Of Scylla and Charybdis I shall not speak,
For there are horrors memory consumes
With the men who are consumed by them.
Six comrades of my youth were plucked aloft
By that she-monster with six grinding mouths.
No mercy there, except their death was quick.
The Sirens cut the wound that would not heal.
Circe w ...
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 24 December 2005, on page 53
Copyright © 2008 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com
http://www.newcriterion.com/articles.cfm/a-new-poem-1413