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Enduring Sight
Our blindest heroes walk among us, here,
where legendary blindness gives us sight.
King Oedipus still lives, and so does Lear
in texts that draw their distant fates too near
by pulling us through pages of their plight.
Our blindest heroes walk among us, here,
though they ruled long ago across this sphere
where Time and Distance have kept them upright.
King Oedipus still lives, and so does Lear,
whose insights after eyesight we hold dear
on stages where the drama still burns bright.
Our blindest heroes walk among us here;
Their flaws across the centuries are clear
to all who see them in this modern light.
King Oedipus still lives, and so does Lear,
two failed monarchs who still draw a tear
from eyes in which their fatal flaws appear.
King Oedipus still lives, and so does Lear.
Our blindest heroes walk among us here.
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Laocoon’s Lesson
The man and the myth are both entercoiled
With marble vipers and stone constrictors,
An ancient image of plans that were foiled
By bolder plans in the hands of the victors.
The muscular priest, his sons by his side,
Was wise to the hoax, to the gift, to the odds,
But folly follows where Truth is denied,
And father and sons were doomed by the gods.
Unwinding the myth, like untangling snakes,
Adds only more twists to the mystery
Of humans who constantly fall for fakes
And bloody the chapters of history.
Like Eden’s serpent, the snakes at the gate
Are symbols of lessons we learn too late.
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Mike Ruskovich lives in Grangeville, Idaho. He taught high school English for thirty-six years. He and his wife have four children.
Dear Mike,
Villanelles are one of my favorite forms. Thanks for sharing this one. I love how your repeated end lines continues into the next stanza. I know that’s not easy to do.
Gigi
The villanelle was remarkable, and so I will enter a few remarks. When we think of Homer, we think of blindness as a virtue in poets. In some sense, blindness is a precondition for clairvoyance.
The somewhat arcane mood persisted consistently through every stanza, and the reader was kept waiting, waiting … and then the inversion of the repetends in the final two lines! This is not just nice work; this is fine work. Someday you will wonder why you can’t seem to write poems like this anymore.
The second poem is equally evocative, but the hour is late, and I’m getting tired, and so must rest before I attempt to say anything serious.
A remarkably powerful poem: the form and simple language work synergistically to create a mysterious and haunting effect. Well done.