from our mother's wombs. But I think we could take it more broadly. The biblical view is that we are all exiled from the Garden of Eden. Or, in a modern sense, we are all exiled from ourselves as we become increasingly mechanised and technologicalised. I like the latter. I think we are all exiled from ourselves. so we can all take a lesson from Eliade, and look for the hidden meaning of our wanderings. But first we have to appreciate that we are wandering at all.
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