μεταμορφώσεις

[Jeff Bernstein]

Statius, The Achilleid

 

3.

 

Thus spoke Thetis, who then shot up like lightning into the heavens.

High Zeus, then, infinite in age and sight, came into view. Though

as spacious as all Time and Space, he yet reduces the size

of his dimensions, to taste of the delights of Creation.

Just now he was returning from the hospitable table

of river Oceanus with a face of sheer contentment :

nectar drawn off from the river-waters had left him relaxed.

His horses skimmed the sea-surface so lightly, hardly any

sea-spray dappled the warm evening air. The mermans haunting

the rocks of the sea sang quietly as the god passed them by.

No storm or wind frustrated his homeward journey.

God, then, coming into the Tyrrhenian Sea, received salute

from seraphim following above and below him. And he

passed Thetis by as if unawares and returned to Olympus.

 

So sea-goddess Thetis appealed next to Poseidon. He came

to her astride his triple horses, who were equine in chest,

but with fins behind them which wiped out their prints as they galloped

on the deep. And Thetis said :

 

“O great father! Monarch of the Under! See what misery

they bring to your seas! Criminals fleeing the land now sail

safely ever since Jason shattered the illustricity

of your waves with his thievery! Now another criminal

flees along your routes, the man who chose recklessly on sacred

Ida! Ah! What impious injury to heaven and earth!

And furthermore—to me! Is this how we enjoy our privilege?

Are those two following the rightful ways of Aphrodite?

Or maybe it’s ingratitude from Aphrodite, child

of the sea? These ships don’t carry the pious, or Theseus!

If any honour is due to you and these waters, drown them!

Or abandon all of your sovereignty over the seas.

What I ask is nothing cruel : allow me to fear for my son.

Prevent a flood of grief from taking me away! Don’t think of me

off on a beach somewhere, alone, with my head bowed to the waves,

and the stones of a tomb raised beside me.”

 

Thus did Thetis plead to Poseidon. During all this begging

the goddess had carved up her cheeks with her clawed fingernails.

Now her dazzling face was etched with beads of immortal blood,

and she wildly blocked his horses’ way with her bared breasts.

 

So the Monarch of the Seas pulled up on his reins. Poseidon

invited Thetis sea-goddess into his golden chariot.

Then he began to speak to her in a kind and loving way

while holding her hand, to soothe her. “Those ships will sail by

whether we like it or not, Thetis. I cannot destroy them.

The Fates will have their way and cannot be prevented, even

by gods. We are at their mercy, too.”

 

Poseidon with one hand cleansed the woe from the goddess’ face;

the other he dropped on her knee. Poseidon then continued :

 

“Ages ago Europe and Asia were fated for battle

with bloody hands; and Zeus has allowed it, and so it shall be.

That fleet sails unawares into ten long years of slaughter.

But your son shall gain imperishable glory in the dust

by the Scamander. You shall see sights of his heroism

unmatched by man. Many Trojan mothers he shall leave weeping

for their sons. The grandson of Aeacides shall flood the plain

with blood, and the rivers, too—and a terrible fate awaits

Priam’s Hector. Your Achilles will even tear down the walls

I built there!—and the ancient Ilium shall go up in flames.”

 

Thus he spoke. Thetis then lightly lifted his hand from her knee.

The god saw her face glowing fresh and smooth again, and he said :

 

“Men all over shall believe your Achilles no son of man,

but of Zeus. And your grief won’t go unanswered. You will use my

waters—I shall let you—to bring that fleet there to the bottom

of the sea. When the time comes and Cape Caphereus ignites

its lights, the homeward ships will wreck themselves on the rocks, and we

will pass no little time in terrorizing Odysseus.”

 

4.

 

The god had spoken, and the lowered eyes of Thetis goddess

showed her misfortune at the rejection. She had been hoping

to scuttle the criminal ships threading through the Hellespont,

but it was not to be. So her thoughts turned to something other.

 

With three long sad thoughtful strokes she swam across the Aegean

and came to Haemonia, place of magic. Her naked feet

stepped up out of the foam and onto the land of ancient Greece.

The Hills of Cynoscephalae raised their heads in happiness

to see her; while many caverns broadened, like a smile,

to invite her in. Delightedly the Sperchios River

hugged her ankles when she stepped in its fresh-water stream. Thetis,

though, took no joy in the place. With her heart and mind in distress,

the goddess, hoping desperation might give her eloquence,

sought out the reverend tutor Chiron. Reaching his dwelling

required an arduous journey up a steep mountainside

through difficult and unpleasant terrain, to find the one cave

opening that led to his vast dwelling inside, on whose roof

rested the entire summit and tip of Pelion Mountain.

Part was hollowed out by hand, part cracked wide by decaying age.

Signa and couches of the gods furnished the interior—

these ornaments distinguished the spots where each Olympian

had excavated the rock. The Centaur’s home comprised a network

of many airy caves. Unlike his violent brother Centaurs,

here the many spear-points were clean of human blood, and no shafts

had fractured during drunken warplay. Not one mixing-bowl here

had been flung at a brother during a feast. Here, the quivers

hung neatly on pegs in open spaces softened by many

animal skins. All these weapons, long retired from service,

memorialized his youth. These days he went around unarmed,

and worked at researching his herbs that gave medicinal care

to spirits hanging in the balance; or he strummed his lyre

and sang of ancient heroes as instruction to his student.

 

Now the cave went dim, and goddess Thetis turned to see Chrion

standing four-footed at the threshold, the half-horse, half-human

Centaur, now a looming shadow, blocking the only way out.

But he stepped forward with a smile, and invited her in

(though she stood inside already), and he took her hand in his,

courteously. And while overjoyed at the sight of her,

his shoulders sank at the thought of his crude dwelling in her eyes,

and he warned her of the unsteady places of his cavern.

Then the dignified healer bent to his hearth. He brightened things

with a fire, and began preparing a meal; and Thetis

sea-goddess began to speak, saying :

 

“Chiron! Where is my child? And tell me since when does the boy

live apart from you for any length of time? Old friend, tell me this!

Shall a mother ignore the signs in her nightmares, breathed into

her mind from the gods, inspiring many terrors? Sometimes

I see sword-points piercing my womb from the inside out; sometimes

fears overcome me like wild animals tearing my breasts.

Even under water I wring my hands dry with lamentation.

Worse horror—In my dreams I see myself bearing my own son

down into Hades and drenching him in the waters of the Styx.

 

Now I have more secrets to tell you. The old man of the sea

instructs me to purify my son in a rite by the shores

of Oceanus, if I am to undo my fears. I’m to stand facing the west

and its unknown waters warmed by the declining stars at dawn.

There we must make terrible sacrifices—gifts to unknown gods.

But to say it all would take ages; and I am forbidden

to speak of it anyway. Just tell me where to find my son.”

 

Thus spoke Thetis, weaving a fabricated tale for Chiron.

For how could she tell him she planned to dress her son in girls’ clothes?

 

 

to be continued

 

 

 

 

Edited June 24, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

Phantom Thread and ancient Greece

 

Your tireless author has written at length on PTA and the ancient Greeks (“Sophocles and Phantom Thread”) and now look. At 5:43, Woodcock looks for all the world as if drinking from an ancient Greek kylix (κύλιξ). Then at 5:48 Cyril is framed as if by symmetrical Greek columns.

[Jeff Bernstein]

The Skew

Chinatown (1974), 1:53:45

Phantom Thread (2017), 22:49

[Jeff Bernstein]

Colossal Clue : The Wounded Muse

 

Alma : “I want you flat on your back. Helpless. . . . With only me to help. And then I want you

strong again. . . . You might wish you were going to die, but you're not going to.” (1:58:28–1:59:06)

 

Remind anyone of Annie Wilkes in Stephen King’s Misery? (1987)

 

And think of Seneca’s repeated allusions to, say, Sisyphus. . . .

 

 

 

Edited June 26, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

The Forbidden Kiss

 

Now Voyager (1942), 12:44

EWS, 19:51

[Jeff Bernstein]

Early Lens Flare (1942) !

 

Twice. Reflection of Bette Davis' glittery garment :

Now Voyager (1942), 34:56/34:57

[Jeff Bernstein]

Full Metal Jacket (1987) : A Theory of the Shoot

 

In another document (elsewhere) I explore Kubrick’s striking deployment of background detail in the first half of FMJ.

 

Incoming now is a new theory :

 

1. Matthew Modine, in his Full Metal Jacket : A Diary, speaks despairingly of the location he calls “The Wall” (1:28:26–1:38:53). Modine writes : “We’ve moved around from location to location but we keep ending up here. We have been at this f**king wall for almost a month.” (December 1985)

 

2. The background at, say, 1:30:05, includes remarkable fire effects and expanding dark smoke.

 

3. The background at, say, 1:32:30–1:33:23, features a prominent smoke plume ever-evolving, and is associated visually with a character (Animal Mother).

 

4. Theory : Perhaps Kubrick kept shooting these shots to capture the background effects to his exacting specification?

[Jeff Bernstein]

Don’t Mess With Texas

 

FMJ, say, 1:39:39. Has anyone ever mentioned that the Sniper’s hideaway, from the outside (MY TOÀN—and anyone think of Thornton Wilder?), very strongly resembles, in silhouette, the state of Texas? (Recall the talk of Oswald at 31:30.)

 

 

 

Edited June 27, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

The Kubrick Lens Flare

 

As a character dies, he stares into the circular lens flare from the flaming Monolith-building. (FMJ, 1:41:49)

[Jeff Bernstein]

Digreditur multum cunctata in limine mater,

dum repetit monitus arcanaque murmura figit

auribus et tacito dat verba novissima vultu.

 

Statius, Achilleid, 379–81.

 

EWS, 1:08:33.

 

Before she left, the mother hesitated,

and repeated instructions secretly,

murmuring into his ear with hidden face.

[Jeff Bernstein]

FMJ : Zodiac-like Cross

1:31:09

1:36:33

[Jeff Bernstein]

Statius, The Achilleid

 

5.

 

“He is yours, good mother” (he said) “he’s yours, and with him my hope

the gods answer your prayers—for your panic seems unmanageable.

I’d prefer not to add to your fears, but I must tell the truth :

your son is growing colossal, far beyond his thirteen years,

and omens in the air speak of things unimaginable

in preparation. He obeyed me—once. He heard instruction.

Nor would he journey far from the cave. But now all Greece itself

cannot contain his vast spirit. When even Centaurs complain,

his behaviour must be bad. They speak of him cleaning their homes out

and carrying their cattle away while they look on helplessly,

or even chased off—while he laughs!—from their own rivers and fields.

Now they make threats. They want his blood, and have set up ambushes.

I’ve seen many heroes in my time—Alcides, Theseus. . . .

But hush! Words may be sharp as blades, but silence is best of all.”

 

Then her heart leapt in terror when she saw him enter the cave.

He entered with tranquil eyes, the gaze of Apollo when he

returns from the wild and rejects his arrows for the lyre.

The boy was indeed much bigger than before; in height he was

his mother’s match. Amid sweat and dust he handled his weapons,

but was still sweet to look on. His face radiated the heat

of youth; his Hyacinthian hair shone like gold; and she saw

the mother in the look of the child. By chance he entered

cheerfully (see how happiness increases outward beauty!)

cradling in his powerful arms, and moving avidly,

a bunch of lion cubs he’d playfully stolen from their beds.

When he saw his mother he let the cubs go, and encouraged

them to scurry back to their own cave and mother, while Achilles

embraced Thetis. Following close behind was Patroclus,

who looked exhausted, having striven to keep up with his friend.

But he had a long way to go to reach such strength. He, too, was

fated to see majestic Ilium, and to fall with it.

 

6.

 

Later he ran through the forest, and leapt into the first stream

he came to, refreshing his cheeks and hair by the fountainhead,

the spray rising like a reek of smoke around him. The ancient

Chiron arranged the boy’s hair with a reverent touch, and washed

his chest clean, and his heavy shoulders. But Thetis watched in pain,

and Chiron implored her to take just a morsel of the feast,

or a drop of wine, and prepared for her many delicacies.

Then he lifted his lyre, breathing in inspiration; and, testing

its strings with a thumb tip first, he sang songs of consolation.

He planted seeds in the boy of monumental heroism :

Heracles : and Pollux : and Theseus and the Minotaur :

and the Olympian marriage-night of Peleus and Thetis

(and the memory roused a slight smile in her dejection).

When it was time for bed, the huge Chiron relaxed on bare rock,

and Achilles slept on top of him, as upon a pillow.

Though his mother was there, the boy had done the usual thing.

 

7.

 

Thetis, meanwhile, was awake, and looking out at the sea.

Standing in the wave-sounds shimmering among the moonlit rocks,

she pondered the best hiding-place for her son. Which land was best

to conceal Achilles? Her mind went one way, then another.

She thought of Thrace to the northeast, then remembered Ares,

god of war, was its guardian, and rejected the idea.  

Macedonia, a warlike people, was not an option.

Nor was Attica, whose superior weaponry would tempt

Achilles. Too much ship traffic made Sestos inconvenient,

and the bay of Abydos. She decides to bring him south,

to the Cyclades. And of all the islands there, she chooses

Skyros. Not long ago, while passing its shores, she heard voices

of young girls playing, echoing all the way from the palace

of peaceful Lycomedes. This idea pleased her and allayed

her fears somewhat. Imagine a pregnant bird stepping with care

among the branches to find a spot to build a nest. She thinks

ahead : this place is open to winds, that place is threatened by

snakes, or men. At last, though still dubious, she decides on a spot

in the shade to place her twigs, and ever after loves the tree.

 

One more care remained for the worried goddess to decide on :

should she carry her son in her arms as she moved through the sea?

Should she ask the merman god Triton on the sea floor for help?

Perhaps the wingèd winds might carry her along if she asked?

Would Iris who often walks on the waves answer her summons?

And then goddess Thetis decided to believe in herself.

 

She called into the sea and her dolphins broke through the surface.

Thetis joined the pair for travel with a bridle of seashells.

Maxima Tethys, Oceanus’ wife, had reared the two,

sleek and silvery, deep under the raging Atlantic waves,

in a calm hollow. Nothing swimming in waters anywhere

showed such dignity of form, such strength to glide, or minds to match

man’s. Their mistress bid them stop before the beach, so that the earth

might not cut their skins. Then she went and took her son in her arms,

and together they departed the cavern Haemonii

and descended the rocky mountainside, following a path

blazed by the full moon, to the waterside. The waves were at rest,

for Thetis had commanded the sea to be silent. Chiron

came up behind her on the beach, and begged her to return quick,

but she was already gone. For a long while he stared into

her frothy wake until it disappeared in the liquid deep.

For Achilles the Centaurs and the mountains of Othrys

were sad, for he was never to return. River Sperchios

likewise flowed slower; and the cave was almost wholly silent.

The Fauns miss his childish songs; while the Nymphae cry over

lost marriage dreams.

 

8.

 

At dawn the stars, scattered by light, cascaded out of the sky,

and Helios rose up from beyond the level sea. The sun’s

spinning wheels dripped salty drops down through empty air, as day broke.

The mother had already crossed the waves to Skyros;

and her dolphins, loosened from their reins, had retired to rest.

The child’s sense became infused with day, which shook him awake;

and with eyes wide open he took in the sunshine of the morning.

“What is this place?” (he asked himself) “Which waters are these? Where has

Pelion gone? Everything is changed!” The boy even doubts the sight

of his mother. Thetis took frightened Achilles in her arms

and caressed him, and spoke to him mildly : “You look upon

your mother, dear child, poor as I am. Think of it! Both Zeus

and Poseidon wanted me, but I married your father instead.

Right now you and I might be suspended as stars in the sky,

glittering forever, and those gods would be protecting us.

Yet I stand low before the Fates. I fear actual death—yours!

You have a weakness your mother is trying to outrun. Child!

For all your strength, you’re too human. You can die. This I know

is close. You await a terrible end—unless you relax

your scruples, son; just a little bit. Submit to the situation,

mighty Achilles—hide your manliness, and put on my clothes.”

 

Achilles recoiled from his mother’s arms and shook his head.

 

“If Heracles put his strong hand on soft wools for Omphale”

(she continued) “and if it’s all right with Bacchus to conceal

his body in full-length robes; if even Zeus looked like a woman

once, when he sought the nymph Callisto; and think of Caeneus,

the hunter who switched genders and became invulnerable;—

I beg you to hear me, Achilles! Help rid us of our nightmares!

Soon you’ll be back in your fields running riot with the Centaurs;

but for now I want you to put on girls’ clothes. I beg you, son,

by everything I am, and everything you are, your beauty

and your strength. If once your own mother went down into Hades

to soak you in the waters of the Styx, all for your own good;

and if I settled, for your sake, on marriage with a human—

then cover yourself in girls’ clothes for a while, to be safe!

It will do you no injury. Why do you look at me like that?

What’s hidden behind those beautiful eyes? You think you’ll feel

tame in my dress? You won’t, son. It takes away none of your strength.

On my honour, I promise Chiron will hear nothing of this.”

 

Thus spoke Thetis, a petrified mother. But her son bristled

at her speech, and recoiled when she showed him women’s garments.

Every inch his father’s son, Achilles stubbonly refused.

Both his inborn virility and his great nature refused.

It was as if she were trying to bridle a wild horse,

one fired with youth’s passion and upset now at her attempt.

All day the horse with honour superb had delighted in the fields

and rivers, and his mouth revolts to wear the bit, and his neck

refuses to be yoked. He denies rule, and wonders at the new.

 

9.

 

O Muse, tell which god was it who favoured the terrified parent.

Who occasioned the possibility for an artful fraud?

What bent unbending Achilles? In fact it was simple chance

that on Scyros that day the people were celebrating a

public holiday for Athena of the Beach. The gentle

sisters of the palace of Lycomedes had left their walls

at daybreak (a rare freedom), and went forth into their homeland

to scatter the flowers of spring as an offering to Pallas.

They decorated her statue, weaving shining foliage

into the austere ringlets, and binding garlands to the spear.

In beauty each sister was alike extraordinary to see.

Dressed the same in shining linen, each had reached the period

of modesty, their young maturity, of age and ready

for the marriage bed. But as Aphrodite outshines the Nymphs

when she joins them in the sea, and as much as Artemis

looms over the shoulders of the Naiads, so Deidamia

stood out gracefully in the dance with her beautiful sisters.

A red blush incensed the ivory skin of her face, rosier

than the others; her gems shone brighter; her gold showed more lustre.

The boy had never seen any girl so beautiful (unless

Athena came to drop her breastplate, and remove her helmet).

When the rough boy, whose heart had never been taken, watched them dance,

and watched Deidamia in motion with extended arms

conducting the rest, Achilles went stiff, the very marrow

of his bones felt aflame. It was a feeling he had no power

over—something new. It was no secret either, this impulse

of his : the fire from his marrow circulated to his face,

which burned red all over, and sweat roamed all over his body.

Just as the Massagetae mix blood into their cups of milk;

and just as ivory may get corrupted by purple dye;

so the boy manifested this new and unexpected fire

in various ways, both paling and blushing (depending

on the spot). Achilles was ready to leap forward wildly.

Heedless of the time, he would have disrupted the joyous dance,

if not for his native decency, and respect for his mother.

Imagine : the future father and boss cow of the herd, whose horns

have not yet reached full length, beholds a snow-white cow at pasture,

and his soul catches aflame, and his mouth foams over with love,

to the laughter of the herders.

                                                     

                                                      So now sea-goddess Thetis,

sensitive of her son, seizes the moment, and advances :

“Why not join the dance? Go lock arms with those playful girls. Pretend!

How hard is that, child? Have you even seen anything like them

under chilly mountain Ossa, or on the top of Pelion?

How delightful your marriage would be for me! Your mother would

have a little Achilles to cradle in her arms!”

 

                                                                           Not-so-

little Achilles hesitated. He smiled a naughty smile

as he eyed the girls sidelong; and his stiff-arming hand, holding

back the clothing, weakened. The mother saw her chance and attacked.

She slipped shining linen over his head and yanked it down his body.

Straightening the neckline, she had him lower his heavy shoulders

and loosen his strong arms. Then she went to battle with his hair,

straightening the uncombed as best she could. Thetis then transferred

a necklace from mother to son. The embroidered hem hobbled

his movements, so mother gave him quick lessons in poise and step,

and how to sound shy in speech. Just as an artist’s thumb puts life

into wax, which accepts the shape from the hand and its fire,

so the goddess changed the look of her son. And when she was done,

it was no struggle for her to believe. His allure enchanted,

it was deceptive to sight; his beauty was tough to pin down.

Unfixedly his character wavered between the sexes.

 

 

to be continued

 

 

 

 

Edited June 29, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

Phantom Thread Music Cue ?

 

48:00

 

= Beethoven, Piano Sonata #31, Op. 110 : 3. Adagio (for example, at 2:00)

 

 

 

 

Edited June 29, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

Dunkirk (2017) : The Mole

 

A use of the etymological predecessor to this word :

 

tunc primum Graecia vires

contemplata suas; tunc sparsa ac dissona moles

in corpus vultumque coit et rege sub uno

disposita est.

 

Achilleid, 456–459

[Jeff Bernstein]

Max Cady

 

cado : to fall, fall down, descend

caedo : to cut, hew, cut down, fell, cut off, cut to pieces

 

(see Achilleid, 463)

 

 

 

Edited June 29, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

“But I’ll tell you what, after seeing Los Angeles and this story I’m about to unfold, well, I guess I seen somethin’ every bit as stupefyin’ as you’d see in any other places, and in English, too.” (1:23–1:28)

 

stupeo : to be struck senseless, be stunned, be benumbed, be aghast, be astounded, be amazed, be stupefied

 

(see Achilleid, 464)

 

 

 

Edited June 29, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

Cinematic Poetry

 

Recall, kind reader, the CGI-expansive first line of the Achilleid :

 

Magnanimum Aeaciden formidatamque Tonanti

 

Guess what?

 

Virtually halfway through the 966-line first Book, the word appears again (an echo?) :

 

. . . Natura Tonantem . . . (488)

 

God-thunder.

 

Tono. Tone. Art.

 

 

 

 

Edited June 29, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

Statius, Achilleid.

 

11.

 

Meanwhile a suffering Europe prepares for furious

war, assembling its arms and armour, seeking sweet revenge

on its enemy. The kings become impatient for conquest,

as Agamemnon son of Atreus (whose own wife is at home)

makes the rounds, sharpening his argument with every telling.

‘Helen, child of Heaven, stolen!—without war, without weapons!

Law and order and Heavenly rule have all been violated

in one act of robbery! This is Troy’s idea of treaties?

This is good commercial business between the two continents?

What should our peoples expect, if their kings are so disrespected?’

So the peoples, of all ages, flock together against Asia.

Greece is outraged all the way from Argos to the Hellespont.

A fiery love of war arouses all the shaken cities.

Tamassus forges bronze. Doliche roils its shores with shipyards.

Mycenae echoes everywhere as anvils take the hammer.

Pisa builds new chariots. Nemea delivers wild beast skins.

Cirrha competes to stuff arrow-bearing quivers. Lerna nails

bulls’ hides (many layers deep) as shields. Aetolia and A-

car-na-ni-a provide companies of fierce infantryman.

Argos drives its fleet. Arcadia’s pastures yield up their sheep.

Epiros bridles its horses. The shady spaces of Phocis

and Aoniae reduce, as ashen spears are produced in bulk.

Pylos and Messena build engines to catapult missiles.

No region of Greece is unemployed. Age-old swords are taken

down from over door-posts, heirlooms of ancestral victories,

and melted in the fire as gifts to the gods. (Warring Ares

uses gold for brutal purposes.) Now the ancient forests

are gone : the summits of Othrys and Taygetus stand bare.

Mountain rock sees sky, for all Greece’s forests now float on the sea.

Oakwood for planking, the oars weaker timber. Iron is used,

and in innumerable ways : to nail prows, to tip spears,

to harness the warhorses, and to make the chain mail, soon

to reek with blood, and take wounds, while striking death with swords

dipped in poison. Whetstones are ground down to sharpen the weapons,

to turn the dull to lethal. Endless is the bending of bows,

the casting of lead projectiles, the sharpening of stakes,

the raising of plumed helmets. During all this activity

Thessaly alone laments her peace, and weeps over her fate,

for Peleus, king of the Myrmidons, is now an old man, 

and Achilles his son is still too young to fight.

 

So Ares has empied out Greece of its men, madly hurling

them all onto decks and horses. The harbours boil over

with ships, and as the fleet advances storm-like whips up the waves.

The sea runs out of room for them, and their sails use all the winds.

 

So the Danaan ships flock together at Aulis, a port

holy to Artemis. There, a cliff overshadows the deep,

its high ridge-line looming long over the furious waters

of the Euboean Sea. The mountain-rambling goddess sees

the Greek fleet, and the rocky promontory Caphereus

lifts its head, and all round the foaming waters begin to bark.

(Caphereus, meanwhile, knowing that one day many years

to come this very fleet will crash against its rocks, holds its tongue.)

 

In this place awaited the fate of Troy, in this place a vow

to wage enormous war was made. But the Greeks acted patiently.

First the confusèd assembly of ships gathered as one

organized force under one king. They they judged the entirety

of their strength. (To complete these tasks took upwards of a full year.)

So the circumambient net shuts in the hidden beasts

of the forest, and little by little the trap contracts around them.

Their terror of fire flushes them out of the wilderness,

and as they flee their shrinking habitat they find themselves trapped

in a valley surrounded by flames. Here mingle the wild boar

and the bear and the wolf, and the deer and the lions, and all,

though they hate each other, have been tamed by their predicament.

 

So the two sons of Atreus united the peoples, and waged

their war. Diomedes and Sthenelus were eager to outdo

their fathers’ fame in combat. Antilochus felt confident

in his youthful vigor. Ajax raised his seven-layered shield,

seven hides of the best of the best, thick as a city wall.

And all the while waiting alertly was Odysseus.

 

But a movement was afoot, a common theme of common talk :

“Where is Achilles?” It is Achilles’ name everybody loves.

Already everybody chooses Achilles to fight for them

against Hector. Everyone agrees that Achilles must come

if Priam and the Trojans are to be obliterated.

It was Achilles who grew strong crawling in the sacred snows

of Thessaly’s valleys. It was his native gifts and early years

that the wise Centaur shaped from birth. It was Achilles whose mother

brought him down into the Styx to harden his body against

blows of steel. Such is the common talk that rushes through the ranks.

“In that case,” laughed the captains, “I guess we’re ripe for a beating.”

 

So as the Olympians gathered in the sky over Troy

and the Scamander—(and Achilles now risen by this time

to the height of Ares’ spear)—and Athena potent in breast-

plate of snakes, and Apollo bending his remarkable bow,

and all of Nature standing erect with fear, all eyes looked to Zeus

Thunderer, waiting for him to wield his storms and lightnings.

What will Zeus Punisher demand of the forges of Etna?

[Jeff Bernstein]

The Golden Light Flare of Power

 

. . . and foreboding :

 

Malcolm X (1992), 7:42/8:09. . . . Cinematographer : Ernest Dickerson.

[Jeff Bernstein]

The Dolly Zoom

 

Earlier I compiled a list of various special uses of the Dolly Zoom. Here is another variation (perhaps #10?) :

 

Malcolm X (1992),  2:33:40–2:34:32 : the shot before Mecca.

 

This is a scene of Colossal Transition :

 

(a) to spirituality

(b) of politics

(c) of personal code

(d) and so on.

 

“We can't unite with others . . . until we’ve first learned to unite amongst ourselves.”

[Jeff Bernstein]

Statius, Achilleid.

 

12.

 

While the two sons of Atreus deliberated among

the military ranks on times for sailing and attack,

Protesilaus angrily challenged the army’s prophet

Calchas in a public argument. For Protesilaus

was eager for war (while unknowing he would gain glory

as being first to fall in combat). “Son of Thestor” (he said)

you forget your powers! When will there be better occasion

for Apollo to possess your mouth and uncover the secrets

of Destiny? Do we not all hear the one word resounding

from everybody’s mouths?—the one word Achilles? ‘Where is he?’

everyone asks. All of a sudden Diomedes is weak,

and magnificent Ajax second-rate, and Little Ajax

even littler! The only strength we have is Achilles!

Well then let’s find him and put him to the test against Ares

and Troy! Do we have a choice? The people ignore their leaders

while praying for him as if he were himself a god of war!

Speak out! Or why this wreath of prophetic office on your head,

and all your honour? Where is he hiding? Tell us where on earth

to go and get him! Rumour has it he no longer lives with Chiron

the Centaur, nor is he back in his homeland with his father.

So then? Storm the Olympian realm and seize the sneaky Fates!

Inhale your fire in a rarest frenzy! We have left

your hands empty of the two-edged sword, remember. At no time

have you worn the helmet and raised the spear and met ferocious

combat. If you want to keep it that way, and justify those

prophetic honours you wear, and bring good fortune to yourself

and to all of our leaders, you will exchange for your freedom

the instruction of where in the world we shall find Achilles.”

 

So the army prophet Calchas, his face draining of colour

and eyes rolling this way and that in anxiety, nodded

to everyone sitting before him, and agreed to enter

into the mysterium of the gods. He kindled a fire,

then inhaled the incense-bearing smoke. His bloodshot eyes went

inward, not seeing the army or the camp, but secretly

peering at, as through a peephole, the Olympians in Heaven.

At the same time his gaze deciphered the design of bird-flight.

He came near to seeing (as the Three Sisters wove it) the cruel

web of Fate. All the while black smoke rose up from the altar,

obscuring the air around him, and the tip of fire reached out

to him. His hair stiffened (almost pushing the wreath off his head);

his neck he held in an uncommon manner; and suddenly

the man looked very unsteady on his feet. Then he began

to speak, a low deep mumbling struggling out of his mouth :

“Where” (he asked in madness) “o ingenious sea-goddess Thetis,

is Achilles? Through tricks you have hidden great Chiron’s student

from us! Why have you done this? Produce him at once, and bring him

here! We do not allow this! Achilles is ours! He is ours.

Goddess, Apollo gives us strength, too. Say where you hide the man

who shall overthrow Asia. I see you, Thetis—secretly,

worried, moving among the Cyclades, looking for a shore

to hide. Ah, child, we are ruined! The land of Lycomedes

is your accomplice in your crime! Look! His body is covered

in linen! Rip it away, child! Rip it away from your strength!

Enough of submitting to mother! Ah, sad me, he goes away;

who is sadder than I? Who is this shameless, impious girl?”

 

Here the exhausted prophet staggered by the altar and collapsed.

Diomedes bent to Odysseus to say : “You and I

should go. If you think me capable, old friend. For all we know

the kid’s hiding down in some deep cave in the back of nowhere

at the bottom of the sea. However, I would never doubt

your mind. Wherever he is, Odysseus will get him here.

I don’t need any prophet to tell me that one.” Smiling,

Odysseus answered him : “May God Almighty prove you right!

And warrior Athena—everyone knows she protects your father.

But everything is slippery right now. Things change fast, so now

I’m thinking slowly. Obviously it would be marvellous

for us to bring Achilles in all his arms and armour into camp.

But Fate isn’t on our side so far. Perhaps thinking how shamed

we’d be if we returned without him is thinking ahead wrongly.

It might be as dangerous as you say. She has Olympians on her side.

But so do we—don’t we? What if we’re meant to find him? Then we

won’t waste too much time in imagining our coming glory.

But something else occurs to me. We bring the boy Achilles

back—maybe only if this seer is worth anything himself.”

 

So said Odysseus, and shrugged. Both warriors shrugged. But King

Agamemnon urged them on, and at that the meeting ended.

All the soldiers dispersed, happy to be headed to their tents,

as at approach of night the birds fly in with food from pasture,

as bee-goddess Hybla welcomes her swarms back to their caverns

and their fresh honey. So, with no time to lose, Odysseus

raised sail and hoped for a friendly wind, while the rowers

under his feet sat in amusement at the odd assignment.

 

 

 

 

Edited July 3, 2023 by Jeff Bernstein

[Jeff Bernstein]

A Thousand Kisses

 

Truman Capote, author of In Cold Blood, often signed off his personal letters with the ending, “A thousand kisses”. Was this a common ancient Roman phrase?

 

For example :

 

“et mille per oscula laudat.” (Achilleid, 576)

 

(and with a thousand kisses praised her.)

[Jeff Bernstein]

Statius, Achilleid.

 

14.

 

Concealed, meanwhile, beneath the disguise of a young woman,

Achilles deceived everyone, except for Deidamia,

who came to know him as a man—indeed, intimately so.

Now she herself had to conceal what she knew, too, and her love

besides; and lived in endless agitation of being caught

by her sisters. What happened was, when Achilles stood tall

in the circle of girls after Thetis departed (leaving him

to apply or put by his simulated modesty at will),

the girl he chose as closest companion was Deidamia,

though all the girls, in fact, eventually pressed their bodies

against his, in that magic circle. With mild words the boy

from the wilds meticulously pursued her, seizing her

gaze at every chance, inviting her with his seductive eyes.

Now he stands much too close to her (and she doesn’t avoid him),

now playfully tosses flowers on her, now knocks fruit baskets

over on purpose so they bend together to retrieve them,

now he taps her—suggestively—with a magic Bacchic wand.

Together they sat and he showed her each slender lyre string,

producing sweet sounds recalling the songs of Chiron;

then he guided her hand, and coaxed her fingers to pluck a tune

from the resonating instrument. And then he embraced her

and blessed her with a thousand kisses. Other times she listened :

where is Mount Pelion? Who is Aeacus? Their constant talk

bewitched her. One time Deidamia took up the lyre

and sang to the face of Achilles. She also counseled him

in demure body posture; and demonstrated to the boy

how best to spin the raw wool, untangling the messes made

with his innocent thumb. Throughout all this the sound of his voice

always held her spellbound, and the authority of his weight

on hers, and how he smartly stayed away from her friends; also

the light of his eyes, and how he often took deep breaths while

he spoke with her. Just as he readies to speak out his deceit,

she slips from him and refuses to hear any confession.

Thus, in this way, Rhea’s son Zeus, sovereign of Olympus,

gave dangerous kisses to his untroubled sister Hera,

who thought of him no more than a brother, until dignity

of family gave way, and the sister feared his altered love.

[Jeff Bernstein]

Cinematic Pace of Poetry

 

In, say, Dunkirk (2017), writer-director Christopher Nolan maintains a brisk pace often via transitions of accordant geometry (e.g., 20:11–20:14).

 

How might Statius maintain a brisk pace halfway through Book 1 of his Achillied (a novel in the 15-syllable line)?

 

For example : lines 592–618. This paragraph/stanza is one discrete scene. Arguably its primary function is humour, so being brisk as possible is possibly the remit of Statius’ Muse just here.

 

How does Statius approach these 27 lines? With a go-to technique of the ancient Latin literary masters : 13 lines end in the letter “s”—a pedal-to-the-metal diction keeping the Reader moving swiftly along. As a special bonus, Statius ends 10 other lines with a vowel—which (in this context in every case) also keeps the Reader moving swifty along. The four consonants, no surprise, are deployed in as exacting a manner as the other letters here. Superlative poetry is a paramount place for pace.

[Jeff Bernstein]

Statius, Achilleid.

 

15.

 

At last, frightened Thetis’ deceit will be exposed—just not yet.

There was a forest reaching high up into the open sky.

In its shade went the sisters to celebrate the biannual

festival to Bacchus, bearing dismembered parts of cattle,

tree trunks dug out of the earth—all sorts of offerings to please

the god in his visionary frenzy. By law, men must stay

away. Old King Lycomedes reiterated the law :

“Off-limits are the woods to all males!” And that wasn’t all.

Standing at each boundary point was a fearsome priestess, there

to catch any man straying unlawfully into the female

camp. During all this Achilles laughed silently to himself,

while he led the company of maidens in worship, waving

his arms around all wrong (yet so becoming in the girls’ eyes).

All the congregation marvels at him. No longer the most

beautiful of them all is Deidamia. Achilles

now surpasses her as much as she surpasses the others.

So he wears the fawnskin on his well-knit body, and his head

is garlanded with a wreath of purple flowers, and his hand

holds the Bacchic thyrsus wreathed in ivy, and all the sisters

stand before him with eyes devoted to his comely figure.

Forgetting their prayers, all had lifted to him adoring faces.