Hile, lovelies,
I’d been thinking I hadn’t blogged since January, and then I check and find that I last blogged in February.
On Valentine’s Day, to be prezact. And it was my poetical ode to villains, which is extra appropriate to look back upon today.
‘Cause this post is gonna be POETRY Y’ALL. BANGERANG.
So, without further ado or adon’t, let’s get to it.
Ancient Egyptian Love Poetry
Back in nineteen-hundred-and-none-of-your-bidniss, I was a college student. As such, I got to take such splendid classes as Western Thought & Expression Through the Renaissance. And one of the first things we read was Ancient Egyptian LOVE POETRY.
IT WAS CRAMAZING.
We were freshmen, giggly and oh so sophisticated, and we had a blast with this stuff. Here are some of my favorites. Until the writing of this post, I hadn’t read any of these texts in well over a decade. But I remembered them. Those Egyptians really had it goin’ on, y’all. 😉
These translations are by John L. Foster.
Love, how I’d love to slip down to the pond
Love, how I’d love to slip down to the pond,
bathe with you close by on the bank.
Just for you I’d wear my new Memphis swimsuit,
made of sheer linen, fit for a queen–
Come see how it looks in the water!
Couldn’t I coax you to wade in with me?
Let the cool creep slowly around us?
Then I’d dive deep down
and come up for you dripping.
Let you fill your eyes
with the little red fish that I’d catch.
And I’d say, standing there tall in the shallows:
Look at my fish, love,
how it lies in my hand,
How my fingers caress it, slip down its sides…
But then I’d say softer,
eyes bright with your seeing:
A gift, love. No words.
Come closer and
look, it’s all me.
_______________
MY NEW MEMPHIS SWIMSUIT. SWEET SAINT BRUNHILD.
Also…that “little red fish”?
Suuuuuuure.
‘Cause we totally go around caressing fish.
Um.
Yeah.
*fans self*
*AHEM*
_______________
Why, just now, must you question your heart?
Why, just now, must you question your heart?
Is it really the time for discussion?
To her, say I,
take her tight in your arms!
For god’s sake, sweet man,
it’s me coming at you,
My tunic
loose at the shoulder!
_______________
Hotep! Seriously, dude. PUT DOWN THAT ADZ AND PAY ATTENTION!!!
By the way, y’all, these poems were written 1100-1300 B.C.
Apparently, human nature ain’t changed a ton since then.
WHO KNEW
😉
_______________
This one’s my absolute favorite:
I was simply off to see Nefrus my friend
I was simply off to see Nefrus my friend,
Just to sit and chat at her place
(about men),
When there, hot on his horses, comes Mehy
(oh god, I said to myself, it’s Mehy!)
Right over the crest of the road
wheeling along with the boys.
Oh Mother Hathor, what shall I do?
Don’t let him see me!
Where can I hide?
Make me a small creeping thing
to slip by his eye
(sharp as Horus’)
unseen.
Oh, look at you, feet–
(this road is a river!)
you walk me right out of of my depth!
Someone, silly heart, is exceedingly ignorant here–
aren’t you a little too easy near Mehy?
If he sees that I see him, I know
he will know how my heart flutters (Oh, Mehy!)
I know I will blurt out,
“Pleases take me!”
(I mustn’t!)
No, all he would do is brag out my name,
just one of the many…(I know)…
Mehy would make me just one of the girls
for all the boys in the palace.
(Oh Mehy)
_______________
Heavens to Betsy, it’s Mehy hot on his horses.
HOT ON HIS HORSES, Y’ALL.
OHHHHHHH, MEHY!
*SWOONS*
_______________
I think I’ll go home and lie very still
_______________
Or take a cold shower, after all that “little red fish” and Mehy business. Good gravy.
_______________
I think I’ll go home and lie very still
I think I’ll go home and lie very still,
feigning terminal illness.
Then the neighbors will all troop over to stare,
my love, perhaps, among them.
How she’ll smile while the specialists
snarl in their teeth!–
she perfectly well knows what ails me.
_______________
Mehy? Is that you?
😉
_______________
And An Original by Yours Most Coffee-dly
To finish up my little celebration of National Poetry Month, here’s a poem of my own creation. I used to write a lot more poetry than I do nowadays (my theory is that noveling takes up what creative juice I might otherwise spend elsewhere), so this one is a few years old. But I still enjoy it a lot.
And it is still the Truth. : ) Enjoy.
The Wild and I
There is wild in the air tonight.
I don’t know where it comes from, and
I don’t know where it’s going.
But I am sure I want it to take me along.
I want it to rip through my hair,
batter my skin with insistence
and its demand.
The wild shall embolden me
to abandon all my tethers
and shed my clothes and shoes as I run.
The wild and I shall skitter down darkened alleyways,
the only light a pale reflection of the moon,
glinting off rain-drenched broken steps
and curves of metal.
We shall laugh and howl songs and
climb leafless, lifeless trees as indistinct
as puffs of smoke.
The wild shall lead me over each hillcrest,
into eerie fog and witchlights,
where tiny red berries glisten, waiting.
I shall pick them with fingers clumsy
with excitement, and taste the juice on my tongue
before the sweetness plunges into me.
The wild and I shall whirl and twirl,
and it shall teach me to fly upon the lightning.
The wild and I shall surrender ourselves
to rustling leaves and earthy scents,
while the deeping darkness beckons, envelops,
and sets free.
There is wild in the air tonight.
And so am I.
Courtney Weger Cantrell
November 10, 2010
