Could I speak of nostalgia? A nostalgia not of my own yet belonging to an impersonal stream of memories, the kind often evoked in drunken delights of spiritual journeys? One seems to recognise and relearn the fragments forgotten in the turbid, slow-flowing streaming of Time, given the right setting. So I sit here, a stick…
Tag: Poem
The Beginning
I call Dionysus the loud-roarer! Who wails in revel! First-Born, two-natured, thrice-born, Bacchic king, Wild, inscrutable, cryptic, two-horned, two-shaped, Bedecked in ivy, bull-faced, war-like, howling, holy, Divine victim, feasted every other year, adorned with grapes, bedecked in foliage. Euboleus, counselor, Zeus and the maiden bore you… on a secret bed, immortal Daimon; Listen happy one…