the tales of a greek sailor

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

A Single Sailor who was Worth an Entire Navy..

The weather suddenly changed form
and our ship was struck by a terrible storm,
shortly after leaving the Skagerrak calm,
toward the land discovered by Magellan,
[the island of Guam.
It caused a lot of damage to the ship ...
Our engine was working with
[much difficulty, and the trip
was altered, it was decided to stop at a port for repairs.

The radio operator went running down the stairs
holding the telegram and shouting "we're going to France"
A place we all want to go, the place of romance....

Several poems of Hugo's collection
which caused an international meditation,
directly allude to the Greek War,
the War of Independence that had ended in 1827
and the delighted Greeks were in seventh heaven ..

I had received a letter very recently
in which it was written that frequently,
poems of Victor Hugo, often praised an ancestor of mine,
Kanaris, whose reputation has passed the immortality line.

Once our ship anchored at Brest,
I went to the most updated bookstore,
[in town the best,

(although the temperature was below zero)
and I bought Hugo's poems and books
[on Canaris, the hero.

So I learned that he lived by the sea since he was a baby.
Kanaris... a single sailor who was worth an entire navy..

He achieved the greatest military feat.
With a torch, gunpowder and a small boat,
[chased an entire fleet ..

At that time the fire boat was an unusual weapon,
and became synonymous with disaster, with Armageddon..

After successive explosions in several enemy vessels,
terror into the hearts of the Turkish crews nestles.

The entire naval fleet leaves the Aegean Sea...
My ancestor, Kanaris, forced them to flee.
___________________________________

Texts and Narration: Odysseus Heavilayias - ROTTERDAM //
Language adjustments and text adaptation: Kellene G Safis - CHICAGO//
Digital adaptation and text editing: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga - PIRAEUS
Νο:33
________________________________________________________

Notes:

* Guam : An unincorporated territory of the United States, the largest and most southerly of the Mariana Islands in the western Pacific Ocean. Inhabited since ancient times by the Chamorro people, Guam was visited by Magellan in 1521 and ceded by Spain to the United States in 1898. Agana is the capital.
The first known contact between Guam and Western Europe occurred when Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese explorer sailing for the Holy Roman Emperor King Charles I of Spain, anchored his small 3-ship fleet in Guam on March 6, 1521
* Kanaris : At Chios, on the night of June 6/June 7, 1822 Kanaris destroyed the flagship of the Turkish admiral Nasuhzade Ali Pasha (or Kara-Ali Pasha) in revenge for the Chios Massacre. The admiral was holding a celebration, while Kanaris managed to place his fire ship next to it.
When the flagship's powder store caught fire, all men aboard were instantly killed. The Ottoman casualties comprised 2000 men, both naval officers and common sailors, as well as Kara-Ali himself.
Constantine Kanaris after the Greek War of Independence served as Minister in various governments and then as Prime Minister, in the provisional government, from March 11-April 11, 1844. He served a second term (October 27, 1848 – December 24, 1849), and as Navy Minister in Mavrokordatos' 1854 cabinet he served as a prime minister for a third term (March 17 – April 28, 1864), fourth term (August 7, 1864 – February 9, 1865) and fifth and last term (June 7 – September 14, 1877).
________________________________________________________

To Canaris, The Greek Patriot

Author: Victor Hugo

("Canaris! nous t'avons oublie.")

[VIII., October, 1832.]

O Canaris! O Canaris! the poet's song

Has blameful left untold thy deeds too long!

But when the tragic actor's part is done,

When clamor ceases, and the fights are won,

When heroes realize what Fate decreed,

When chieftains mark no more which thousands bleed;

When they have shone, as clouded or as bright,

As fitful meteor in the heaven at night,

And when the sycophant no more proclaims

To gaping crowds the glory of their names,--

'Tis then the mem'ries of warriors die,

And fall--alas!--into obscurity,

Until the poet, in whose verse alone

Exists a world--can make their actions known,

And in eternal epic measures, show

They are not yet forgotten here below.

And yet by us neglected! glory gloomed,

Thy name seems sealed apart, entombed,

Although our shouts to pigmies rise--no cries

To mark thy presence echo to the skies;

Farewell to Grecian heroes--silent is the lute,

And sets your sun without one Memnon bruit?

There was a time men gave no peace

To cheers for Athens, Bozzaris, Leonidas, and Greece!

And Canaris' more-worshipped name was found

On ev'ry lip, in ev'ry heart around.

But now is changed the scene! On hist'ry's page

Are writ o'er thine deeds of another age,

And thine are not remembered.--Greece, farewell!

The world no more thine heroes' deeds will tell.

Not that this matters to a man like thee!

To whom is left the dark blue open sea,

Thy gallant bark, that o'er the water flies,

And the bright planet guiding in clear skies;

All these remain, with accident and strife,

Hope, and the pleasures of a roving life,

Boon Nature's fairest prospects--land and main--

The noisy starting, glad return again;

The pride of freeman on a bounding deck

Which mocks at dangers and despises wreck,

And e'en if lightning-pinions cleave the sea,

'Tis all replete with joyousness to thee!

Yes, these remain! blue sky and ocean blue,

Thine eagles with one sweep beyond the view--

The sun in golden beauty ever pure,

The distance where rich warmth doth aye endure--

Thy language so mellifluously bland,

Mixed with sweet idioms from Italia's strand,

As Baya's streams to Samos' waters glide

And with them mingle in one placid tide.

Yes, these remain, and, Canaris! thy arms--

The sculptured sabre, faithful in alarms--

The broidered garb, the yataghan, the vest

Expressive of thy rank, to thee still rest!

And when thy vessel o'er the foaming sound

Is proud past storied coasts to blithely bound,

At once the point of beauty may restore

Smiles to thy lip, and smoothe thy brow once more.

____________________________________________________________________

Translated by G.W.M. REYNOLDS.
Victor Hugo's poem: To Canaris, The Greek Patriot

The Tales of a Greek Sailor

Died Carrying Iron Ore.

A tale of Joy and Despair

A tale of joy and despair,
the state of the ship
   [is unknown, not unrare.

On the cheek of Sparks*    *radio operator
   [I saw a tear,
   tear of joy as he shouted...
   ["he has heeded our prayer,
we are going home,
[it's true, I swear".

I was sitting half asleep in the captain's chair..
I was thinking of my house
[which stood in a beautiful square,

when he showed me
[that unexpected telegram
with the brand of "RCA" ,
[a message like a diagram.

Our old ship was sold
[and we had to sail to Piraeus for scrap...

For the old stoker Jim this news was slap,
this ship had been for years his home,
since his wife left him
   [to Live with someone in Rome.

Jim and this sixty year old ship,

were tied as a family

[and would be a skip

if I had not mentioned
[that they both,
were joined like an oath,
survived into the second world war,
were amid the German submarines
[carrying iron ore.

Four hundred and eighty six

[Greek merchant ships were sunk,
Jim was yelling in his sleep from his bunk,
and four thousand seamen drowned
[by the German fury.
Disabled sailors, Greeks, should consiste
[Nuremberg's grand jury.

On the journey to Piraeus we took a break.
On May nineteen sixty-five, at daybreak,

we left the dead stoker Jim in the Azores.

It was the same month that his companion
[died, carrying Iron Ore.
________________________________

* Extract from "The Broken Mooring Line", an experiential
poetic work // page c32 // e-mail: pmataragas@yahoo.com //
Texts and Narration: Odysseus Heavilayias - ROTTERDAM //
Language adjustments and text adaptation: Kellene G Safis - CHICAGO//
Digital adaptation and text editing: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga - PIRAEUS

the tales of a Greek Sailor

“Are you with George Clooney?”...

..the Parthenon marbles should be returned

(Elgin Marbles, are the antiquities taken from the

Acropolis in Athens and shipped to England )

The Parthenon marbles should be returned.
Great popularity George Clooney earned
throughout Greece for this statement,
this declaration.
Lord Elgin with disrespect in the history of a nation.
and before his own great temptation
situated in front of Acropolis masterful sculptures,
he and his companions were transformed
into predatory vultures....

In the process of grabbing many sculptures
his collaborators smashed,
while the ruthless collector was watching unbashed..

From the precious Caryatid whose
[nose and face were spoiled.
It was destroyed, in history to build an entire
[nation toiled.
The news came to the mountain of the gods.
Zeus with anger, shook and with his nods
ordered.... lightning and thunder,
while his daughter Athena was shouting
"my temble they plunder."

The sky appeared to be burning....
a lightning storm.

Athena with raised hands, and in a brainstorm,
showered Elgin with curses, with much wrath,
"great unhappiness will be brought to you
on your every path."

The events that followed were incredible,
but the sources are completely credible.

Elgin's children died one after another.
But the curse of Athena would go much farther.

Elgin's wife followed her children to death
and Elgin with great difficulty could barely
catch his breath.

From a very rare illness he lost his nose ..
That was the punishment goddess Athena chose ...

From a Caryatid whose
[nose and face were spoiled.
To Lord Elgin who destroyed the nose,
[all future grabs foiled.
_____________________________________________

Texts and Narration: Odysseus Heavilayias - ROTTERDAM //
Language adjustments and text adaptation: Kellene G Safis - CHICAGO//
Digital adaptation and text editing: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga - PIRAEUS
Νο:31

* The Guardian has a poll on return of Parthenon Marbles:

“Are you with George Clooney?”

Is George Clooney correct?

Should Britain return the Elgin marbles?

While promoting his new film Monuments Men, about returning art taken by the Nazis to its rightful owners, George Clooney has said that the UK should give back the Parthenon marbles to Greece. Are you with him?

The poll is open two more days. So far 81% of the respondents voted YES and
just 19% voted NO.
How about you? Are you with Clooney and the return of the Parthenon Marbles to Greece?
______________________________________

Lord Byron wrote a poem about the "Elgin Marbles," the antiquities
taken from the Acropolis in Athens and shipped to England.

            THE CURSE OF MINERVA.
Athens: Capuchin Convent, March 17, 1811.

Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting Sun;
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light;
O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows;
On old Ægina's rock and Hydra's isle
The God of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.

Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss
Thy glorious Gulf, unconquered Salamis!
Their azure arches through the long expanse,
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of Heaven;
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep.

On such an eve his palest beam he cast
When, Athens! here thy Wisest looked his last. 20

How watched thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed their murdered Sage's latest day!
Not yet—not yet—Sol pauses on the hill,
The precious hour of parting lingers still;
But sad his light to agonizing eyes,
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes;
Gloom o'er the lovely land he seemed to pour,
The land where Phœbus never frowned before;
But ere he sunk below Cithæron's head,
The cup of Woe was quaffed—the Spirit fled; 30

The soul of Him that scorned to fear or fly,
Who lived and died as none can live or die.

But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain
The Queen of Night asserts her silent reign;
No murky vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair face, or girds her glowing form;
With cornice glimmering as the moonbeams play,
There the white column greets her grateful ray,
And bright around, with quivering beams beset,
Her emblem sparkles o'er the Minaret: 40

The groves of olive scattered dark and wide,
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide,
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,
And sad and sombre 'mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm;
All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye;
And dull were his that passed them heedless by.

Again the Ægean, heard no more afar,
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war:

Again his waves in milder tints unfold
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold,
Mixed with the shades of many a distant isle
That frown, where gentler Ocean deigns to smile.

As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane,
I marked the beauties of the land and main,
Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore,
Whose arts and arms but live in poets' lore;
Oft as the matchless dome I turned to scan,
Sacred to Gods, but not secure from Man, 60

The Past returned, the Present seemed to cease,
And Glory knew no clime beyond her Greece!

Hour rolled along, and Dian's orb on high
Had gained the centre of her softest sky;
And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod
O'er the vain shrine of many a vanished God:
But chiefly, Pallas! thine, when Hecate's glare
Checked by thy columns, fell more sadly fair
O'er the chill marble, where the startling tread
Thrills the lone heart like echoes from the dead.

Long had I mused, and treasured every trace
The wreck of Greece recorded of her race,
When, lo! a giant-form before me strode,
And Pallas hailed me in her own Abode!
Yes, 'twas Minerva's self; but, ah! how changed,
Since o'er the Dardan field in arms she ranged!
Not such as erst, by her divine command,
Her form appeared from Phidias' plastic hand:
Gone were the terrors of her awful brow,
Her idle Ægis bore no Gorgon now;

Her helm was dinted, and the broken lance
Seemed weak and shaftless e'en to mortal glance;
The Olive Branch, which still she deigned to clasp,

Shrunk from her touch, and withered in her grasp;
And, ah! though still the brightest of the sky,
Celestial tears bedimmed her large blue eye;
Round the rent casque her owlet circled slow,
And mourned his mistress with a shriek of woe!

"Mortal!"—'twas thus she spake—"that blush of shame
Proclaims thee Briton, once a noble name;

First of the mighty, foremost of the free,
Now honoured less by all, and least by me:
Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found.
Seek'st thou the cause of loathing!—look around.
Lo! here, despite of war and wasting fire,
I saw successive Tyrannies expire;
'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth,
Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both.
Survey this vacant, violated fane;
Recount the relics torn that yet remain:

These Cecrops placed, this Pericles adorned,
That Adrian reared when drooping Science mourned.
What more I owe let Gratitude attest—
Know, Alaric and Elgin did the rest.
That all may learn from whence the plunderer came,
The insulted wall sustains his hated name:
For Elgin's fame thus grateful Pallas pleads,
Below, his name—above, behold his deeds!
Be ever hailed with equal honour here
The Gothic monarch and the Pictish peer:

Arms gave the first his right, the last had none,
But basely stole what less barbarians won.
So when the Lion quits his fell repast,
Next prowls the Wolf, the filthy Jackal last:
Flesh, limbs, and blood the former make their own,
The last poor brute securely gnaws the bone.
Yet still the Gods are just, and crimes are crossed:
See here what Elgin won, and what he lost!
Another name with his pollutes my shrine:
Behold where Dian's beams disdain to shine! 120

Some retribution still might Pallas claim,
When Venus half avenged Minerva's shame."

She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply,
To soothe the vengeance kindling in her eye:
"Daughter of Jove! in Britain's injured name,
A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim.
Frown not on England; England owns him not:
Athena, no! thy plunderer was a Scot.
Ask'st thou the difference? From fair Phyles' towers
Survey Bœotia;—Caledonia's ours. 130

And well I know within that bastard land
Hath Wisdom's goddess never held command;
A barren soil, where Nature's germs, confined
To stern sterility, can stint the mind;
Whose thistle well betrays the niggard earth,
Emblem of all to whom the Land gives birth;
Each genial influence nurtured to resist;
A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist.
Each breeze from foggy mount and marshy plain
Dilutes with drivel every drizzly brain,

Till, burst at length, each wat'ry head o'erflows,
Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows:
Then thousand schemes of petulance and pride
Despatch her scheming children far and wide;
Some East, some West, some—everywhere but North!
In quest of lawless gain, they issue forth.
And thus—accursed be the day and year!
She sent a Pict to play the felon here.
Yet Caledonia claims some native worth,
As dull Bœotia gave a Pindar birth;

So may her few, the lettered and the brave,
Bound to no clime and victors of the grave,
Shake off the sordid dust of such a land,
And shine like children of a happier strand;
As once, of yore, in some obnoxious place,
Ten names (if found) had saved a wretched race."

"Mortal!" the blue-eyed maid resumed, "once more
Bear back my mandate to thy native shore.
Though fallen, alas! this vengeance yet is mine,
To turn my counsels far from lands like thine. 160

Hear then in silence Pallas' stern behest;
Hear and believe, for Time will tell the rest.

"First on the head of him who did this deed
My curse shall light,—on him and all his seed:
Without one spark of intellectual fire,
Be all the sons as senseless as the sire:
If one with wit the parent brood disgrace,
Believe him bastard of a brighter race:
Still with his hireling artists let him prate,
And Folly's praise repay for Wisdom's hate;

Long of their Patron's gusto let them tell,
Whose noblest, native gusto is—to sell:
To sell, and make—may shame record the day!—
The State—Receiver of his pilfered prey.
Meantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West,
Europe's worst dauber, and poor Britain's best,
With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er,
And own himself an infant of fourscore.
Be all the Bruisers culled from all St. Giles',
That Art and Nature may compare their styles;

While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare,
And marvel at his Lordship's 'stone shop' there.
Round the thronged gate shall sauntering coxcombs creep
To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep;
While many a languid maid, with longing sigh,
On giant statues casts the curious eye;
The room with transient glance appears to skim,
Yet marks the mighty back and length of limb;
Mourns o'er the difference of now and then;
Exclaims, 'These Greeks indeed were proper men!'

Draws slight comparisons of these with those,
And envies Laïs all her Attic beaux.
When shall a modern maid have swains like these?
Alas! Sir Harry is no Hercules!
And last of all, amidst the gaping crew,
Some calm spectator, as he takes his view,
In silent indignation mixed with grief,
Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief.
Oh, loathed in life, nor pardoned in the dust,
May Hate pursue his sacrilegious lust!

Linked with the fool that fired the Ephesian dome,
Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb,
And Eratostratus  and Elgin shine
In many a branding page and burning line;
Alike reserved for aye to stand accursed,
Perchance the second blacker than the first

"So let him stand, through ages yet unborn,
Fixed statue on the pedestal of Scorn;
Though not for him alone revenge shall wait,
But fits thy country for her coming fate: 210

Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son
To do what oft Britannia's self had done.
Look to the Baltic—blazing from afar,
Your old Ally yet mourns perfidious war.
Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid,
Or break the compact which herself had made;
Far from such counsels, from the faithless field
She fled—but left behind her Gorgon shield;
A fatal gift that turned your friends to stone,
And left lost Albion hated and alone.

"Look to the East, where Ganges' swarthy race
Shall shake your tyrant empire to its base;
Lo! there Rebellion rears her ghastly head,
And glares the Nemesis of native dead;
Till Indus rolls a deep purpureal flood,
And claims his long arrear of northern blood.
So may ye perish!—Pallas, when she gave
Your free-born rights, forbade ye to enslave.

"Look on your Spain!—she clasps the hand she hates,
But boldly clasps, and thrusts you from her gates.

Bear witness, bright Barossa!  thou canst tell
Whose were the sons that bravely fought and fell.
But Lusitania, kind and dear ally,
Can spare a few to fight, and sometimes fly.
Oh glorious field! by Famine fiercely won,
The Gaul retires for once, and all is done!
But when did Pallas teach, that one retreat
Retrieved three long Olympiads of defeat?
"Look last at home—ye love not to look there
On the grim smile of comfortless despair: 240

Your city saddens: loud though Revel howls,
Here Famine faints, and yonder Rapine prowls.
See all alike of more or less bereft;
No misers tremble when there's nothing left.
'Blest paper credit;'  who shall dare to sing?
It clogs like lead Corruption's weary wing.
Yet Pallas plucked each Premier by the ear,
Who Gods and men alike disdained to hear;
But one, repentant o'er a bankrupt state,
On Pallas calls,—but calls, alas! too late: 250

Then raves for * *; to that Mentor bends,
Though he and Pallas never yet were friends.
Him senates hear, whom never yet they heard,
Contemptuous once, and now no less absurd.
So, once of yore, each reasonable frog,
Swore faith and fealty to his sovereign 'log.'
Thus hailed your rulers their patrician clod,
As Egypt chose an onion for a God.

"Now fare ye well! enjoy your little hour;
Go, grasp the shadow of your vanished power; 260

Gloss o'er the failure of each fondest scheme;
Your strength a name, your bloated wealth a dream.
Gone is that Gold, the marvel of mankind.
And Pirates barter all that's left behind.
No more the hirelings, purchased near and far,
Crowd to the ranks of mercenary war.
The idle merchant on the useless quay
Droops o'er the bales no bark may bear away;
Or, back returning, sees rejected stores
Rot piecemeal on his own encumbered shores: 270

The starved mechanic breaks his rusting loom,
And desperate mans him 'gainst the coming doom.
Then in the Senates of your sinking state
Show me the man whose counsels may have weight.
Vain is each voice where tones could once command;
E'en factions cease to charm a factious land:
Yet jarring sects convulse a sister Isle,
And light with maddening hands the mutual pile.

"'Tis done, 'tis past—since Pallas warns in vain;
The Furies seize her abdicated reign: 280

Wide o'er the realm they wave their kindling brands,
And wring her vitals with their fiery hands.
But one convulsive struggle still remains,
And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her chains,
The bannered pomp of war, the glittering files,
O'er whose gay trappings stern Bellona smiles;
The brazen trump, the spirit-stirring drum,
That bid the foe defiance ere they come;
The hero bounding at his country's call,
The glorious death that consecrates his fall, 290

Swell the young heart with visionary charms,
And bid it antedate the joys of arms.
But know, a lesson you may yet be taught,
With death alone are laurels cheaply bought;
Not in the conflict Havoc seeks delight,
His day of mercy is the day of fight.
But when the field is fought, the battle won,
Though drenched with gore, his woes are but begun:
His deeper deeds as yet ye know by name;
The slaughtered peasant and the ravished dame, 300

The rifled mansion and the foe-reaped field,
Ill suit with souls at home, untaught to yield.
Say with what eye along the distant down
Would flying burghers mark the blazing town?
How view the column of ascending flames
Shake his red shadow o'er the startled Thames?
Nay, frown not, Albion! for the torch was thine
That lit such pyres from Tagus to the Rhine:
Now should they burst on thy devoted coast,
Go, ask thy bosom who deserves them most? 310

The law of Heaven and Earth is life for life,
And she who raised, in vain regrets, the strife."

source

The Tales of a Greek Sailor

Two Souls with a Single Thought

   When two souls fall in love,
   it's reminiscent of....
   [spring and flowers,
   hand and glove.

Poets liken love as a kiss of the angels
[to the stars,
or one heavenly prison
[where you feel like you are behind bars.

When Clarice, my beloved left me,
all she had to say was...
[ ''byyye..., "forget me"

Some say that women do not have a heart..
I have said myself, they have not
   [a heart of a soul, (it wasn't smart)

   I was inconsolable for too long.
I boarded a ship trying to forget,
but I was to be wrong,
Clarice would not leave my mind
[until Chung Dong,

the Chinese mysterious cook,

told me....
''man, just take a look
at this old history book
and be sure that the facts are not contrive..
It was only at the Council of Trent in 1545
that the Roman Church officially agreed
that women had souls,
[so women were freed....

That means Clarice has got a soul... !!''

Suddenly I had hopes,
perhaps some control
to prove that they have a heart too.
It was the year one thousand
[nine hundred and eighty-two.

I then began to hope that she will come back

it seems my mind was completely out of whack...
_________________________________________________

* Extract from "The Broken Mooring Line", an experiential
poetic work // page c30 // e-mail: pmataragas@yahoo.com //
Texts and Narration: Odysseus Heavilayias - ROTTERDAM //
Language adjustments and text adaptation: Kellene G Safis - CHICAGO//
Digital adaptation and text editing: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga - PIRAEUS
_______________________________________________________________

Note :

..by a majority of three votes!

It was only at the Council of Trent in 1545 that the Roman Church officially agreed that women had souls and then only by a majority
of three votes!

The Tales of a Greek Sailor

Rome's "First Lady."

Caecilia Metella Dalmatica

We the Athenians, two thousand years after,
apologize to Metella for our insults and laughter...

One hundred and forty six years
[before Christ..

The Greek army was not sufficed.

They were defeated by the
[Roman legions.

All lands, all areas and all regions.
came under Roman control
[and occupation ..

_____________________________________

After seventy years, an Asian nation,
the kingdom of Mithridates became powerful.
The Athenians rebelled (their success was doubtful).
They became allies with the King of the Asians.

The Romans said, with the Athenians we have lost patience,
and according to Roman authoritarian persuasions,
they sent General Sulla who led five legions,
to conquer the Greeks, those demons....

Sulla's wife Metella* joined him in Greece in 87 BC *Caecilia Metella
Romans, cut off the supply of the city from the sea,
and began a siege that would last until the inhabitants would surrender...

Sulla was talking with conceit about Rome's glory and splendor,
when a voice was heard coming over the walls,
followed by lots of laughter....... The General appalls
and ordered the interpreter to translate the voice...

The Poor guy hesitantly replied having no other choice...
He said..... he said .... "Sulla mother fucker your wife is a slut."
Fortunately, the head of the interpreter remained uncut....

This spoof was repeated continuously, daily.....

I will slaughter all Greeks, Sulla was shouting gaily,
when after several months of fighting the Athenians were defeated.
Roman siege machines, and Sulla were both undefeated.

"Kill them all" yelled the General with accumulated rage,
so to not mentioned Athens in history's any page....

Metella came running, shouting "what are you doing?"
(the insults of the Greeks over the walls trying to misconstruing).
"don't you realize that you destroy the city of wisdom and philosophers?
You must immediately stop them, just call your officers."

The city of Athens was saved thanks to
[Metella...
In the storm called Sulla, his wife was
[the Greek umbrella...

We the Athenians, two thousand years
[after,
Apologize to Metella for our insults
[and laughter...
______________________________________

Texts and Narration: Odysseus Heavilayias - ROTTERDAM //
Language adjustments and text adaptation: Kellene G Safis - CHICAGO//
Digital adaptation and text editing: Cathy Rapakoulia Mataraga - PIRAEUS
Νο: 29
_______________________________________________________________

* Caecilia Metella Dalmatica, Daughter of Lucius Caecilius Metellus Dalmaticus, Pontifex Maximus in 115 BC. Dalmatica's first marriage was to Marcus Aemilius Scaurus, an aging politician at the peak of his power. The patrician Scaurus was princeps senatus (president of the Senate) and a traditional ally of her family. Dalmatica bore Scaurus two children: Marcus Aemilius Scaurus (II) and Aemilia Scaura, second wife of Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus.
Following Scaurus' death, Dalmatica married Lucius Cornelius Sulla. In 86 BC, Gaius Marius obtained his seventh consulship and outlawed his political enemies, ordering confiscation of property and several persecutions. Sulla, at the time in the East fighting king Mithridates VI of Pontus, was at the top of the list. Dalmatica was forced to abandon Rome and met Sulla in Greece.
There, she gave birth to the twins Faustus Cornelius Sulla and Fausta (married Titus Annius Milo, praetor in 54 BC). In 81 BC, following a brief civil war with the last of Marius' supporters, Sulla entered Rome and was appointed dictator. Again, Dalmatica followed her husband and became Rome's "First Lady."