Eureka!

Excuse my elation, but I am very excited this afternoon.


For many months, I have been trying to get a start on an epic poem, and I might have stumbled into something I can finally use this morning on the train. I must have written a hundred practice stanzas to get to these 16 lines. It is all very preliminary, and it is probably tremendously premature of me to post it here now, but I just got that dorsal tingle indicating that there might be an idea here that I can run with...

We shall see...

Chapter 1

Now, after that foray in fantasy,
I have entitled Preface to a Life,
I return to my favorite subject—me.
I am Ulysses now. And you’re my wife,
Dear reader, my patient Penelope.
Don’t let my wanderings be a source of strife:
I spent seven years tied up in a cave,
Being tickled by Calypso. A love slave

Is not easy to be. At 39,
It is especially hard on a man’s knees.
And you must monitor intake of wine,
If you are going to perform. Please,
Don’t bother doing that, my dear. I’m fine.
It’s just that twenty years on the high seas
Can leave a sailor—well—I won’t say limp—
But—for seven years I lived on shrimp...

And then there are these lines I wrote after lunch...

Oysters, and Lobster Thermidor,
A diet richer in cholesterol.
You are still the gorgeous girl-next-door
I married twenty years ago, last fall.
You are a dish all Ithacans adore—
A pink parfait—though maybe not so tall.
I’ve always thought of you as a dessert.
You make the roots of my back molars hurt.

Calypso, and her kind cannot compare…

And here is a completely reworked first draft, plus a couple of stanzas I put together on the 8:07 Express. I will annotate it with suitable links later. What a profitable day! And now I am off to bed!


Chapter 1


Now, after the foray in fantasy,
I have entitled Preface to a Life,
I return to my favorite subject—me—
Like old Ulysses. Won’t you be my wife,
Dear reader, my patient Penelope?
My story shouldn’t cause us any strife:
I spend seven years inside a cave,
Being tickled by Calypso. A love slave

Is not easy to be. At 49,
Love is especially hard on a man’s knees.
And you must monitor intake of wine,
If you are going to perform. Please,
Don’t bother doing that, my dear. I’m fine.
It’s just that twenty years on the high seas
Can leave a sailor—well—I won’t say limp—
But…for seven years I lived on shrimp,

And oyster stew, and Lobster Thermidor—
Things rich in zinc. Yes, and cholesterol.
I see you’re still the gorgeous girl-next-door
I married thirty years ago, next fall.
You are a dish kids everywhere adore—
My maraschino cherry—sweet, and small.
I’ve always thought of you as a dessert.
You make the roots of my back molars hurt.

Calypso and her kind—exotic fare—
Those parasitic ladies who will dance
In vaporous veils, and fling their silky hair
Around in circles do not stand a chance
Against my girl. You simply don’t compare
In eagerness to enter underpants—
Even ones unwashed for twenty years.
You don’t mind if I finish these two beers?

Calypso tickled me with iced champagne:
She poured it in my mouth from an old shoe—
A slipper, I mean. Made of glass. Profane
That girl was. Yes. And barely twenty-two.
Devilish thoughts resided in her brain.
She was as black to white, compared to you,
My dear Penelope. My wedded wife.
I’m lucky I escaped her with my life.