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We were recently asked to re-design and change the shape and form of a very famous ancient poem, for purely academic purposes. It was titled Bleeding Bush. It was destined to be recast in another metre after the passing of a few centuries anyway, we think.
The article we returned
Bleeding Bush
A vast land lay, not far from shore
Where mighty Lysurgus,
Once lived and ruled the land Thracia of
Soldiers, farms and fields.
With Gods and courageous soldiers
Always by his side,
He ruled that Trojan sea-side inlet
Ages long ago.
Unfavourable conditions then
Did not deter me,
From going to this once-gorgeous and
Prosp’rous land of yore.
I went there on my journey and by
Unrelenting work,
Put stone on stone, raised beams and columns,
Till it was my town.
I named it Aenos, after me, so
That, many generations
After me may remember me, quite
Forgetting one truth:
How vain and meaningless is glory,
Where are Priam and Troy?
There buried deep under many ages,
They are rotting now!
Anyway did I build my town and
Offer sacrifice
Of bulls and sheep and hens, some say, there
Were my labourers too.
Made offers and gave gifts to Jove
Above and Venus too,
To tempt them all to bless the work
Begun by me there then.
Not far did I espy a hill where
Cornels and myrtles,
Grew lush wherever I set my eyes,
I set my footsteps too.
The wind did whisper in my ears,
Coming from th’Aegean sea-
And tell many tales of battles fought there,
But I heeded not.
I pulled a plant from there to adorn the
Altar of my town,
I will not ever in my life
Forget the horror I saw.
Blood dripped and seeped and jetted out from
Th’every opening
In th’earth I made, when I pulled the tender
Roots from gentle soil.
I pulled another plant, t’was like I
Pulled the plug from one
Long-stopped and closed and time-forgotten
Russet mountain stream.
The nerves I detached might have caused the
Op’ning of old wounds,
Or else what might have caused that constant
Steady sanguine flow?
I was awestruck, blood dripping from each
Pore I made in th’earth,
Blood gushing out of every tendril
I severed, fervently.
Blood, blood and only blood came out of
Fertile goodly earth,
My muscles froze; I heard a vo′ice
From beneath the earth.
“Don’t hurt me, I am but your blood,
I am but Polydor,
Run, run away from this bloody land,
Run, run and save your life.”
That voice which sliced open th’earth’s breast
Penetrated my ears,
I could not believe what I heard,
-Coming across time’s realms.
“You see, here standing trees were all
Once a true Trojan soul,
Sent to the higher or nether world by
A sharp Grecian lance.
We fought many gory battles here in
This unlovely land,
Which has many brutal tales of greed and
Massacres to tell.
There is no glory, brother, either
In a battle field,
There is only death, treachery,
Betra-yal and cruelty.
I myself was a messenger selected
By that mighty Prince,
That greedy, trait’rous, faithless and un-
Loyal Prince, Priam.
He sensed that Trojan armies were wiped
Out each day by day,
By cunning tactic war strategy of
Brilliant Grecian men.
To save his namesake, he sent us to the
War-front, knowing well,
White flags and olive leaves and doves would’ve
Served as well instead.
He sent us to our gory fate, there
In the battle-front,
So that his wanton war wishes could be
Sa′tiated with our blood.
I lost my riches, women and life and
Land to his guileless soul,
‘Tis not the lances of the Greeks were
Sharper, but his greed.
You see, there standing trees are shedding
Not tear nor dew drops,
But all are shedding life blood of my
Brothers there under.
This land is bloody, polluted and
Treacherous, my dear friend,
So run, run away from this land,
Run, run, run with your life.”
Note:
There indeed is a final scene in the original poem, that of the town-builder-voyager paying homage to the dead war hero, by offering him a proper and traditional burial service, though unpardonably belated in Trojan standards. Any way, he did it and departed from that land with his sailors, as advised by the dead soul. But this portion of the poem is only secondary.
The article we received
Against our coast appears a spacious land,
Which once the fierce Lycurgus did command,
(Thracia the name--the people bold in war;
Vast are their fields, and tillage is their care,)
A hospitable realm while Fate was kind,
With Troy in friendship and religion join'd.
I land; with luckless omens then adore
Their gods, and draw a line along the shore;
I lay the deep foundations of a wall,
And AEnos, nam'd from me, the city call.
To Dionaean Venus vows are paid,
And all the pow'rs that rising labors aid;
A bull on Jove's imperial altar laid.
Not far, a rising hillock stood in view;
Sharp myrtles on the sides, and cornels grew.
There, while I went to crop the sylvan scenes,
And shade our altar with their leafy greens,
I pull'd a plant--with horror I relate
A prodigy so strange and full of fate.
The rooted fibers rose, and from the wound
Black bloody drops distill'd upon the ground.
Mute and amaz'd, my hair with terror stood;
Fear shrunk my sinews, and congeal'd my blood.
Mann'd once again, another plant I try:
That other gush'd with the same sanguine dye.
Then, fearing guilt for some offense unknown,
With pray'rs and vows the Dryads I atone,
With all the sisters of the woods, and most
The God of Arms, who rules the Thracian coast,
That they, or he, these omens would avert,
Release our fears, and better signs impart.
Clear'd, as I thought, and fully fix'd at length
To learn the cause, I tugged with all my strength:
I bent my knees against the ground; once more
The violated myrtle ran with gore.
Scarce dare I tell the sequel: from the womb
Of wounded earth, and caverns of the tomb,
A groan, as of a troubled ghost, renew'd
My fright, and then these dreadful words ensued:
'Why dost thou thus my buried body rend?
O spare the corpse of thy unhappy friend!
Spare to pollute thy pious hands with blood:
The tears distil not from the wounded wood;
But ev'ry drop this living tree contains
Is kindred blood, and ran in Trojan veins.
O fly from this unhospitable shore,
Warn'd by my fate; for I am Polydore!
Here loads of lances, in my blood embrued,
Again shoot upward, by my blood renew'd.'
My falt'ring tongue and shiv'ring limbs declare
My horror, and in bristles rose my hair.
When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent,
Old Priam, fearful of the war's event,
This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent:
Loaded with gold, he sent his darling, far
From noise and tumults, and destructive war,
Committed to the faithless tyrant's care;
Who, when he saw the pow'r of Troy decline,
Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join;
Broke ev'ry bond of nature and of truth,
And murder'd, for his wealth, the royal youth.
O sacred hunger of pernicious gold!
What bands of faith can impious lucre hold?
Now, when my soul had shaken off her fears,
I call my father and the Trojan peers;
Relate the prodigies of Heav'n, require
What he commands, and their advice desire.
All vote to leave that execrable shore,
Polluted with the blood of Polydore;
But, ere we sail, his fun'ral rites prepare,
Then, to his ghost, a tomb and altars rear.
In mournful pomp the matrons walk the round,
With baleful cypress and blue fillets crown'd,
With eyes dejected, and with hair unbound.
Then bowls of tepid milk and blood we pour,
And thrice invoke the soul of Polydore.
"Now, when the raging storms no longer reign,
But southern gales invite us to the main,
We launch our vessels, with a prosp'rous wind,
And leave the cities and the shores behind.
Remember, it's Virgil.
02
Sometimes we get poems which cannot be returned through email for server error. This is mostly caused by problematic email addresses of senders which return our mail. We wonder how such mails could still reach us. In such cases we will check whether the poem is plagiarized and whether the source email ID is not good. In such cases we can only post such re-designed poems here, in the hope that the sender will visit this site and know that we have fulfilled our part. He can take away his poem, of course without paying us anything. We do this out of our goodwill and commitment to our cause.
We got this mail recently:
Date: 30 December 2013 04:30
Subject: Poetry: Publishing interest
Mailed By: yahoo.com
Hello,
My name is Samer Mohamed, and as you can probably tell, I am an aspiring poet. I happen to be very interested in publishing my work, but I’ve no clue how to do it, so I was wondering if you could help me to achieve my goal. Here is a sample poem, contact me if you enjoy it and are interested in my work:
The original article we received:
This is not an attempt at asking you out
Just read on, you'll know what this is about
I just want to say one thing before I go
I love you a ton more than you know
Five times a day, I pray, for you, only for you
I pray God to forgive you for whatever sin you may do
I ask God to prolong your life by taking away mine
All of this so that you could be fine
I ask God to give you credit for all of my good deeds, because you make me a better person
I ask him to give me credit for all of your sins because you are only human
I hope and ask him to let you lead a happy life
A carefree life with no sorrow, no strife
I thanked god for having created you, I still thank him a lot
Not just because you're beautiful, not just because you're hot
Because you're smart, funny, and kind, everything that I am not
I hope, one day, that you find the guy that deserves you, that's not me
Personally, I believe you could find better, truly, much better than me
As I have said a while before
I live for your happiness, nothing more
Just remember that my heart beats for you and that it always will
In fact, loving you was, and still is quite a thrill
With this being said, I wish you luck in your future endeavor
I am now and forever will be your lover
I hope, that one day our lives cross paths again
Everyday, I'll be waiting, until then
I didn't want to say this, honestly I'd rather die
I knew that one day I'd have nothing more to say
Helen, I've no more left to tell you, no more than goodbye
The article we edited and returned 30 December 2013 15:10
One Day We Will Cross Our Paths Again
Samer Mohamed
This not an attempt asking you to out,
Just read on, you'll know what is this about.
I want to say one thing before I go,
I love you a ton more than you do know.
Five times a day I pray, only for you,
To forgive whatever sins that you may do.
Prolong your life by taking away mine,
Is all I ask, so that you may be fine.
My good deeds all are credited to you,
Your human sins are credited to me.
I ask him; let you lead a happy life,
A care-free life with not one sorrow, strife.
Thank God created you, I thank him a lot,
You're smart and kind, everything I am not.
You’ll find a deserving partner that's not me,
You would find one better, truly better than me.
As I have said a little while before,
I live for your happiness, nothing more.
My heart beats for you and it always will,
Loving you was, and still is quite a thrill.
I wish you luck in your future endeavor,
I am now and forever will be your lover.
I hope that some day we’ll cross paths again,
I will be waiting everyday, until then.
I think your poem is more balanced now, in my estimate, ready to be published, unless you wish to refine it more or change metre. It is better to refine your other poems also this way and publish them as a better book. What we did to your poem is rare, unique and confidential. Please publish your poem this way. You needn’t mention us anywhere, except in your memory. You have cared to incorporate end-rhyme which people nowadays rarely do, and that is why I value your creation. Personally, I would also insist on form, without which a poem will not pass the test of time and move through generations. You who did this much could easily have edited it to perfection in conventional form. Please do it, before releasing it into the world. You will one day know its value. If you are lazy and want it to be done by some body else, please contact http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/ to get it done at a nominal charge, by me of course. We are individuals, not institutions. Just as your poem is human, our editing also is human. You certainly have created other good poems which may need finishing up unless you do it yourself. Please avoid mentioning names in your poems so that the world can someday use our poems as their own.
Sincerely Yours,
P.S.Remesh Chandran,
Editor-In-Chief,
Poetry Editorial Services.
http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/
The mail was returned. Server error. By GMail. and Yahoo Mail.
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