I wrote this piece as a freshman in University in response to a writing prompt our professor gave us. I matched the rhythm-scheme (?) to the Odyssey as it is written in English.
Circe, to Odysseus
Son of Laertes, seed of Zeus, resourceful Odysseus
why do you weep as though one of no less degree than a brother
to you has died? Can you not be happy on this blessed isle?
all sweet things are laid before you, yet to them you do not lay hold;
good meat and unending wine that flows freely from the skeins.
What sorrows drive you thus to this mad distraction?
The minds of men are easily drawn from excellence before them
to things long un-glimpsed, untouched by the hand that is their own.
Am I, in my immortal beauty, to be considered
inferior to your mortal wife, circumspect Penelope
who can never match me either in build or stature?
Will you be so cold as to turn away from me
and yearn for the fleeting joys of pitiful mortal life?
You who are a hero among bronze-armed Achaians
deserve no less than what I offer to you now,
that is, immortal life, this hallowed isle and
I myself and wealth beyond any amount
you, handsome Odysseus, might have carried back
from formerly glorious Illion. What is Ithaka
but unplowed fields, small and lordless now?
Surely your queen has married one of her many suitors
preferring a man who is present to give her children and happiness
but if not, surely you will receive a stranger’s welcome
upon your homecoming.
The seas are violent and you have angered a god with
no way to stay his wrath from yourself;
for Poseidon, mighty Earthshaker, lord of the Seas,
is difficult to make apology to, though
you make hecatombs many times in his favored cities.
Would you so easily cast away immortal life
as well? Enduring instead to go down to the house of Hades
and mingle with those who die ignobly, the souls of those
who ran from battle, who died in poverty. Would you so
be willing to wander eternally with them when your
own soul is of god-like forging?
This exquisite island is no less desirable
than the land of the gods themselves, than Olympus,
sublime peak upon which the Father holds his court.
Many fresh and flowering springs do arise
from its forested interior. The sands upon the beach
are warm and soft beneath tired feet and
the lush vineyards overflow with abundant harvest.
Here a hero may never age, but live long
to enjoy enduring fame and wealth.
As for myself, surely I am not repulsive.
Surely the great Odysseus looks upon my form
with delight. The way your warrior hands could
caress me so, feeling at last beneath their touch
a comely, womanly figure instead of the harsh bronze.
Surely it has been too long since you lay
With a woman in love. Is not your heart
Troubled by these thoughts? Incline your head, Odysseus,
and tell me that you will forget your black ship,
the companions you have lost, the home you now forsake,
all these things I long to hear, for I have
much more desirable gifts to offer you freely.
Consider now how you are truly
all alone, great-hearted, heroic Odysseus,
with none but me in the world who cares for you.
Stay, resourceful one, and live on evermore.
Prose
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I enjoyed reading this makes me wish I could remember more of the Odyssey. That’s the one with the sirens? And now that I’m thinking of the Odyssey I really want to read The Most Dangerous Game again. Thanks for the memories.