Classic Poem

Odysseus and Aristotle

A. News from the Earth, Odysseus! 'Tis of you
That men are talking: as the poet says,
You are become a name: you are the theme
Of archaeologists and of men i' the street!
O. As how, O Aristotle?
A. Marry, thus:
Firstly: Professor Ridgeway recently
Proved — in a manner satisfactory
Unto himself, but not to several persons —
That you, Odysseus, were an Irishman,
And that your father's name was Flaherty —
O. !!!!
A. 'Tis clear as light: put the digamma first
(A thing which always is permissible) —
Flaertes — see? You need not be annoyed:
They're a good family, the O'Flahertys.
And, when you come these arguments to tackle,
You'll see at once Achilles came from Achill:
Which being so, 'tis safe to take your oath
That he and you are Celto-Teutons both.
But 'tis not of this interesting view
That I at present would converse with you:
No — There 's a poem lately writ upon
You and your exploits.
O. Not by Tennyson?
A. O no, not Tennyson.
O. Then have they found
Some more Homeric fragments underground?
A. No, it 's not Homer.
O. Well, I own I'm glad:
Of course he had his merits, Homer had,
But as his memory for facts grew dim
Imagination ran away with him.
A simple tale he had at second-hand
About my voyaging by sea and land:
That simple story he embroidered so
That what I really did I hardly know.
A. Well here 's the book.
O. " ULYSSES" — why Ulysses?
'Twas by that name that Cicero used to call me,
Until I asked him how he'd like it if
I were to call him Markos Toullios.
Well, let that pass. — Now, how about the Gods?
I used to be considerably vexed
By Homer's fashion of attributing
All my achievements, all my glorious deeds
(Which, though I say it that shouldn't, were fairly decent)
To heavenly intervention; so that I
Felt that I wasn't properly appreciated.
Does Mr. Phillips so?
A. I fear you'll see
He does employ divine machinery,
Wherein, as stated in my published works,
The undermentioned imperfection lurks:
'Tis used by persons whose constructive wit
Can tie a knot, but can't unravel it.
O. I say — ! This is much worse than Homer — much.
Protect me from divinities like these!
It 's like that fellow — Lucian — that 's the name —
Who made a sort of Voces Populi
About Olympus: so, when he came here,
Pluto imposed a penance, made him turn
All the Homeric sacrifice-descriptions
Into good Attic, — which, as well you know,
Lucian can't write, no more than you or I.
But this out-Lucians Lucian — Father Zeus
" Thundering softly", 'mid the giggling Gods
Chaffed for his amours: truly wonderful!
Do tell me as an expert, Aristotle,
Is this buffoonery celestial funny?
Ought one to laugh?
A. See, in my published works,
My definition of the Laughable
As Ugly but not Painful: please yourself:
But when Gods talk in this peculiar vein,
I own I feel considerable pain.
O. Take the next scene. I leave Calypso's isle
('Twas Circe's really) for the other world,
With Phocion and Elpenor: and 'twould seem
Elpenor 's grown to be " an old, old man";
Homer's Elpenor was that brainless youth,
The youngest of my crew, who, being drunk,
Tumbled off Circe's roof and broke his neck
(A most discreditable incident):
As for the other — Zeus Omnipotent! —
Among my comrades never was a man
Called Phocion, — for, in fact, he wouldn't scan.
Tell me, O Aristotle, who was Phocion?
A. A person in Greek history, I've a notion.
Methinks Cornelius Nepos writes of him.
O. Well, anyhow, it 's more than Homer does.
Then here 's Prometheus in the shades below,
Whom University Extensionists
Know as imprisoned on the Caucasus:
What does he here? It seems to me, the Bard
Has mixed Prometheus up with Tityus,
Whom you'll remember: he, 'tis true, was here
Once, with a vulture pecking at his liver,
Until the Anti-vivisectionists
Protested, and the thing was put a stop to.
Then, Charon never brought me: I came here
In my own ship: nor did I to the Shades
Descend, as Mr. Phillips says I did:
I stayed on top and offered sacrifice.
This chronicler is most unprincipled!
His reading 's wide, his solid facts are scanty:
He knows his Virgil and he knows his Dante —
But not, 'twould seem, his Homer.
A. Don't confuse
The Muse of History with the Tragic Muse.
For many a bard has won the world's applause
Who mixed the Might Be with the simple Was:
Poetry still its facts may freely twist awry —
'Tis much more philosophical than History:
Is this obscure? then take the meaning hid in 't,
One 's what you did, the other 's what you didn't
Poetic Licence, as you'll soon remark,
Shows how you shot the Suitors — in the dark:
Or how, for instance —
O. Does your rule apply
To the exalted phraseology
Which Mr. Phillips suffers me to use?
As when I talk of perils by the sea
(An element I never really liked)
As of " The white leap and the dance of doom",
Or call the beach " The glorying shingle" — eh?
This may be beautiful, I don't deny —
A. But, you would add, 'tis pitched a trifle high.
As M. Zola isn't here as yet,
I may presume the maxim to recall
That Truth and Beauty are identical.
What! aren't you pleased with this — " Upon this isle
Set in the glassy ocean's azure swoon"?
O. Great Aristarchus! what 's an azure swoon?
Can swoons be azure?
A. Ay, — as moons are blue.
Be sure the Beautiful is still the True.
Take then Penelope's appeal to you —
" Come, come, Ulysses! Burn back through the world!
Come, take the broad seas in one mighty leap!"
O. Moving, no doubt: but most improbable.
No: I can answer, positive and flat,
Penelope would never have said that:
Penelope, whate'er her faults might be,
Was always eminently sensible.
This high-toned style, these phrases picturesque,
They savour something of the writing-desk:
Now e'en in Homer (and you've heard me state
That Homer sometimes was inaccurate)
When we'd a plain unvarnished thing to say,
We said it in a plain unvarnished way.
A. That was in Epic: this is in a Play.
I've said, when writing in a bygone age
Critiques (since published) of th' Athenian stage,
That when a man a tragedy would write
Pity and Terror he must still excite.
Some do this by the plot: and some prefer
To do it by the play of character:
While others entertain the firm conviction,
Terror and Pity should be roused by diction.
This latter, I'm informed, is now the fashion:
— And, on the whole, it does arouse compassion.
O. It does, indeed, O Aristotle! quite;
It makes me glad I never learnt to write
(As Wolf says, in his Prolegomena)!
But this, I know, I should not say to you,
You, who yourself have written.
A. Something: yes:
More did my pupils, as my critics guess:
But that 's a theme with which I would not bore ye —
'Tis a???? s?e?e?? or Another Story.
Farewell, Odysseus! Check your captious mood:
All plays that draw are ipso facto good.
O. Endure, my heart! worse evils now and then
Thou hast endured, — but O these literary men!