Ella writes:

The first of these was an attempt at a poem in the tradition of mediaeval ballads, though with a classical subject. In it, Queen Dido (a.k.a. Elisa) speaks of Aeneas to her sister Dido. It is the only one of the three meant to be taken seriously. The second was inspired (or rather provoked) by a photograph of a Greek statue, and the third by who knows what.

Queen Elisa

‘O see, my sister Anna, see,
Most dreadful of my fears,
My lover is deaf to all my pleas
And blind to all my tears.

‘O see, my sister Anna, see,
My lover has no heart:
He hastens down to set his sails,
So eager to depart!

‘O see, my sister Anna, see,
They gather on the shore,
Nor will his band remember Queen
Elisa evermore.

‘O come, my sister Anna, come,
Make up a narrow pyre,
And I will burn his bronzen gear
In the forgetful fire.

‘O come, my sister Anna, come,
Bring me his robe so bright;
My lover wore it many a day
Before he took his flight.

‘O come, my sister Anna, come,
Bring me our bed so sweet;
My lover slept there many a night,
Devising his deceit.

‘O come, my sister Anna, come,
Bring me his sword so keen;
My lover gave that lovely gift,
Gave to his lovely queen.

‘O come, my sister Anna, come,
And kiss my final breath;
Thus, thus I die, and leave my love
Dark omens by my death.’

***

On Patroclus’ Lack of Clothing

When Hector strong killed Patroclus,
And took his armour fair,
You would have thought poor Patroclus
Was not completely bare.

That’s how the artist sculpted him:
He hadn’t any clothes!
Perhaps it’s true (I wasn’t there,
And no one really knows).

And now they have a picture of it
Here inside my book.
I hid it with a Post-it note,
Since I don’t want to look.

It’s not a thing that anyone
Should really ever see,
But that’s just my opinion
And no one’s asking me.

***

Socrates

‘All men, we know, are mortal,’
Some learned teacher said,
‘And since Socrates is a man,
He will one day be dead.’

Now Socrates did ponder,
He thought of this and that,
Now here, now there, he split his mind,
All wondering thereat.

‘How can I prove this logic,
And yet alive remain?
For if I die, I shall be dead.’
Considered he in vain.

‘Agriope was a woman:
Thus she was not a man,
And yet she died, nor e’er returned.
Untangle this, who can?

‘Now if this faultless lady
From Dis could not return,
How then shall I, so much the less,
Tell all men what I learn?’

‘Yet if—somehow, by some chance—
I might indeed come back,
Then I shall not be dead and still
Not know. Alas, alack!’

He thought until he stumbled
On this aporia,
His mind confounded by its own
Phantasmagoria.

He listened, that a wise voice
Might tell whither to go,
But never did his oracle
Its faultless guidance show.

‘And whither shall I turn now?
To die or live? Which way
Is better, I shall never know;
Only a god can say.’