Tag: polydeukion

FLASHBACK: For the Treiskouroi and the Trophimoi

There’s a bunch of teenaged boys running around in my religion–
how did they get here? But this is their gym, so how did I get there,
middle-aged lady with bad knees and a bad back. Favorinus
of Arles, the Stephen Fry of his age, passes me a beer and says,
“Don’t worry about it: Just admire all this naked beauty.” There’s a God,
and a Hero, and a Sanctus; there’s a bunch of adopted kids–put down
that spear before you put someone’s eye out! It’s all fun and games
till someone gets turned into a tragic flower. Why do their parents
let them out to run around like this, there’s Antinous making eyes
at an older man, Memnon always has a bunch of bloody carcases
at hand, Lucius keeps meeting some odd-looking god with
an animal face and sticky-uppy ears. And the girls bounce around
with the boys and nobody seems to care–isn’t that anachronistic?
Does their mother know they’re out? Favorinus just laughs
at my consternation. “Here, have some chocolate. Have some
apples. Have some grapes. Go have a bath, get yourself
a massage, a good rub-down with olive oil.” Favorinus
never takes his clothes off, but he’s down to a loincloth,
and I’m a fat lady wrapped in towels. Polydeukion comes over
to give me a handful of flowers and a long speech about–
something, delivered so fast and with such mounting excitement
all I can do is shake my head. But the flowers are beautiful,
and they smell of spring. Of youth, and vitality, and a love
that can bloom for eternity.

(Originally posted at Antinous for Everybody in 2015)

Hymn XXIII: To the Treiskouroi

Where the people of Antinous gather, three youths
are honored above all: Antinous, the god, deified
in Egypt, worshipped throughout the Empire;
Polydeukion, the hero, revered by his family,
wise and generous child; Lucius Marius Vitalis,
athlete and scholar, first among the sancti.

Antinous we revere for his beauty, for the love
that he gave and received, and for his holy death,
by which the gods of Egypt made him one of them.
Polydeukion we honor for his youth and gentleness;
he knew the signs and passwords and came safely
before Persephone, having drunk of Memory’s well.
Lucius we remember for his friendship with Antinous,
his tenacity in scholarship, his joy in the hunt.

As Polydeukion and Lucius praise Antinous, friend
become god, so Antinous blesses Lucius and Polydeukion,
sanctus and heros, and in praising them, we praise and
bless Antinous, too. Hail to the Treiskouroi, the three youths
of most honor, revered in Egypt, Greece, and Rome!
May they be remembered around the world, today and always!

Dead boys and pretty flowers

If dead boys still became flowers,
every sidewalk in America
would be split with roots.
In Baltimore, Freddie Gray;
in New York City, Eric Harris;
in Ferguson, Mike Brown.
Brown skin and black hair
and white, human bones
lying everywhere, and not even
a chalk outline: Execution
is no murder. O goddess Flora,
is every flower a death?
is every bloom a tragedy?
Narcissus, Hyacinth, Crocus
joined by Michael, Eric, Freddie,
Trayvon Martin standing with
Polydeukion, young Memnon,
young Achilles. O goddess Flora,
help us make sense, help us
to mourn as well as rejoice
in a world where every flower
is an open vulva, is a dead boy.

It's a feast day and a snow day

So I wrote another poem:

For the Treiskouroi and the Trophimoi

There’s a bunch of teenaged boys running around in my religion–
how did they get here? But this is their gym, so how did I get there,
middle-aged lady with bad knees and a bad back. Favorinus
of Arles, the Stephen Fry of his age, passes me a beer and says,
“Don’t worry about it: Just admire all this naked beauty.” There’s a God,
and a Hero, and a Sanctus; there’s a bunch of adopted kids–put down
that spear before you put someone’s eye out! It’s all fun and games
till someone gets turned into a tragic flower. Why do their parents
let them out to run around like this, there’s Antinous making eyes
at an older man, Memnon always has a bunch of bloody carcases
at hand, Lucius keeps meeting some odd-looking god with
an animal face and sticky-uppy ears. And the girls bounce around
with the boys and nobody seems to care–isn’t that anachronistic?
Does their mother know they’re out? Favorinus just laughs
at my consternation. “Here, have some chocolate. Have some
apples. Have some grapes. Go have a bath, get yourself
a massage, a good rub-down with olive oil.” Favorinus
never takes his clothes off, but he’s down to a loincloth,
and I’m a fat lady wrapped in towels. Polydeukion comes over
to give me a handful of flowers and a long speech about–
something, delivered so fast and with such mounting excitement
all I can do is shake my head. But the flowers are beautiful,
and they smell of spring. Of youth, and vitality, and a love
that can bloom for eternity.