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am 01.10.2003 21:35 Uhr schrieb Carrol Cox unter [log in to unmask]: > Eugene Schlanger wrote: Too bad Dido did not snub him before the pyre! > > Over 56 years ago (at which time I had never even read a plot summary of > the _Aeneid), while loafing in the school library (high school) I picked > up a copy of the Virginia Quarterly (I think), and opened it to an > article by Robert Graves, absolutely raving at the dirty trick Aeneas > pulled in the underworld. His interpretation of the scene was that Dido > and her husband together in the world of the dead, that her husband did > not know of her affir with Aeneas, and that by speaking to her Aeneas > was intentionally intending to cause friction between the ghostly pair. > Clearly my memory is not to be trusted over this span of time. > > If I am remembering correctly, the tone of the article was that Aeneas > and Dido and their meeting in hell was historical fact. Graves seemed > really, personally, angry at Aeneas. > > Carrol > > P.S. I've never read a lot of Graves, but the following poem is a joy > forever. > > > Warning to Children > > Children, if you dare to think > Of the greatness, rareness, muchness, > Fewness of this precious only > Endless world in which you say > You live, you think of things like this: > Blocks of slate enclosing dappled > Red and green, enclosing tawny > Yellow nets, enclosing white > And black acres of dominoes, > Where a neat brown paper parcel > Tempts you to untie the string. > In the parcel a small island, > On the island a large tree, > On the tree a husky fruit. > Strip the husk and pare the rind off: > In the kernel you will see > Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled > Red and green, enclosed in tawny > Yellow nets, enclosed by white > And black acres of dominoes, > Where the same brown paper parcel-- > Children, leave the string alone! > For who dares undo the parcel > Finds himself at once inside it, > On the island, in the fruit, > Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled > Green and red, enclosed by yellow > Tawny nets, enclosed by black > And white acres of dominoes, > With the same brown paper parcel > Still untied upon his knee. > And, if he then should dare to think > Of the fewness, muchness, rareness, > Greatness of this endless only > Precious world in which he says > He lives -- he then unties the string. Dear Carrol, many thanks for sharing a lovely poem! In awe: Gunnar